These ARE a few of my favortie things.

As uncomfortable as it is for me to admit it, I have an annoying habit. 

Let me just start by saying that I like a lot of things. And when I like something I like it. That is the end of the story, for the most part. I don't usually change my mind. I also fall for things...fast and hard. This often leads to me saying something is "my favorite." It happens a lot. The habit has been noticed by my close friends and then mocked. I don't particularly see this habit as a problem, other than it makes me seem flighty and noncommittal. Which I am not, so now is the time for change. Unfortunately, I will still probably call things my favorite when they are not, in fact, "my favorite." It is bound to happen. However, in hopes of defining, more for myself than for someone else, just what I do consider my favorite I have compiled my short list. In no particular order.

1. Having a deeply profound conversation with a complete stranger.

2. Having borderline meaningless conversations with my best friends.

3. Damn near any shade of green you can think of.

4. Potatoes, in any known incarnation.

5. The first time I smell fall in the air, particularly after a long, hot summer. Or the first time I smell spring after winter.

6. Staying up until 4 in the morning to write because the ideas will fly away if I don't capture them on paper. 

7. The Great Gatsby by F.Scott Fitzgerald

8. Rooms filled floor to ceiling with books. Bookcases in general.

9. Fresh flowers. (Lilacs, lavender, and antique roses)

10. Helping a friend who will appreciate the gesture, not expect it.

11. Old Photographs; the idea of, in some way, connecting with people who are gone from this world.

12. Doing little things for people...just because. 

13. Music that takes me away from the moment and forces me into my own mind.

14. Campfires.

15. Beating myself at my own game.

16. People who are willing to display strong emotion.

17. Being alone, in the woods at sunrise.

18. The way I feel after taking a shower for the first time in a few days.

19. The way it feels to build (or rebuild) something with your own two hands.

20. The 1956 Jaguar Roadster. Yes, a car, I know. But look at this thing. Everything about it is sexy.

Oh, and Goodfellas has to be one of the greatest movies of all time.

What classifies someone as crazy?

What makes someone so outside of reality and normal society that they can no longer be trusted with holding up the ideals that make our society what it is? 

Because that is all crazy is, isn't it? 

Just another way of saying that that person is no longer capable of keeping up the charade? 

I don't believe myself to be crazy.

But by saying that, doesn't that make me the crazy one? 

I really would prefer not to know. You see, the truth is, no matter what someone tells me I am always going to be the person I am. I am not going to change unless I will myself to do so.

 Sure, I may learn the appropriate response and I may learn to keep my mouth shut but those thoughts and feelings that keep me in some perpetual state of gloom and paranoia are always going to be present. 

There is no treatment, only training. 

I found this on the PostSecret website this morning.

As life so often goes, I have been thinking about just this sort of thing a lot lately. I never wanted to be the type of person who would sacrifice my own happiness for the sake of someone else's. And yet that is the exact person I turned out to be. I used to believe that there was little I could do about this. That this personality was just one that I had to deal with. It was just something I had to accept. Now, I know that I don't have to and that I don't want to. 

A few years ago I tried to take my life into my own hands and moved to Austin. The first couple weeks were a whirlwind. I went to as many shows as I could, I deep-water free soloed for the first time, and I found a job working with amazing people that I came to accept as my family while I was down there. The strange thing was that in that moment, I didn't appreciate anything that I was doing. I spent all my time wanting my friends to be there with me. I wanted to share this experience with everyone I loved back home. Looking back on it, I know that this is the real reason I decided to move back. I was looking for an excuse. So, when I was faced with the decision to stay and tough it out or move back home and have a go at a relationship I had wanted so badly for years, I caved under the pressure, packed up my life and moved back home. To say I regret this decision would be, in many ways, a gross understatement. Upon my return, I discovered I wasn't really all that missed. The relationship I had returned for dissolved in a matter of moments and my friends seemed nothing but ambivalent to see me. The truth is, I felt ashamed. Even on the 14-hour drive home I knew what I was doing was the wrong thing to do. 

