There have been many things that God allowed to come and go in my life—or never permitted me to have at all—for whatever his purposes are. I haven’t always had the money to do what I want. I haven’t always had a job that I liked (or a job at all). I love cats, but I can’t keep any or barely even pet them because of my terrible allergies. I haven’t traveled everywhere I want to go yet. I have never had a serious romantic relationship. I have struggled with my speech (in more ways than one), I have struggled with secret sins, I have struggled with my pride. I haven’t always had the same friends, or always been as close to them.

But since I fully stepped into adult life, God has always, always given me an incredible church.

Right after college, when I had to re-find myself (and find a job) and adjust to life outside the Hillsdale Bubble, I began attending CedarCreek Church. This was the first church I felt really connected to, that I felt was mine. At CedarCreek, I met people, I did some volunteering, I heard some challenging teaching, and I joined a small group. At that time, God also fed me with other relationships and activities outside of the church that helped me prepare for what was next. When I answered God’s call to move on, to go to DC, I was so sad to be leaving that church, especially because everything else, including where I was going to live and work, was unknown. At least I had a church in mind…

But as it happened, that was not the place for me. But he brought me pretty quickly to the right place, McLean Bible Church, even if it took me a while to get settled into it. I could say I “blossomed” at that church, but it was more like an explosion: small groups, a mission trip, joining a choir, forming new relationships, group classes and Bible studies, and again hearing challenging, encouraging teaching. I had some intense joys and some serious heartaches through that church and the people I met and the activities I joined. I attended for nearly a year before I started to get seriously involved (about the time of the mission trip), but there was no doubt that this was the place I was supposed to be.

When I felt God calling me back to Ohio, I knew immediately that leaving MBC would be the most difficult change. I knew just as well that because he was in charge of this, and he was initiating this transition, he was going to provide me with Christian community wherever I would stay. Even though this was the most important part of moving to Columbus, it was also what I was least worried about. In fact, after Christen took me to many places for “church shopping,” I faced too much choice. But in September I committed to going to Vineyard Columbus, the first place I visited.

And that is where I will stay for the foreseeable future.* In fact, I became a member mere months after beginning to attend! I am trying to get involved in volunteering/service work, and I joined a small group, and Zumba class through the community center, and I’m getting more relaxed about attending non-regular services and social events, like the Newcomer’s Dinner and the Ash Wednesday service. Unlike MBC, I don’t care much for the young-adult services and ministry, mostly because I feel like I’ve “outgrown” it and belong with the general church population. I still attend a lot of services by myself, but faces are becoming familiar, and it’s feeling like home. And last night I had a few girls from my small group over for snacks and chats, and I felt overwhelmingly grateful for what God has brought to my life and how he has provided for me every (agonizing) step of the way.

I just wish I could be so trusting with other areas of my life … !

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I’m not saying I have it all together. I’m not saying God must like me more than other people who haven’t had great experiences with churches. I don’t know why he gives certain things to some people but not to others.  Maybe you think God doesn’t care if you don’t see him giving you what you think you need. But if you start thinking about the ways God has provided for you, you might become overwhelmed—in a good way.

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* Every time I use the phrase “for the foreseeable future,” I quote the Dowager Countess of Downton Abbey in my head: “No one can foresee the future, doctor. Not you, not I, and certainly not Mrs. Crawley!”

Reblogged from Organic News Net:

The GOP establishment has resorted to vote fraud in almost every state Paul Joseph Watson Infowars.com Wednesday, February 22, 2012 Despite his runaway success in terms of straw poll victories, campaign contributions and grass roots energy, a plethora of evidence strongly indicates that Ron Paul is being cheated out of winning any of the Republican caucuses, with the GOP establishment desperate to prevent the Texan Congressman from building any kind of momentum that the likes of Newt Gingrich and Rick …

A friend of mine posted the link to this on Facebook. Although I’m a Ron Paul fan without a doubt, I’ve been very politically apathetic over the past few months. I’m disgusted with both sides to the point that I can’t even deal with keeping track of debates and all that anymore. This may help me start catching up.

