I came to the conclusion that no one is just going to go look at a sigght because I tell them to. No matter how persuausve I think I can be. Instead, I have copied and pasted the story here.

First is the Invisible Children story of Africa's longest running war:

A HISTORY OF AFRICA’S LONGEST RUNNING WAR

The war in northern Uganda has been called the most neglected humanitarian emergency in the world today. For the past 23 years, the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Government of Uganda (GoU) have been waging a war that has left nearly two million innocent civilians caught in the middle. The GoU's attempt to protect its citizens from this rebel militia has largely failed, resulting in an entire generation of youth that has never known peace.

The LRA rebel movement can be traced back to a woman named Alice Lakwena. In the 1980s, Lakwena believed the Holy Spirit spoke to her and ordered her to overthrow the Ugandan government for being unjust to the Acholi. Lakwena and her followers, known as the Holy Spirit Movement, gained momentum as resentment toward the government increased. When Lakwena was exiled and no clear leader of the movement was left, Joseph Kony, who claimed to be Lakwena’s cousin, took control and transformed Lakwena’s rebel army into the LRA.

Kony's LRA did not receive the same support as the Holy Spirit Movement from the Acholi people. With dwindling approval for their cause and heightened government offensives, the rebels resorted to abducting children and indoctrinating them into their ranks. It is estimated that more than 90% of the LRA’s troops were abducted as children.

In 1996, as a response to the LRA attacks in the villages, the Ugandan government forcibly evicted thousands from their homes, relocating them into overcrowded camps in hopes of providing protection. But over a decade later, roughly one million individuals still live in these camps and struggle to survive among the effects of abject poverty, rampant disease, and near-certain starvation.

In recent years more and more international attention has been focused on this crisis. In 2001, the US Patriot Act officially declared the LRA to be a terrorist organization - a huge step in drawing attention to the conflict and the atrocities committed by the LRA. In 2004, Congress passed the Northern Uganda Crisis Response Act, the first piece of American legislation to address this disaster. And in 2005, the International Criminal Court (ICC) issued arrest warrants for Joseph Kony and four of his top commanders.

Pressure from the international community (particularly from EU and Canada) combined with a strong desire to secure peace has brought the Government of Uganda and the LRA to the negotiating table on numerous occasions, though they have yet to find a peaceful resolution. The most recent talks commenced in Juba, Sudan in July 2006, and a Cessation of Hostilities Agreement was signed the following month.

In July 2007, in response to an increased concern for peace in northern Uganda by the American people, the US State Department appointed Tim Shortley to Senior Advisor for Conflict Resolution with his immediate focus on northern Uganda. This action solidified the US’s commitment to end this conflict peacefully. That same year, the United Kingdom bolstered their commitment to peace by allocating £70 million in aid, while Germany committed to a 25% increase in aid to Uganda by October 2010. Canada later became more than an international supporter of the peace process in February 2008 by joining the peace talks as an official observer (though the Canadian officer on the ground has since been removed from the region).

At this point in time, the Cessation of Hostilities Agreement has expired and Joseph Kony has failed to sign the Final Peace Agreement for a fourth time, proving his promises to be futile and ultimately disabling the peace talks. Uncertainty lingers, not only for the thousands displaced in northern Uganda but across the entire northeastern border region of DR Congo, South Sudan, and Central African Republic.

Since September 2008, hostility in the Orientale province in DR Congo and Western Equatoria in South Sudan has reached a feverish pitch. LRA attacks have become more frequent and hostile, provoking military action against the rebel group. In an unprecedented joint military operation, the governments of Uganda, DR Congo, South Sudan and the Central African Republic launched an attack on LRA strongholds within DR Congo. “Operation Lightning Thunder”, the name designated for the counteroffensive, was largely unsuccessful in light of both the failure to reach top LRA leadership and the onslaught of violence that followed.

One month later on December 24th, 2008, the LRA launched a retaliatory attack against the people of DR Congo. In apparent desperation and a renewed will to spread terror to DR Congo, the LRA murdered over six hundred and abducted more than one hundred and sixty children to fight amongst its ranks. More than 104,000 Congolese have been displaced since Christmas in attempts to escape the LRA forces.

As the motives of the LRA become more ambiguous and their crimes more horrific, Invisible Children remains committed to seeking sustainable solutions to foster an environment that encourages peace. We are supporting and equipping a generation ravaged by war so that they can finally know peace. Invisible Children addresses the need for access to education and economic development through innovative programs on the ground.