In the end, I suppose the decision to come back has served some sort of purpose.
But my whole point to this is that I had made most of my decisions in reaction to or in preparation for the actions and decisions of other people. I hadn't really ever taken a second to think deeply about how I was going to go about getting what I wanted or becoming who I wanted to be. Part of me probably thought the whole process would just happen through osmosis. After coming to this realization, I got beyond upset. I was livid. I didn't understand how I had allowed myself to forfeit the only true source of power I had as a person. I lashed out at the people around me and starting picking fights with some of my dearest of friends and it made me feel awful.  In my lame attempt to take back the control over my life that I thought I had lost I caused a lot of people a lot of hurt. Looking back on this, I don't know if I regret my actions so much as I regret their consequences. I know that at that time that is what needed to happen in order for me to be the person I was supposed to be. I needed that moment to lash out against the person I had been for so long. However, I do deeply regret the hurt it caused and if there was a way for me to go back and learn the same lessons without the pain of my friends as a blood ransom, I would.
After all of that, the interesting thing is, I still find myself thinking of other people's happiness, but I don't let them get in the way of me achieving what it is that I want to achieve. I still love my friends with my whole heart but will no longer allow them to make me feel like I have no voice. I know what it is that I want. I know who I want to be and in that knowledge I understand that sometimes I will have to sacrifice a relationship that I have put both time and effort into. This is a fact of life that I have learned (however begrudgingly) to accept.

Here’s an observation.

People Suck.

Concise, I know.

But allow me to illustrate my point with something thing that seems entirely unrelated.

I love Jane Austen.

Every red-blooded woman does. Reading these novels is almost treated as a right of passage. Unfortunately, my upbringing was no different. I read early and I read often. My hormone-riddled mind lusted for the tender exchanges. Crack pipe quality lusting. It was pathetic.

 However, I think the truth to why I love Jane Austen so much lies not in the striking similarities that can be drawn between her world and my own, but rather the drastic and often depressing differences. Sure, I can see bits and pieces of myself in Elizabeth Bennett and I can grasp the pain of waiting right along with Anne Elliot, but those are the types of emotions that are always going to resonate with love-starved, melodramatic, teenage-girls all over the globe. And while these things are certainly entertaining, I find the things I can, in no way, relate to infinitely more interesting. The world described within the pages of Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, and Northanger Abbey is one that is tempered with the same kind of civility that I look for in a world that just simply, doesn’t care. There, behaviors are demonstrated that I've never seen in person. The famous fight between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, is simultaneously vicious and demure. It is restrained and refined, but utterly devastating. I can see these characters display a basic level of civility to even their most loathed of enemies that I don't see when I look at the interactions I have with people I consider my friends.
In short, most of the people written into the pages of these books don’t suck.

Most people in the world around me do.

I guess, I would just like someone to pinpoint the place in time when people stopped caring about the people around them. When did it become okay for not only children, but grown adults to be sullen, despondent, arrogant, and rude?
I certainly don’t know when it happened, but I have my theories.

For those of us between the ages of 20-26, there was an idea starting to infect the world of child care when we were coming of age. Teachers, parents, and others put in charge of our rearing started leading us to believe that we were all little princes and princesses who deserved respect. This was, quite possibly, the single largest piece of bullshit ever fed a generation. Now, don’t get me wrong, I strongly believe that people should have a healthy dose of confidence, but by allowing kids this sense of self-importance these adults are responsible for every douche bag, pseudo-adult that has ever thrown on a pair of skinny jeans. 

I remember being in the 6^th grade and watching as the little brats in my class were coddled and made to believe that their bad behavior was due to some outside force. Maybe their mothers didn’t love them, their father was an alcoholic, or some equally devastating, yet, all too common reason. Fine. I understand the physiological toll that this type of upbringing can have on a person, but I don’t believe that these things allow anyone to get away with being rude. You can call me insensitive if it makes you feel better. The truth is, people have been treated badly sense the dawn of human civilization. There is absolutely nothing special about the mental development of my generation that would make this level of nursing acceptable. In the end, it is the fear of damaging a child that can led to their ultimate destruction.

