Saturday, January 31, 2015

3 Reasons I Hate Lent

That was probably the most un-Catholic thing I've ever said, but it's true: every year, I conveniently forget that I hate Lent. I hate withdrawal, I hate being asked why I've disappeared from the face of the internet or why I won't eat dessert, and I hate how ridiculously cheerful everyone is. Basically, I turn into a curmudgeon.
This year, however, I have successfully kept myself reminded that I don't like Lent, so as to avoid getting inordinately jolly at the prospect, and I have actually found out why it is that I don't enjoy Lent.

1.) Lent reminds me that I'm a wuss.
I don't like being a wuss, but I can be, and an awful one. Like that time I watched Pemberley Digital for an hour and a half rather than pray, or when I had to borrow money to get something from the vending machine because I'd been too lazy to pack a lunch. How about my major pride issues? Vanity? Emotional greed? Overeating tendencies? Yes, all that and then some. I'd rather avoid jarring reminders of my drawbacks. I'd much rather stay comfy, and not have to face the prospect of fasting from any of the things I've surrounded myself with to keep me comfortable- and prevent me from dwelling too long on things I could do to improve.

2.) Lent tells it like it is.
I don't. Like where I put 'overeating tendencies' rather than 'gluttony'. Food is security, I am insecure, therefore I eat. It's not healthy in any sense of the word. But I like to avoid saying any of those scary words; I like confessing in a roundabout, awkward, formal kind of way. That way I don't have to outright say the words 'lied', 'lusted', 'stole', 'insulted'. Lent doesn't do roundabout, formal, glossed-over, sugar-powdered things. Lent cuts to the chase and can be quite rude about it. I'd much rather be vague, and noncommittal, too, if I can help it. I don't want to make goals or, you know, try hard.

3.) Lent robs me blind.
Vending machines aren't bad in and of themselves; Pemberley Digital is excellent; dessert is good (and don't you dare tell me otherwise); tea is lifeblood itself. But sometimes (often) I prefer convenience, comfort, and entertainment to virtue, love, and, er, Jesus. When I don't have social media platforms, caffeinated beverages, television shows, or certain kinds of music, I have to- gasp, shocker- turn to Jesus for company, life, advice, and help. And after forty days, I will be more appreciative of Orange Pekoe, cake, and Twitter, but... in between times, I won't have any of that to distract me from Jesus, and that's scary. Now, all those things are good. But He is more. Only, why would I take more when I can have less and have it my way? Better to just keep on the path of mediocrity than risk getting my little heart cracked. Or shattered.

That's why I don't like Lent.
But it's also why I need it.
Rats.

Love,
Grace

Friday, January 30, 2015

What Would I Say? {volume ii}

What do you do when it's late and you're tired? You distort your own Facebook information for the purposes of comedy.
I did it again. Here is what the computer thinks I'd post on Facebook, and the commentary on it's accuracy, or total lack thereof. I'm telling you, I'm not quite this wacky.

Found a shirt with the neighbour kid. 
Well, er, good?

Looks like there's a Yorkshire Gold Blend in *theory*...
Theories, unfortunately, do not usually contain caffeine. I prefer Yorkshire Gold in practice.

Tea is pain itself good, noble, heroic character.
Tea is pain itself, yet has, at the same time, a good, noble, and heroic character.
I give up.

Sad that her years pounding the unpardonable. Faith means something much more than bad beer with one's friends. #siblingquotes
I agree. Faith means something much more than bad beer with one's friends. Only I don't even drink, so how this came about is a little weird.

That's offensive to 'brighten, brighten, brighten' our dislike of people hating fictional characters, and your father smelt of elderberries!
Who's getting offensive now?!

Oh well, what's with it...
What's with it, indeed?

Holiness is not something I'd recommend. Not because of the woods.
Don't listen to me. Please, by all means, pursue holiness. Ignore the woods.

Obviously I was thinking.
Sure doesn't look like it.

