P.S. I Love You
The movie was precious, predictable and really something I needed. The time frame was hard to follow as a year went by in a matter of 40 minutes. Some of the characters should have played a bigger role because in the ened you really didn't understand how they got to feel that way or whatever. So what did I need, that this movie gave me? Hope.I've realized it's not bad to want something that you need. Something that will make you mean those "I do-s" I want a "Jerry". I want someone who I am sexually attracted to. Who is sexually attracted to me. Whose personality I can't get enough of. Who I can walk around naked and not even care. Who will talk with me, and fight with me, and have babies with me. Who will learn to understand what I'm thinking, what I say. Who adores me. Who believes in himself, and believe in me. Who loves me in all my flaws, and ugliness, beauty, and perfection. All at once. Who only wants to wake up with me every morning not because he's linked to me by a contract and a ring but because he couldn't bare the thought of living one second with me not in his life. I just want to be wanted. And until I find that man who I see as fit, I don't want to settle. And I won't-not anymore. There's hope that there are a few good men out there. I'm just tired of these hipster-enviornmental-musician-express wearing-valley boys. They're nice. But not that something extraordinary.
Juno.
Not a family film. Made the mistake of watching it next to my mother. Very awkward. Especially the teenage sex scene. Not.....very......comfortable. I just stuffed my mouth with popcorn and pretended to watch a different movie. But this was hilarious. And very realistic. I think i'll email dr. higgins about it. It had elements of closed and open adoption in it. I don't think the film really considered the impact of closed or open adoptions. I don't recommend this for adoptees as the teenage mother didn't want anything to do with her child. Nor did the birth father.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
midnight mass
Right well....
I went to church.
I went with my family to the midnight mass at our old methodist church in clovis.
It was different.
I thought I didn't like religion.
But I kept feeling this familiarity about the service, the songs, the people.
I've wanted for so long to believe that I wasn't going to succumb to the opiate of religion but alas!
I havn't. It took me sometime to figure out what I believe in. And part of me knows that perhaps I won't ever know who I "truly am".
But I do know this.
I was raised as a Methodist.
Raised to question, to believe in equality.
But I don't call myself a Methodist.
And now that I knowI have the resources to understand it.
To question it.
To really know if I believe in it.
Because when it all comes down to it. It's faith. I don't think I could ever really take the Bible in literal terms, especially after taking literature of the new testament. Over this semester I've realized that I've become a hypocrite just like those evangelical gay prostitute back massage getting pastors from jesus hates fags church.
I've become closed minded to faith.
I've disdained closed minded "religious" yuppies for as long as I can remember.
And here I am. I am one. Just in the opposite sense.
So a spark of curiosity has rekindled my neutrality towards religion and I believe I'm going to investigate.
The mass I went to at United Methodist in clovis was the same as the one I used to go to in my early childhood at Trinity United in Canada.
I remember the children running up to the pastor. I remember hearing the Gospel. I remember the pastor giving a thought provoking, unsettleing, and often times humorous analysis. I remember the hymns. I remember soup and coffee and snacks after service. I remember sunday school. I remember babysitting. I remember the smell of baby powder in the toddler's room. I remember making plastic doves downstairs in the church kitchen. I remember my woman pastor. I remember the candle light vigils that ended every christmas eve midnight mass.
None were ever bad memories when I think of it.
Just going to college, experiencing other churches, growing up in a supressive enviornment that clovis is, just fed my hatred for the christian right wing.
but...
change is always welcomed
I went to church.
I went with my family to the midnight mass at our old methodist church in clovis.
It was different.
I thought I didn't like religion.
But I kept feeling this familiarity about the service, the songs, the people.
I've wanted for so long to believe that I wasn't going to succumb to the opiate of religion but alas!
I havn't. It took me sometime to figure out what I believe in. And part of me knows that perhaps I won't ever know who I "truly am".
But I do know this.
I was raised as a Methodist.
Raised to question, to believe in equality.
But I don't call myself a Methodist.
And now that I knowI have the resources to understand it.
To question it.
To really know if I believe in it.
Because when it all comes down to it. It's faith. I don't think I could ever really take the Bible in literal terms, especially after taking literature of the new testament. Over this semester I've realized that I've become a hypocrite just like those evangelical gay prostitute back massage getting pastors from jesus hates fags church.
I've become closed minded to faith.
I've disdained closed minded "religious" yuppies for as long as I can remember.
And here I am. I am one. Just in the opposite sense.
So a spark of curiosity has rekindled my neutrality towards religion and I believe I'm going to investigate.
The mass I went to at United Methodist in clovis was the same as the one I used to go to in my early childhood at Trinity United in Canada.
I remember the children running up to the pastor. I remember hearing the Gospel. I remember the pastor giving a thought provoking, unsettleing, and often times humorous analysis. I remember the hymns. I remember soup and coffee and snacks after service. I remember sunday school. I remember babysitting. I remember the smell of baby powder in the toddler's room. I remember making plastic doves downstairs in the church kitchen. I remember my woman pastor. I remember the candle light vigils that ended every christmas eve midnight mass.
None were ever bad memories when I think of it.
Just going to college, experiencing other churches, growing up in a supressive enviornment that clovis is, just fed my hatred for the christian right wing.
but...
change is always welcomed
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