I was able to get my savings bonds cashed at Chase, which helped take a bit of the edge off the financial burden of two new computers, and my mom said she’d help me a little, too. Once I started thinking of it, I got a weird feeling about having cashed the last of the savings bonds I inherited from my grandmother. I’ve been cashing an average of one or two each year since I graduated from college. They helped me get by in some of my most dire times, but I have a feeling that it isn’t what she would have wanted me to use the bonds for. But then, I don’t know what she would have expected, so …

Aside from the little (really quite crappy, actually) netbook I’m using right now, I also ordered a refurbished Macbook Pro. It wasn’t until I was looking for one that I realized that Apple doesn’t even sell new models of plain “Macbooks” anymore (i.e., neither Air nor Pro). Obviously, I’m not such an Apple fan that I pay very close attention to their product lines.

Since my old computer would have cost lots to fix, and I had already been considering a new one already, I figured I might as well just get another Mac. Plus, my friend Micah pointed out that if just-Macbooks are discontinued, it could be harder/more expensive to get them fixed in the future. So I’m getting a Pro, and it’s on its way.

Which brings me to the question of what to do with my old computer. Even though it was backed up, all my original data is still on it—web history, photos, music, and by the way, every draft of my novel. I’d be willing to sell it for salvaged parts, which someone recommended, but I can’t even turn it on to wipe everything. So I’m not sure what to do about that. I’ll be looking around at my options there, and if anyone has any ideas, feel free to share in the comments.

So that’s that. Sorry for the dull post. I expect to have some more interesting stuff soon-ish.

Most of the wine ended up on my comforter (I was sitting on my bed, watching a movie). After I had run back and forth between my bedroom and the kitchen to get towels of both paper and cloth, saying “Ohshitohshitohshit” over and over, I thought I had gotten the worst of it. Of course, the keys were a little sticky, but everything seemed to be running normally. Just to check, I shut down my computer, but when I tried to turn it back on, a few of the keys weren’t working and I couldn’t type in my password. (Even though I live alone, I keep my computer password-protected in case Dr. House or Sherlock Holmes break in to investigate something.) So I shut down the computer again and attempted to prise up a few keys to clean underneath them, and everything looked fine.

I’m not good with the mechanical aspect of computers, OK? Mock me if you must, but there it is.

After a few more attempts, I managed to get onto my computer, only to find out that the delete/backspace key, the up/down keys, the “tap-to-click” aspect of the trackpad, the spacebar, and sometimes the “o” key were not working. Being the incredibly responsible idiot that I am, I managed to type out an email to my boss, using hyphens instead of spaces to ease his reading, just to tell him that my only computer was currently out of commission, and I had forgotten to ask if the office was even going to be open on President’s Day, but I’d call in the morning just to check, and would he pass on the information to the other editors I work with? The end result looked like I was reciting the email in monotone all in one breath, and that I was drunk out of my mind (I wasn’t … I had spilled my only alcoholic beverage of the day, and I had consumed only half of it).

As soon as I sent the email, everything started working again, except for the part about the trackpad, FOR NO REASON. NO REASON AT ALL. A miracle? I guess so!

So I had to send him another email to say, “Hey, it looks like my computer is randomly working again! I’ll keep you updated!”

Then I scheduled an appointment for the following afternoon with the good people at the Apple store. (And you can imagine how thrilled I was about that.)

So I put my computer to sleep, and then put myself to sleep.

I had bothersome dreams and woke up before 6 am. I opened my laptop, and … nothing. No response—not to button-pushing, not to computer-shaking, not to undignified begging. To quote Blackadder, I was “up a certain creek, without a certain instrument.”

After a call to my boss at about 6:30 (why yes, the office would be open! If it had been closed on President’s Day, that would have made things easier for me, AND YOU KNOW WE CAN’T HAVE THAT!!!!!!!) and a text-message-sent appeal to Facebook, I had obtained the use of Bethany’s computer for the day and use of a computer at Christen’s house for the next day. A little later, I decided that it might be best if I bought a little netbook just for work purposes, since all I need for work is internet/wifi, speedy typing, and some sort of word-processing software.