It isn't even February, here are the flavour of law being conducted over his gang with him silver and gold Ha, told you say Janeites will either love with my husband, nothing else would we remember that Launcelot begot Galahad during his Hunger Games persona.
This is HG/Knights of the Round Table fiction with Jane Austen thrown in for the fun of it. Also, apparently I have a husband that Janeites love. This is news to me. I don't even remember the wedding.

I loved as I like.
I DON'T EVEN KNOW MYSELF ANYMORE!!

Well, I'm adding more similarities between batches of barbarism.
Whoops. I apologize for the barbarism.

I loved Christian lit nerd.
Ironically, I have rather a tendency to develop crushes on Christian lit nerds. Who'd've thought, eh?
Pretty sparky songs and prayers to the same. I was a jolly, happy soul! With a testosteronal two-year old who is on my own.
Uh, I suppose the two-year-old came from the surprise Janeite husband? It's like I have a wild side so secret that I don't even know about it.
Let's see who REALLY scares me. Yeah. The knife. Oh, I thought the English.
The thing is that I'm English, at least partly, so my own grandmother scares me? What a knife is doing there I have no idea.

Eating mint icecream, mint & FRIENDSHIP.
Oooookaaaaay...

THIS DRATTED ENGLISH
I actually remember where this one came from. Last major English project, last Exam Season. Two all-nighters in a row, sixteen pages in all, no time to edit, still managed to pass, then wept over the studying for finals because high school is supposed to be the best time of your life. Ha.

Packed the wrong things.
Oh, how most of us (I think) can relate.

 Ah, the GOLDEN wheat, home of the Redemption.
The only time I think I'd ever talk about golden wheat in all upper-case letters would be if I were talking about Saskatchewan, which is beautiful, but I don't know if it's reached Home of the Redemption status. What does that even mean?

The moral of the story is that you shouldn't add me on Facebook.

Love you,
Grace

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

"But parenting is hard!" is Not an Excuse

*Please note that this post is not to target any specific person(s), and that I am not trying to write off all parents as terrible. You might also like to know that as I type this, I'm very angry, and it's a little hard to be civil at the moment- not that incivility will be excusable, but just as a forewarning. Love ya. 
I am not a psychologist, I have no kids of my own; and I can see how a post such as this would therefore offend some. I'm sorry about that. However, it's come to my attention that a lot of the people I grew up with were more mature on many occasions, as children, then their parents were. And every single time myself or one of my siblings has complained about our treatment, we have been met with, "But parenting is hard!" and, "Wait until you have kids- then you'll understand."
Remember that children and teenagers are people with valid thoughts and feelings, and parents aren't always good parents. 
This is also not to shame any parent(s). I don't want to make you feel stressed or guilty. I'm sure you're trying your utmost, and I'm proud of you for that; thank you for your effort to raise your children well. Stay strong, beauties, because you can do this. I'm praying for you. Love, &c.