So, through all of this, what you are left with is an entire generation of people who believe that they are more important than everyone else. They don't know or understand common courtesies and don't see anything wrong with it. Some even wear it as a badge of pride. (For the record, calling yourself an asshole doesn't make it any better. It proves my point. If you know you are a jackass, do something about it.) I’m sure some of this has to do with technology; how easy it is to just not respond to a text message or return a phone call. I understand the temptation to tell someone you didn't get it or your phone died. I just don’t understand how anyone could believe themselves to be so vastly superior to the people around them that they go out of their way to demonstrate it with such a glaring example of disrespect. That and, lets be honest, technology may make the graceless behavior easier, but it is, certainly,  not the source.

The thing that can be so frustrating about this is that it really isn't that difficult to just do the right thing. You almost have to go out of the way to be inconsiderate of the people around you. Everyone knows that if someone calls you (or texts you) the best course of action would be to call them back. People know this and choose not to. But why?

Because their friendship with you is not as important as they view themselves to be.
 
Now, I understand that some times a response is not necessary. Say, if the conversation is over.  However, there are instances when to not respond is tantamount to a slap in the face. If someone asks you if you have plans and you don't want to see them, not answering their call only makes things worse. A negative response is, in many ways, better than no response at all. Would it be all that difficult to tell them you are otherwise engaged?  Whatever you do, do not allow them to believe you may show up.
Unfortunately, this has happened to me personally a few times. Most of the time its not a big deal. I meet up with someone else, have a good time, go home, crisis averted. But occasionally, I have been let to sit at a bar with my gin and tonic, all the while possessing the expectation that the offending friend will either show up or call me. Ultimately, neither of those thing happen and I feel like an utter piece of shit.
It is, in the end, a simple act of neglect. By neglecting me, what these people were telling me is that my very existence was not enough to justify a 30 second phone call.

Jane Austen never had to worry about these nuanced interactions. She never had to debate whether she should have any of the Ms. Bennetts call, text, or Facebook message their love interests. She didn't did really even have to imagine a world where people were generally callous. I'm in no way saying things were entirely better. I happen to love my female liberation, or the fact that I am not required to be introduced to someone, but that style of life echoes back to something simpler.

Ultimately, you cannot teach children to demand respect for themselves. You have to teach them to give it to those who deserve it. You have to teach them to value their friendships and not to take them for granted. And you have to remember that there are always going to be people who forget these things. I will always love my friends, I will always forgive them when they mess up, and I will always go out of my way to be kind to people. After all, this is not the world of Elizabeth Bennett, it requires more and gives less and I have found that, in a world such as this, the only thing you can do is love people and hope they love you enough to return the favor.



"There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature."
-Jane Austen (Northanger Abbey)

Give It Up.

I am not, by nature, a competitive person. 

I don't think there is really all that much in life worth being competitive over.

I care about things, deeply. And I will fight for the things I care about. But it seems to me that if I have to fight with someone over something I would have to care about that something an awful lot.

True love?

Worth fighting for.

Who has bigger boobs?

Not. 

This tid-bit of information now exposed, it should be said that me and people like me see through this bullshit in about 0.002 seconds. Some of you may think that you are being sly, or slick, or charming, but the truth is you just look like the type of person who would gladly gnaw off their left thumb than be wrong even once. When people like me meet people like you, most of you will get away with it. Sad, but true. Pointing it out, often, only makes things worse and  I, personally, don't have the energy to fight for the last word.

And I don't care all that much.

So, though out my years of existence I have deduced that there are a few different ways that this competitive gene manifests itself in people. As I have said previously, this usually isn't a big deal. Yes, I will judge you, but no, I will not call you out on it. 

The first of the data set can and should be described as the " I-know! I..." They can be spotted by the use of the phrase, I know! I... which is then usually followed by a story of their own.