But I still want to have a Mac. Especially since I had backed up my computer right before it went to hell and I can only restore that crap on another Mac.

The thing is, I CAN afford another computer. Heck, probably two. But I’d rather use the money to 1. pay for inevitable car repairs (and a whole new car a few years from now, since mine has 100,000 miles on it), 2. take French lessons, 3. buy a house someday, 4. pay for independent publishing/marketing expenses, and 5. GO TO ENGLAND WITHIN THIS DECADE.

Ah, but I had some ways to soften the blow financially. I gathered up the last of the savings bonds my grandmother had given me, determined to find a bank that would cash them for a non-accountholder. I called a local bank that was open, and the woman on the line said that I did not need an account, but just needed two forms of ID. Fantastic!

I got to the bank, and I waited in line, only to find out that I did need an account with them for them to cash my savings bonds.

(And FYI, I have learned the hard way that no matter where you go, when you cash a savings bond, people act like you’re a five-year-old child emptying out your piggy bank.)

Who had I talked to? Was I sure I had called that bank?

I DON’T KNOW. AND YES.

And so, one of my cash-raising plans had to be put on the back-burner until regular banking hours. And several phone calls, presumably.

After some online browsing, I decided to take the plunge and buy a teensy netbook for $300 that I could pick up that very same day. I am not posting details because if anybody who knows more about computers than I do stumbles across this blog, I don’t want to get any comments about what a horrible mistake I made in my purchase.

I picked up the new netbook right before I took my old computer to the Apple store. Oh, good times. Actually, it wasn’t a bad experience. The guy was nice, and not condescending. I was honest and told him that I was an accident-prone idiot who spilled wine on her computer, and now I couldn’t turn it on and I wanted to know how bad the damage was. He was pleased to know that I had backed up everything right before it died, so I think that gave me a leg up in terms of not being treated like an idiot customer—but being patient and nice also seems to work, too, I’ve noticed.

Repairs through Apple, no surprise, would be costly to the point of … well, pointless, and I might as well get a new computer. I took his references to some other repair places that might be cheaper, but have since decided “screw it” and I’m just getting a new Mac. I had already intended to do so relatively soon ANYWAY — these just weren’t the circumstances I wanted to be in when I did.

To recap: It was a shitty, shitty day. But at least I have something to do my job on now.

Moving expenses in 2010 and 2011, car expenses in 2011, and now computer expenses in 2012. I am never, ever gonna get to go back to England.

Looks like I may have to take my cues from Blackadder after all.

But I couldn’t. I tried to talk to the kookaburra, and he made some good faces at me, but it was so humid in the Australian aviary that my camera lens kept fogging up. I got the red panda to look at me, though, but the koala wouldn’t give me the time of day.

Red Panda

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. . .

I’m a sucker for a good pair of eyes … apparently in leopards as well as men?

It can see into my soul ... right before it eats me.

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Blaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh

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It's nice when the animals POSE for me

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There's something about this Burmese Python that looks "old mannish"

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"Here's what I think of ALL OF YOU."

I was out running errands just now, and pulled into the parking lot of my credit union to do some banking-type stuff. There I was, sitting in my car, fiddling with my iPod before I got out. I look up to see this guy walk out of the credit union, opening his mouth really, really wide. Now, I thought he was yawning, but it looked like his jaw had dropped in astonishment. And he was looking toward my car at the same time.

As I said, I get paranoid about car-related things, so I immediately thought, “Oh, crap, have I been driving with a flat tire all this time? Is there evidence of a hit and run on my car? Did someone spray-paint ‘BITCH’ on it, and I somehow didn’t notice when I got IN my car?”

By the way, this guy was cute. Yes, that is vital to the story.

So I’m sitting in my car, and this guy ambles across the lot, gets into his car, pulls out of his spot, and is about to drive away. Meanwhile, deep in the depths of paranoia, of course, I’m kind of watching him — doing the super-smooth glancing-toward-then-quickly-away-repeatedly thing. As he’s pulling out, though, he slows down, stops behind my car, and taps his horn, kind of grinning.