Being a parent is hard.
I know it is. I'm sure it is. Not because I'm a parent myself, but because (a) nobody ever shuts up about how difficult it is to be a mum/dad, at least not much in the circles I travel in, (b) I'm a big sister, so I have done some childcare and know how taxing it can be- not that having washed babies, done kids' laundry, given the occasional what-for, read bedtime stories, and took the littles clothes-shopping for fancy-schmancy things to wear to their holiday recital at all makes me a parent. Not at all. There are so many aspects to parenthood that I have no experience with, and it blows my mind how many parents can take care of their kids through all sorts of hardships and still be great parents, and kudos to them! In fact, I know some. Some of my relatives are loving, good, respectful, selfless people who raise their children very well, despite having stressful, busy, and difficult lives. That's amazing, it's beautiful, and I'm grateful for it. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the good parents of the world.
Yet at the same time, Parental Infallibility is not a thing. I don't mean that to mean Parental Perfection, because I'm sure there is no such thing. Parental Infallibility, if you will, is the assertion that because being a parent is difficult, anything a parent does can be written off as a human response to all the stress. Of course every parent is going to have bad days. Of course parenting is difficult. Of course stress piles up. Of course tempers are lost. But there is a line, and once it is crossed, "parenting is hard" cannot be an excuse for you, dear parents of the world, to treat your child however you want.
Case in point: you may be angry. Oh, honey, you may be unspeakably mad. Your offspring may be driving you nuts, and maybe they seem to quite enjoy it. But they are still human beings, and still need your love and- gasp!- respect. They are more likely to follow your example than they are to follow your advice, and maybe you don't know that it can actually hurt so badly when you say things like, "Can we send them back?" or state that you wish they were never born, or that you were never born, or that they should be slapped, hit, or shot.
Crying, or even occasionally shouting, does not make you an abusive parent. Threatening to injure or kill your child does. Expecting your child to obey reasonable requests (do their chores, be in by curfew, etcetera) does not make you an abusive parent. Reading their journals, stealing their mail, and treating them as a personal servant who needs to drop everything, even actually important things, to do trivial tasks for you does. Telling your child when they have behaved inappropriately, and disciplining them appropriately, does not make you an abusive parent. Mocking, ridiculing, insulting, and humiliating them does. Teaching your child about Faith does not make you an abusive parent, even when you teach them hard truths about your Faith. But it is abusive to use the truths of heaven and hell to achieve your own ends through manipulation and threats. [For more on emotional abuse, I put a little information here.]
There are some things you should not do or say to your children. You teach them by example and you shape their views of acceptable behaviour by what is accepted in your own home. In order to be respectable, you must first be shown respect.

Now go, and be great parents. Because you can be. You got this, fabulous.

Love and prayers,
Grace


Here You Go, Sacred Heart

Today wasn't a good day.
I woke up feeling nauseous. And not even I-have-to-talk-to-people nauseous (all y'all with social anxiety understand), but I'm-going-to-throw-up nauseous (and on top of that, my skin evidently forgot I'm no longer twelve years old and there were two very annoying bright-red pimples on my forehead. Thanks, body.). And, look, a lot of work to do. Now, that's not fantastic, but it's not the worst that can happen. What it did do was put me in a bit of an irritable mood, and then when the trouble started, it was all down hill from there. My Ma was having a Bad Day, my little brother was home sick, and my big brother was also home. Anyway, she decided that if I was doing work from home, I should do it where she could be seeing me, rather than in my own space. I told her that I'd rather not. I don't work well when I'm being watched, and she isn't even supposed to be allowed in my room, nor bothering me when I'm getting stuff done (that rule wasn't put down by me, by the way, but by Those in Authority That My Mother Must Hearken To For the Safety and General Well-Being of Those of Her Offspring Still Abiding in Her House). This made her mad. She in turn called my father at work, who asked to speak to me, when I found out that he had made arrangements that directly concerned me without feeling the need to tell- much less consult- me beforehand. They do this all the time, and usually it doesn't make me too mad. But then suddenly some of my things were knocked over, and my doorknob was damaged (like, I couldn't open the door), and there was a lot of shouting, and she was calling me all sorts of names and accusing me of all sorts of things. I don't take shouting well. But I also can't cry in front of Ma. So I quietly leaned over my bed and cried for a little bit and prayed something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'm done."
I ate lunch with her and my brothers.She left to pick my dad up, and we gave ourselves the little talk about how she's not all right in the head, and it's not good but we can get through it, because we're cool. Then my dad got home and told me more about how everything's my fault and so on. Since then, I've been feeling unusually energetic. I even had a work out, for heaven's sake, and I hate exercising. This is being angry, only not how I usually go about it (I suppose burning superfluous calories is an improvement on my usual method of consuming superfluous calories?). I don't know why I got so angry today, when much worse has happened, and I don't know why I'm telling y'all this. Only I needed to talk to somebody. Because I still feel so darn mad. And letting things fester tends to be an bloody awful idea, loves.
In the last hour, I've remembered that beautiful quote from Blessed Mother Teresa: "Leave everything in the Sacred Heart and begin again with joy."
Yeah, sure, but certainly God's quite tired of hearing the same-old-same-old? NOPE. He can't wait to take it all. Why? He loves me/you, that's why, and unlike me and you, He knows how to take care of things. He can handle all your crap, darling. It's nothing special. It is positively piddly in comparison to Him. And that's a cliche way to end a blog post, but we'll have to get over it.