Notice the abundance of the word I. These are the type of people who cannot help but turn your story back around on themselves. They can skillfully take a decent conversation and turn it into a way for you to feel like shit and for them to feel like something only slightly better.
Mushrooms, maybe.
Whatever the case, often they go out of their way to make sure the story they are telling you cannot possibly be "beat" or "one-upped."

Say you have recently found yourself going through a prolonged illness or injury.

The "I-know! I..." will take the sharing of your pain, not as an attempt to express your frustration with the situation but rather as an invitation to explain to you why you don't really have it that bad. They will always have had an injury much worse, even if they didn't. The "I-know! I..." is also very fond of randomly interjecting these same type of stories into a conversation even when said interjection has little or nothing to do with the topic being discussed.
The truth about the "I-know! I.." is that they are probably the least annoying of the types on this list. They mean well, but they simply cannot help themselves. This isn't saying that they shouldn't be called out eventually but I warn you, calling out this particular type of person can result in a perceived over-reaction. Given that the "I-know! I.." commits a rather small infraction, often it's not worth the argument that might follow.

The second of the data set can be called the "naner,naner,naner" so called because of the elementary way in which they like to win.
Nanners can be most closely linked to the teacher's pet from your days in elementary mediocrity, although they do share characteristics with the tall kid who would hold your backpack over his head and make you jump for it. These people have at least some legitimate claim to the throne upon which they so haughtily sit. They usually have some grounds on which to brag and because of that it is inappropriate to be angered by their achievements. What isn't inappropriate is to be pissed off when they never let you forget it.
By referencing that one time they urinated off the top of an outhouse, or killed a man in Reno just to watch him die, they will find some way to stake their flag of achievement into your otherwise painless and normal existence.Nanners can either be former high achievers or current high achievers, it matters not.
Now, the truth about the Nanners is that they know exactly what they are doing and, usually, they just don't care. Motivations differ Nanner to Nanner, but often it stems from lack of self confidence. This fact might incline you to take it easy on the Nanner: don't. The last thing they need is someone going along with their ploy. But don't call it out either. No, the best course of action is just to simply be supportive. When they nanner all over you just bring attention back to the things about them that really make them special.
Point out their sense of humor if they have one.

The third and most enraging of all the manifestations I lovingly call, "gum-shoes" for their uncanny ability to get stuck to your life and never leave. These annoying little pricks go out of their way to take away all you hold dear, simply because they can. The kicker is that once they have it, and they will, they prance about, making sure that you notice just what is going on.
Say you are up for a promotion along with the gum-shoe. Now, everyone in the office knows you deserve it. They know how much work you put in and that you are the best person for the job. The gum-shoe is the type of person who will go out of their way to point out your flaws without ever once mentioning their own. Now, its good business sense to promote yourself in these situations but what is different about the gum-shoe is that they don't promote themselves they demote you. Now, once the gum-shoe gets the promotion, which they will, they will use this new found power to make your life a living hell. Don't get me wrong gum-shoes don't limit this to the workplace.
I have had friends, actual human people, be used as pawns in this asinine game.
This is the same kind of behavior we see though out middle and high school and often this is exactly where the gum-shoe learned that they can get away with it. I will not point out why this, in itself, should be reason enough for anyone to analyze their behavior. Instead, I will simply say that any recourse you would have taken while under the age of 19, should be viewed as a non-existent option once grown.
The gum-shoes truth is even more disturbing than that of the Nanner. While the Nanner is aware of what they are doing, the gum-shoe actively plans just how they can make this life of yours more unbearable than it already is. The motivation for the gum-shoe is almost always a sad, sad mix of a sub-par self-confidence and a view of you as a perceived threat. The only way to deal with these people is immediate confrontation. Do no be afraid.

Clearly, these aren't the only classifications but they are the most common.

I will not fight with people like this. Often, I won't even go out of my way to deal with people like this unless absolutely necessary. They get too much joy out of your pain. The games they play with only further complicate your life, if you allow yourself to think about them too much.
I guess, at the base of all of this is the idea that these people are just as hurt as you and I and just didn't learn an appropriate way to deal with it. I wish the world could slow down long enough for them to realize that there are only a few things worth fighting for and if people would go out of their way every once in awhile, you may not ever have to fight at all. It really is all about kindness, even to the people you don't think deserve it. Be kind, be soft, but never let people treat you as if you don't matter.
You do.