Of course, I thought, “Oh, DAMMIT, I TOTALLY HAVE A FLAT.”

Once he had left, I finally got out of my car to look before going inside the credit union, and I saw … nothing. I mean, the car was rather dirty, but nothing looked awry.

Now, I did wonder, “Does this guy actually think I am so jaw-droppingly sexy that he stared and gaped and honked at me (while smiling)?” But I was IN MY CAR. With SUNGLASSES ON. He might have been able to see my hair, but … that was it.

Joy has suggested that maybe instead of thinking that there was something wrong with my car or that I was super-sexy, that he just had never seen a Honda Civic before, and was flabbergasted. Or maybe he was astonished at HOW dirty my car is. She also suggested, ”He was yawning and thought that was a good way for his mouth to be so he left it.” Of course, that doesn’t explain the honking … Or maybe he was a vampire who was so astonished that he was able to go outside in the sunlight, he wanted to share his delight with everyone.

Any other ideas?

I left with two new pairs of jeans, but I had to vent about the experience. Fortunately, Joy was online.

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me: OK, a shopping lesson for you…

Joy: oh! okay
i am sitting up with my ears perked attentively. somehow.

me: I love, love, love the jeans at New York & Company. They are quality, and look good when you get the right fit.
HOWEVER. Getting the right fit is insane.
DO NOT order them online.

Joy: yeah, that sounds a bad plan

me: I just bought … let’s see….
“Curvy low-rise bootcut” in a size 16 (yeah, I’m fat, WHAT OF IT?)

Image from nyandcompany.com (click on the image to purchase)

…

But I got just “low-rise bootcut” in a size 14
And I tried on a pair of “trouser” jeans in a size 14, and they were too big.

Image by nyandcompany.com (click on image to purchase)

Joy: man. sizes are bizarre

me: ALL WITHIN THE SAME STORE

Joy: WHAT THE HELL.
i have a proposal for the technologically-minded:

me: But on the website, the “size chart” has the same measurements for ALL PANTS.
So even if you go by your measurements, you might still be wrong.

Joy: what. the. heck.
okay, so this is my idea
that they have a box
somewhat like a fitting room, but outfitted with low-intensity lasers, or similar
such that the lasers figure out the dimensions of not just your waist, but your entire leg/hips/butt/waist situation
forming a 3-D model
then, instead of wasting your time with “sizes” which always vary
the store would have it hooked up to a system for their pants
saying “well, these pants over here should work with that particular Dimension Situation.”

me: Haha I like that. Maybe in …
THE FUTURE.

Joy: yesss

me: Mind if I blog this conversation?

Joy: hahah, do it
maybe note that this is our invention, patent pending
or whatnot

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Overall, the whole experience reminded me quite strongly of a recent Cracked article about why women’s clothing is ridiculous.

But it’s OK. I still like the jeans I bought.

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My response was “I like that song and I like her voice, but I am MAD CRAZY IN LOVE with that music video!!!”

And now I can’t stop listening to it.

. . .

I’ve had a lot of people introduce me to some great songs in the past couple weeks. For that, I thank you all.

From Liese:

. . .

From Joy (to add to my Prostitution Playlist):

. . .

And another video I found today (thanks, Pinterst!) which I’m not posting for the song, but because it made me laugh myself silly.

Anyway, today I finished up early, determined to cure my boredom, if only for a day. Originally I had planned to go to the park and engage in some photography to familiarize myself with a camera I got for my birthday in 2010 but haven’t really used. (I have stubbornly clung to the temperamental-but-still-works-darn-well camera that I’ve had for over 6 years and is, in fact, the first digital camera I’ve ever owned.) I was very much into photography for a while, but that was yet another hobby that fell by the wayside. I may be feeling apathetic toward my writing for the time being, but darned if I’m going to let both my writing and photography go at the same time.