Stay strong, friends. Praying for you.

Much love,
Grace

*I apologize for complaining so much. I'm working on it. Thanks for putting up with me. Love ya. 

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Under the Influence of People: on Social Anxiety

Note: while reading, please keep in mind that this article is written from a personal viewpoint, as I don't personally know another person with social anxiety. I have attempted to stick to what I know is commonly associated with this illness, but it is possible that I have, at some point, spoken subjectively. If you have social anxiety and notice something that you know for sure isn't a trend, you could let me know, or let it slide; up to you (though you probably should let me know so I can avoid making the same mistake twice- thanks!).

#IntrovertLife

Sometimes (... often), I say something weird or stupid-sounding. Sometimes, I feel the need to explain myself a little bit- not to excuse my actions, but to cast some light on why I would say/do such a thing in the first place; this explanation usually sounds something like, "I'm sorry. I have social anxiety, so _____ is hard for me."
Until I realized that half of the people I've said this to have only a vague notion, at best, of what this type of anxiety is (social anxiety will, for purposes of brevity, be henceforth referred to as SA). So, because I'm just a wee bit frustrated, I thought I'd put in my meager two cents on SA. This is not about the science of anxiety; mostly because, when you go to therapy with a family member, the therapist will explain the science to them and from then on, it's a stream of, "Oh, I see you're feeling anxious; the amygdala and blah-blah-blah; here, have your pills, and everything will be okay, because SCIENCE!"
I am not trying to write off understanding the scientific aspect of mental illness as unnecessary; quite to the contrary, I think it should be more commonly known, and knowing how one's brain works is very valuable, indeed (I have a lovely packet of information about all that lying somewhere beneath the teetering stacks of unsorted papers on my desk). However, this post will be more about how it feels to have SA (and here I am so tempted to write, "because FEELINGS"), for the purposes of empathy, and also a bit of rambling on dealing with it and treating people with SA nicely.
By definition, SA is the fear of being negatively judged or perceived by others to the point where one avoids human interaction for that reason (even in small areas that most people 'grow out of'- being scared to order one's food at restaurants, for example). It can also manifest itself physically, in blushing, sweating, shaking, and stomach sickness/diarrhea. This anxiety comes about wherever/whenever there's the possibility of being embarrassed, humiliated, or, at the most basic level, simply observed. And with this fear comes... overthinking.
Overthinking everything that anyone ever says to you to the point where you have dissected your entire conversation and put it back together in a form completely different from the original. I like to think of it as a Mind Palace of Sherlock proportions, only not so much one of fact, but one of speculations- and, of course, feeling all the corresponding emotions of those speculations.
On good days, this can just be a feeling of, "I'm sick and tired of people and I want them to go away." Other times, it can be a feeling of, "I've destroyed everything and I'm going to be forever alone."



Now, obviously, this isn't terribly fun. There are few possibilities, however outlandish or improbable, that your brain will not entertain, and everywhere you go, you feel like a burden or nuisance; you feel certain that everyone is out to get you, considers you obnoxious, and would like nothing better than for you to go away. Making new acquaintances looks something like this (again, this may be subjective; people go about living with anxiety in different ways):
1.) You analyze their behaviour, moulding yours to fit it.
2.) You think that you'll probably never see them again, and look on the conversation as the last lap of a Track & Field event, willing it to end as you work harder to succeed at being a nice, normal, non-burdensome, well-received person.
3.) They seem to find you likable or amusing. They compliment you. They laugh at your joke. You immediately get excited and might start grinning and sweating like a fool, because man, you're okay! Phew.
4.) You overthink your conversation for hours and days following, feeling both bubbly-happy and miserably anxious in turns. You try to strike a balance and not obsess over them.
5.) You don't see them for quite some time, or they have a bad day and snap at you. You draw the conclusion that you have done something terrible and that they hate you.
6.) You desperately want to know how they feel about you, but cannot ask, "Are we cool?" because what if nothing was wrong, in the first place?!