The source of anger is almost always hurt. 

I am beyond guilty of often confusing the two. There are certain things, when done, that will always cause me hurt and, ergo, will always make me angry. I pretend to understand why these things spur this response and perhaps there is some deep psychological synapse firing, but in the end none of this really matters. My scars do not have to impact the way I behave.  I have fairly competent reasoning skills and I like to believe that equips me with the ability to think though my pain and come out clean on the other side. 

Unfortunately, this is not the case.

 For whatever reason, I have grown up following the school of thought that says if something gets to be too much to deal with, run away until you've built up enough emotional strength to get though it. 

I am not crazy.

I know this is, probably, the worst possible way of dealing with things. 

The problem is I can't seem to think of anything better to do. I know, rationally, that the best course of action would be to sit down with the source of my problem, talk it out, and move on. But what happens when talking isn't an option? Or, when people simply don't want to listen? More than once I have gotten hurt so badly, and become so angry that the idea of even living in the same town as the person who hurt me seems unbearable. In these cases I move. Often just out of the city for a bit. Once, all the way to Texas.

As I've said before, I am terribly guilty of living my life for others. Because of this I tend to get myself into uncomfortable situations socially. Now, it must be stated that I do play both sides of the field. But I never lie, and I never take up arms for either side. Both sides know exactly what the Swiss and I have in common. I get slammed between that metaphorical rock and a hard place more than I care to. Most of the time I do my best to not let it bother me. I wriggle my way out by appealing to both the rock and it's similarly hard companion and establish for myself a few moments of clear thought. Being forced into any situation is difficult, but when you are shoved between two friends the need to treat the situation gingerly can backfire quickly. 

It should not be assumed that I never have an opinion. Conversations with me quickly prove this to be unequivocally false. My opinions are many and varied. There are just some situations where your opinion is not only not needed, it is a hindrance. It is these situations that get me into trouble. 

In any argument there is truth on both sides of the story. There may be more truth on one side than on the other but it does exist on both sides. Keeping this in mind and applying what has already been learned here today, you should be able to assess that the problem I run into is deciding what part of what side of the story is true. I could spend the next three days talking about perception and how just because something seems to be an affront to your person, it may not have been. But I would be wasting my bad ass word per minute skills, because perception is just another way of saying ignorance. 

Rationally, as humans, we have to have some knowledge of the people around us. But, in the end, all we are left thinking about is ourselves. There usually isn't very much wrong with this, in fact, it keeps us alive. But, it becomes a big issue when we forget that it is this same single-minded view of the world that creates issues that don't  really exist. All those times I have been hurt before probably don't exist like I believed them to. All I know is that they hurt and it is the deep emotional response that causes all the problems. Because we think about us all the time we want or believe others do to. So, we take every comment, every canceled plan, and every side-ways glance as a reflection of the animosity and hatred they feel, when in reality all it probably is just what they say it is. 

Sometimes, its not. 

Look, we all play games. Every one of us. Life is hard and getting along with people can be challenging. So, we create these little tricks and maneuvers to help us navigate those murky waters. Some people play games that help preserve and others are all about destroying, the point is that people don't really know what they are doing. It's just what has worked for them in the past. Some people don't understand that the same actions that seem like second nature to them are actually hurtful and damaging. Holding on to a relationship long after its over isn't good for either person, and perceiving threats where none exist just creates walls that eventually have to come down. 