Instead of the park, I decided to drive down to Bexley (a whopping 15 minutes!) and explore the neighborhood a bit, practice my photography there, and possibly chill out with some coffee and a book in a cafe somewhere, and see The Artist at the Drexel Theater.

The one hitch was that it turned out to be colder and more snowy than predicted. A pretty effect, but the falling snow was very cold and very, very wet, so I was unwilling to subject my “new” camera to the elements while I took ages fiddling with the controls and buttons to get a single shot of a tree. I ended up taking some photography around Capital University, but I used my old camera.

Then I did walk around town, freezing cold, and had some coffee and read a novel that I had brought (I packed a lot of stuff for my afternoon adventures), and then went and had dinner alone and read some more, and by then it was time for the movie.

I heard good things about The Artist, but as usual, I didn’t read any reviews about it. Rumor had it that it was good, and when one of my favorite normal-people bloggers said she liked it, I decided I did want to see it. For those of you who don’t know, The Artist is a mostly-silent French film styled after the movies of the 1920s. The story, in fact, is about (fictional) silent-film star George Valentin and his response to the new “talkies.” He is played by Jean Dujardin, whom I’ve never watched on screen before, but thoroughly enjoyed. His version of 1920s-style acting is strongly reminiscent of Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain, and to me he looked like a cross between Gene Kelly and Frederic March (I’ve never been a huge fan of Kelly, to be honest, but I looooooove Frederic March). In fact, the whole beginning of The Artist reminded me of SitR. It’s hard not to be reminded, since Valentin has an obnoxious blonde co-star who hates him and he hits it off with a fan-turned-film-extra. Speaking of the fan, their meet-cute is done all in 1920s-style hammy goodness, and it works. The hamminess wears off as the plot gets more serious, so it evolves with the story’s timeline and becomes more a 1930s style movie by the end. The film extra, who becomes a major film star who eclipses even Valentin, is Peppy Miller, played by Bérénice Bejo. I’ve never seen her in anything else, either, but she pulled off the role very nicely and, to me, looks like a younger Mary Tyler Moore. Half the time she was on screen, I was thinking of Thoroughly Modern Millie.

One thing that annoyed me about the “look” of the film  is that they didn’t get all the 1920s styles quite right — they painted the actresses’ whole mouth, instead of doing the pouty, cupid’s-bow emphasis that most silent-film stars had. (Clara Bow is the classic example.) Of course, not everyone wore their lipstick that way, and many women did just paint their whole mouths, but I would have liked to see at least a few moments of pouty-mouth style. The other thing is that towards the end, when the story is taking place in the early 30s, everyone is still going around wearing clothes that look like they’re still in the mid-20s. I don’t know a great deal about that, though, so I could just be speaking in ignorance.

But nitpicking aside, I loved the movie. I already enjoy silent films from the 1920s (and many non-silent films of the 1930s), so I was interested to see how a modern filmmaker would approach it. The very few times that sound is used, it’s very effective. The actors were all excellent at the added physicality required in their roles, since no one would be hearing them speak. The music is also great — if there’s a soundtrack out, I may have to buy it. (OH LOOK!)

The movie did drag in a few places, simply because the plot is very simplistic, and a few things happened just because it seems they needed to happen (including some marital issues). But even in these parts, the music and the visuals were enough to hold my interest. I was so caught up in the 1920s that it was jarring to see current actors that I did recognize (Missi Pyle plays another film star, John Goodman is a producer, and James Cromwell plays Valentin’s chauffeur). The dog was cute, too — despite what I said about dogs yesterday, I have a soft spot for beagles and Jack Russels.

In short, go see The Artist if you get the chance, or rather, make the chance — but only if you are certain you can endure the movie’s lack of dialogue. I honestly don’t think it’s for everyone, but if you’re interested, do give it a shot.

And now for something completely different: A few of the pictures I did manage to take before I punked out and got too cold.

The street I parked on. I thought it was pretty.

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Statue at Capital University

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These trees are all over the campus. I don't know what they are, but the bark was interesting.

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Somewhere on the Capital University campus (See how cold it was??)

So thanks a bunch, life! You were good today.