Not to mention the regrets. I'm sure there are people who've gotten over the stupid stuff they said in 2008, and moved on, but I am not one of them. I remember a dumb message I sent a friend two years ago that has since been long forgotten by her, and feel like hiding from the world for the rest of my life in a remote cabin on some distant mountain-range.


You look at me, I automatically assume you're doing this. Such is
the socially-anxious response to human attention.

Please keep in mind that this is a real mental illness, and isn't exactly easy to deal with. My system of handling it, for your benefit, has been broken into two sections: what worked, and what does not. To get the worst over with, here is what doesn't work in my current system of navigating a social life with SA:

  • Pretending hints don't exist. My brain has a tendency to take most things said to me and interpret them as all being nuanced messages with double-meanings. As most things said to me are tolerably straight-forward, this leads to sometimes making unwelcome assumptions about relationships ("He said he liked my hair, so either he plans to murder me or marry me; which is it going to be?!"), which, while I don't say them aloud for purposes of making the impression of sanity, leads to thoughts and feelings which are complicated and unrealistic and mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting. To avoid this, I have been pretending that hints, double-meanings, and the like are nonexistent. This doesn't work, because occasionally people will speak in teasing, sarcastic, or hinting ways, and then I get the wrong message, too. So it's an endless cycle of misunderstanding. Not recommended. Find the radical middle. 
  • Apologizing unnecessarily. Rose tells me that the only time I'm ever obnoxious is when I spend ten minutes apologizing for being obnoxious. I'm working on it, but on the other hand, I expect more apologies than I get, so it's hard to know where to draw the line between 'polite' and 'annoying'. Bear with me, people to whom I apologize too often. 
Now, here is what has worked:

  • Take a distraction with you. Anxiety builds in waiting-rooms, preparing for social interaction with a doctor, dentist, elderly nail-painting lady, headmaster, or what have you. If you're going to be in a place where reading or playing on your phone will not be considered rude, then for heaven's sake, take a book or device with you
  • Accept the fact that your best days may include little-to-no social interaction. This is okay, and you should give yourself these days.
  • Try to distinguish between necessary complaints and unnecessary complaints. Because we hate to inconvenience/displease others or be embarrassed/disliked to the point where we fear it at sometimes almost-agoraphobic levels, every personal complaint can seem unnecessary. "I'm fine." "I'm okay." "Anything you want." "Doesn't matter to me." These are all very well and good, but when it does matter to you, and when you are not okay, and when your needs aren't being met in work, relationships, or so on, saying so is ultimately beneficial for all concerned, because nobody is feeling burned-out or unappreciated. COMMUNICATE. It can feel awful during, but, like Confession, you'll be much better off afterwards. The awkwardness is worth it. 
  • Have non-negotiables. People have lists of non-negotiable things for their future spouses; have some for yourself. While these may seem like obvious things to resolve upon, it's crazy how tempting it can be to do things for the sake of being a liked, normal, non-embarrassed, non-burdensome, and not considered in any way detrimental to the group. Having non-negotiable standards for oneself is helpful, and, to that degree, your character and personality don't completely mold itself to blend, unobserved and not-disliked, into your current company. 
  • Strict, timed schedules: bad idea. Schedules aren't always unavoidable, but be a little looser in your planning, if need be. A strict schedule is murder on anxiety, and though I'm sure some people can make it work, there's no shame in not being one of those people just as there is no shame in being able to thrive on a timetable. 
And now, if you know someone with SA and aren't sure if there's, like, a manifesto on how to treat them, here are some suggestions:

  • If you have to call us out on something, don't do so in public, please. 
  • Understand that it would be difficult to be harder on us than we are on ourselves, so just be gentle, m'kay? Not that you can't tease a friend with SA [note: when I say teasing, I mean respectful, playful teasing that the person it is directed at does not have a problem with], but if it's something serious, don't make a person feel you're angry at them when you aren't.
  • We do not appreciate you unnecessarily getting others to give us attention as you'd think. You, yelling out our names in public, even if you mean it in a friendly way? Please don't. Waving your arms or violently gesticulating to catch our eyes in public? Kindly desist. Anything that could cause people to stare at us is probably not your best plan, so if you would refrain, that would be great. We do not want to be proposed to by dancing flash-mob (because that apparently actually happens), zeroed-in to sing karaoke at an after-party, or anything that would cause us to be the center of attention without having time to mentally prepare for that ordeal. Then we still won't like giving an address or showing a presentation (even just to a room of pale, tired classmates at nine-in-the-morning when half of you only just got out of bed, and shuffled into the room with unwashed hair and lukewarm mocha in plastic water-bottles... those were the days), but at least we'll know it's coming. What would be better? If anxious people weren't made to make presentations or forced into public speaking, because (a) people who are physically sick or injured aren't made to participate in PE class, and (b) we can become physically sick from anxiety, and I hope that isn't something you'd wish on a pupil on top of their mental health issues. People have missed literally weeks of school because of just one public speaking assignment, because the fear of it or anxiety once it's over causes violent stomach sickness in many cases. It isn't 'butterflies'. It's vomiting, crying, and shaking.
  • Please also understand that we probably mean no offense to you when we so easily come to the conclusion that you have some problem with us. It's not that we think you're a horrible person; it's just that we automatically think the worst of ourselves, and that, of course, affects how we think and feel towards others. 
  • Anything that you may think is just, "Dad's tough love" that consists of embarrassing your offspring? That frays nerves like nobody's business. 
So, that is my experience/some other things about social anxiety. So if I ever assume that you're angry at me and you don't think you've done anything to make me think that, you might not have. I just feel like you have. I'm working on it, I'm sorry if I've offended you, and you are fabulous.

Much love,
G


*all pictures via Google Images

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

What Would I Say? {my findings with GraceBot}

There is a website (what-would-i-say.com) that generates fake Facebook statuses based on previous Facebook information, supposedly sounding like things you'd actually post by piecing together snippets of old statuses. I tried it out and here, for the purposes of humour, is what the computer thinks I would post on Facebook.
The most obvious differentiation between a Catholic soldiergirl. 
What are we differing from- wait, yay Catholic soldiergirls! Saint Joan of Arc, pray for us!

No decent relationship works like a roasted pumpkin.  
That's offensive towards roasted pumpkin.

And I couldn’t share the Eucharist with my ongoing personal crisis of submission, she looked like cad + fail.
Well, I wasn't aware I had an ongoing personal crisis of submission. (Sass, yes, but I was unaware it had reached crisis stage). What troubles me the most is that I was, for some reason, unable to share the Eucharist.
But, whoever 'she' is: the fact that you failed at being a cad has something positive to say about your moral fiber.

We are not caught up in order.
Oh, dear. We are in trouble.

I'm a real jerk, because I'm done now.
 Gee. Thanks, Facebook; you're so confident in my virtue.

Fish without chips on pipe and nods seriously at me this morning and the next, everybody's DEAD.
What are the chipless fish smoking in that pipe? And why is everybody dead? This is like a thriller!

 Some friends AND giant statues of time, nor the tea is one of ours, the dishonest men would get done now.
Aw, why isn't the tea one of ours?

 That'll be awkward, old chap, because I'm going to kill all nine but I don't ripen until the muffins in which books are y'all planning to read two.
Um, the Nine? From LOTR? And muffins ripen? Which two are we planning to read?! Ermagherd, this causes such confusion!

They the ones or, Heaven forbid, yellow are the next time you a man is why you DON'T be less than a murderer; you might have to storm the castle with 'u' isn't actually look like that?
Yeah, man, why aren't you less than a murderer? (Gosh, this stuff is getting really dark...).