There really isn't a solution to this. Not really. In Utopia, people would think about others more and not be so quick to jump to conclusions. But this is not Utopia and it never will be. What we have is a world that is fragmented into bits and pieces, each one holding up a person or idea. These pieces are not like those of a puzzle, that share a common beginning and therefore could, at one point, be put back together again. These pieces are individually shaped by who we are. The edges round out through the wear and tear of daily life, and by the perpetual need to bump into others. Eventually, these pieces lay smooth and the water flows as undisturbed as possible, but there will always be those who resist the change and make those of us living down stream deal with the rapids they create.Inevitably, this will cause hurt, but the knowledge that this hurt is temporary and largely in our own minds can hopefully put to rest the nagging voice that tells us otherwise and we can begin to understand that the only thing we should worry about is how we talk to, talk about, and treat other people.

Nothing more.

Sometimes when I'm sitting, quietly, I can feel my dreams kiss me. 

Their lips rest softly on my cheek and remind me I'm alive. 

Somewhere along the line I started living my life for other people. I started feeling ashamed of who I was and became a care taker by default. I thought there wasn't very much interesting about me, but the people around me always needed nurturing. If I could not develop my life into something worth living than I would spend my time nurturing that something in others. This will always be a part of who I am. I care too deeply for the people around me. So deeply, that instead of saying something bothers me the moment it happens, I will lock it away and pretend it is my fault. Ultimately, I will have a moment of clarity and realize that there is nothing wrong with me and spew forth the rotten, vile, hurtful things that have been decomposing in my gut. I will hurt someone. 

I don't like to be alone. I don't like the feeling of having to deal with things by myself, but I am also too stubborn to bother anybody with what is going on. I will ask for help once. If no one thinks it's a big deal, I must be making mountains out of molehills. I'm strong, but I have been holding on for a long time and even the strongest muscles can atrophy.

 

How is it that you can be surrounded by friends and still feel so alone?

The difficult part of all of this is that I don't really expect people to understand. I don't. The strife stems from a deep desire to be more than I am and an understanding that that may never come. It stems from the fear that no matter what I do there will always be someone better to choose and I will be left to flounder. 

Moments of clarity give way to debilitating doubt and I am left to wander. 

Through all of this I know, at my core, that it is these characteristics working in perfect harmony with the rest of me that makes me an amazing person. I know that my caring and my strength make me the type of girl I should be happy to be. I also know, that stumbling upon someone who appreciates it enough to love me, is rare. To deny that I want a family would be the worst kind of lie. To deny that I want love would be suicide. The question is, what kind of love will I be left with? Will the universe ever see fit to bestow upon me the happiness I see in the relationship around me? Or, will I, instead, be relegated to world? 

It seems silly to worry. And to some, the idea may be ludicrous. But to me, love is the thing I live to give and long so desperately for.

Oh, the turth of it.

I am afraid to admit that I have never been the best role model. 

The problem is I would much rather a child think for themselves.

People don't let children be children enough. By a certain age we all but lose the ability to fully tap into our imagination. We are told by the adults in our lives what the reasonable and responsible thing to think is and just assume that we can't have both. 

Children are amazing. They carry entire worlds in their minds. 

I remember imagining but I don't remember how to do it. And that makes me angry.

Why would I ever want to take that away from a child?

I remember when I was younger being absolutely positive that there was a God and that Jesus was exactly what I was told he was. I remember having this unshakable faith that things were just as my pastors had said they were. As I got older I, naturally, began to doubt. The things I was being taught on Sunday didn't line up with the things I was being taught Monday-Friday.

I knew heaven wasn't "up there" because I knew that there was nothing other than sky and planets and solar systems until forever "up there." I also knew that hell wasn't
"down there" because all that was "down there" was magma and mantel and eventually China. I knew this, and I knew that the people surrounded me on Sunday knew this too.

So why were we all just standing here?

I think the problem wasn't that we were all misinformed. I do think there is a God of sorts. I just don't think he is a external paternal figure that lives outside of ourselves, in the clouds above our heads. 

To me God has always been the power, the energy that exists in the universe. When talking about the big bang, you will always hear people say that it started when energy collided. To me, God is that initial energy, bit and pieces of which ended up in each and every one of us. We carry that spark of life in us. The energy that existed at the dawn of time will continue to exists in all of the universe until the end of time. We are merely just a conduit. And in order to understand God, we must first understand ourselves. 

That is why this child-like faith the church asks you to have isn't good for the church. It prolong the numbing of reality. I believe in things. I have faith. But that faith is supported by science, not diminished by it. The idea that science and religion cannot and should not live harmoniously is slowly tearing the church apart. 

I will be the first to admit that I am not a big fan of the organized church in any manifestation. While they have done some amazing things, they don't always. The history is gruesome and enraging. But if the church wants to have any future they have to change the way they think and change the way they present their message. 

I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested. 

John Shelby Sponge really is a genius.

I don't know what I am going to do when the time comes that I have children. I almost think that it is inevitable that they are going to end up a weird amalgamation of the beliefs held by my husband and myself. I just think that the idea of raising a child to blindly believe is dangerous. You can have faith. Just know what you have faith in. Educate yourself and fully understand it. Dive deep into the world. The bible was written. Understand the time it was written in and the history. If they choose to have a traditional faith, I won't hold that against them even though I don't. As long as they are educated in that faith and keep an open mind. 

Contrary to popular belief, there is not one true religion. There is not one truth. The truth is something that is reached in many different ways, at many different time, by many different people. We all solve problems in our own special way, why would religion and faith be any different? The differences we share are what makes this world beautiful and yet it is always the differences that spark the most trouble.

Instant Classic?

So, this morning I was in the middle of my usual routine, reading the chapter I had fallen asleep finishing the night before, and I was struck with a paralyzing thought.

What will my children be reading?

Currently I am fully enjoying my second reading of 

which I can only hope my children will have a fondness for when they reach an age to truly appreciate the humor, as dark and honest as it is. 

The fact that I would find a book like this at all is somewhat shocking given that my parents and I have vastly different taste in reading materials. My father loves the long and epic, Minchener in particular. I don't much care for 200 pages on the uprising of the Rockies and therefore this was never something that was ever remotely interested in reading. I will say, to my credit, that I made it through this little jem,

and promptly contemplated never reading a book again.  My mother, on the other hand, who is a much more prolific reader, prefers crime novels like those streaming from the pens of Patterson and Kava. This is a genre that, while I don't particularly care for, I don't take much of an issue with. At it's core these types of books understand that literature is entertainment and most of them are quite entertaining. Call it lowbrow if it makes you feel better, but all in all not the wost reading decision one could make. 

The truth is that my taste is a little all over the board. I will read just about anything. Recently, I have gone out of my way to read what many would consider "the classics." I have read everything from this painfully long and still some how captivating work,

(Which, by the way, I would not read in the winter unless you want to tickle the homicidal maniac sleeping in the dark recesses of your mind.) to arguably the best book of all time.

It might be fair to say that I haven't really found my niche. Maybe, I never will.

With all of this information in hand the question of my progeny's reading choices is borderline frightening. Let's just cut to the chase and say exactly what I am wondering. Am I ever going to have to suffer though my children carrying around copies of this monstrosity?

Is this what kids are going to look back on my generation and think? I would like to believe that the crap that floats to the top will one day be scooped away to make room from some newly foul form of fiction, but the damage has been done. This will exist in the collective unconscious for the rest of my life. Now, as for those of you who are going to ask the inevitable question, have you even read it? The answer is yes, all four of them. I approached them gingerly. I reserved my opinion until after I had consumed and no, this is not good writing. It appeals to the inner hope of every female adolescent and therefore the success is understandable.

However,

the writing is crap, the characters are undefined and poorly developed, and it REEKS with the lusty desire of a woman living out fantasies that will never come to fruition. Really, it just presents a really twisted way of looking at love and relationships. I wouldn't recommend it.

That being said it is almost inevitable that my to be children will one day read these books. Their young minds will take to the crack filled pages like a junkie on a pipe and I will loose them forever. I will just sit at the foot of their beds and plead with them.

WHY? Why does it have to be Twilight?

I will fight through the pain and stare on with anguish in my eyes. Then one day I will present them with an ultimatum.

They must either pick up,

or get out of my house.