We need Saints who are murdered en route to wear red and white and watch Romeo saying, "Woe is me!"
Yes, we definitely need these kinds of martyrs in the Church. (Er, Facebook friends, am I really this creepy? It seems that I talk about death a lot... awkward.).

The most eccentric Social Studies test.
Rats, I never got to take that one in school. 

Somehow this isn't in my WAITING TWELVE YEARS OF age, I would have four kinds, in finer emotions, so we didn't have this day.
Why did we have this day?! Why, world, why?! Because whatever my current kind is, it had no finer emotions. It couldn't understand me. (To clarify, it's been a while since I've been twelve years of age). 

Really, this wicked world of Yorkshire Blend.

I love Yorkshire Blend. What are you talking about...

So this wicked world of ours, the dishonest men did you as FRIENDS, can also cook.
It's nice to know my dishonest friends can cook. Now, who are they?

So this odd bruise on at 300 AM and I regret nothing!
... I got nothin'.
 Saint Brendan sailing to the front door in a bad light and I belong in culf.
I forget what 'culf' is, but let's hope it doesn't make my prude side faint. Wouldn't object to a Saint sailing to my door, if only I lived near a body of water fit for sailing... sorry.

If you have used this and have amusing results, do tell. We could all do with a laugh. :)

Praying for you always,
Grace

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Sunday, January 11, 2015

13 Just as Awkward Situations in the Life of the Hard-Core TOB Nerd

It's apparently a season of sequels. We've had a whole series of Q&A, 23 More Things Catholic Girls Love, and here's a follow-up to this post. Because, people, let's face it: there are a whole lot more than just thirteen awkward instances in a TOB Nerd's life. Also, I think it's been too long since we've been Just The Awkwardest over here.

1.) When you're caught with an actual copy of TOB and must explain yourself.
"Hey, what are you reading?"
"Um... the pope."
"Oh, what's it about?"
"..."



2.) When a close friend blurts out your awkward interests surrounding human sexuality at the worst possible moment.
Oh, I was trying to make a good impression, but no, I don't mind at all that you mentioned my enthusiasm for NFP or my opinions on sex-ed curriculum. Not. At. All. Please, do continue while I just crawl under the nearest piece of furniture and hide from the world for the next ten years or so.



3.) Knowing some, er, interesting facts about the opposite gender's bodily functions that sometimes slip out accidentally.
"Believe you me, I don't know that because of... I was just reading something, and... what was I reading? Uh, well, you see-"



4.) Realizing how much you think about your possible future marriage... and it's scary.



5.) Getting just a little bit passionate when reacting to birth-control commercials.
Literally, do you realize all the ways that 'medication' is putting you at risk?! *knocks over Doritos in angst*


6.) Giving relationship advice to friends who don't practice chastity with even more passion than you used when complaining about the contraception ads.



7.) Realizing that your passion mayn't be doing the job, and also that passionate intemperance is just what you're trying to discourage... oops.
Yeah, unthinkingly devouring that chastity book in a spirit of emotional gluttony was kind of against the point.



8.) Posting an awkward article on Facebook without thinking, and majorly weirding out everyone you went to school with.
Oh, yeah, that was a bad idea. Shiz.


9.) When your family is discussing 'adult stuff', and you think you have some important information you could contribute, but they might get the wrong idea...



10.) Your check-out pile at the bookstore. You know the cashier is giving you that look.
... you realize I'm planning to read all these over a long period of time, right?


11.) When the doctor offers you contraception.




12.) When your peers think you're entirely bonkers for trying to avoid occasion for sexual immorality.
Because I know what will be going down, I'm not going to the party; I'm staying in to watch Downton Abbey. (Actually, I'd be doing that even if this party was completely appropriate and all you did was eat crisps and play cards. #IntroversionIsCute #VeniAdMeFra).



13.) Finding another TOB Nerd and watching as the conversation automatically escalates into that which would make a sheltered young person's face burn. 
Hey, that sounds a little like this blog. And now that I've said that, let's forget it.


Previous Rambles