Now the story of Falling Whistles, concerning some of the children that are being abducted:
This is the story of a single day.
A single, shape-shifting, life-changing, perspective-altering, never.be.the.same.kinda day.
Originally I went to Africa to put shoes on kids' feet. My friend built a company grounded in giving and there I was, on the ground, giving.
After the shoe drop, I went wandering. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone, sometimes safe, sometimes not. I wanted into the wild. And wild it was.
"It is not down in any map; true places never are." ~ Herman Melville
I yelled at thieving monkeys and saw Nelson Mandela yell from a stage. Cried in refugee camps and laughed during moonlight tribal dances. Witnessed a baby born and parents buried. Climbed south to the bottom of the world and headed north to see Ugandan kids become visible. Slept inside mansions and on mud, ate porridge and gazelle, fended off pickpockets, swam with otters and rarely stopped, showered or stood still.

For two months, there was death and destruction, failure and fear, adventure.wonder.motion. But all around was a pervasive hope moving steadily toward what could only be described as progress. Stories of change everywhere to be found.
Until I walked into the chaos of Congo. The so-called Democratic Republic of Congo, home to one of history’s deadliest wars. Strange circumstances led me to her doorstop, but there I stood ready to see what she might show my western eyes. The following is what they saw.
I hope to one day tell the story in full. For now, peek into this single chapter.

As I’m writing you, the sun is setting just over the central lake in Goma. My computer screen blurs. I cannot help the weeping that hinders my vision and falls on the keys even as I type these words.


Bob Dylan said something along the lines of "People tell me it’s a sin, to hold so much pain and hurt within." I suppose I’m wondering if they were right. We originally planned to spend the day tracking down the rebel leader Nkunda. We had arranged an armed escort to take us into his territory. However after speaking with a Congolese military journalist who had just returned from that area, we decided to postpone the trip.


He said the upcoming Peace Conference had infuriated Nkunda’s rebels and they had gone mad with drugs. He told us it didn’t matter who guarded us, the sight of our white skin would enrage them and they would fire. "Another day, but not this day" was his advice. We thought it prudent to take note.

Instead, we caught back up with the 5 boys that had just escaped two of the rebel armies.

Busco
Bahati
Serungendo
Claude
Sadiki


We found them in a filthy cell at a military encampment called Titu; a prison.


The boys had been forced to spend the entire night standing up straight. None of them were over 15 years old. None had ever chosen to fight. Still, they were being treated as Enemies of the State. Yesterday each of them were giving praise to God for their rescue from the rebels. Now they're wondering if the National Army is any different. It's a common problem here in Congo. There is more sexual violence here than anywhere in the world, but no signs that any one of the armies are any better or worse than another. All the soldiers rape. All the soldiers pillage.
All the people suffer. There is no refuge. Not the victim-side-of-a-gun anyway.


As we dug further, we discovered that the boys hadn’t eaten in 48 hours and had been beaten all night long. The soldiers forced them to blow up their cheeks and then punch them in. These boys, who have already been through a deep kind of hell, were trembling with fear.
Lindsay convinced me and we went to buy them food, clothes, shoes, soap and a toothbrush. Bare materials that grant us small dignity. They fell on the gifts like wolves, smiling, laughing and thanking God. The bones of their ribs showed through their rags as they ate. The bananas in their hands were the first non-rotten food they had eaten since they had last seen their families.


While we waited for the UN, who had promised to rescue them, we spoke with the boys individually. Each had been abducted. Plucked from their homes, schools or farms. Each had been tied up and beaten. Each had been forced to kill. Sadiki had been dropped in a hole, deep in the ground. Nearly 300 boys were forced into the ditch for 20 hours of the day. They sat and slept in their own excrement. Slowly, they awaited the other 4 hours of the day when they found themselves tortured and trained to fire a gun. Only to be dropped again into their own filth.


Many of us have heard the stories of child-soldiers. Invisible Children and stories such as A Long Way Gone have been groundbreaking in granting us glimpses into their tortured lives.
I had heard.known.cared. I had even reacted and raged. But when these boys told me of the whistle blowers, the horror grew feet and walked within me. Captured by Nkunda’s rebel army, the boys not big enough to hold a gun are given merely a whistle and put on the front lines of battle.


THEIR SOLE DUTY IS TO MAKE ENOUGH NOISE TO SCARE THE ENEMY AND THEN TO RECEIVE - WITH THEIR BODIES - THE FIRST ROUND OF BULLETS.
Lines of boys fall as nothing more than a temporary barricade. Those who try to flee are shot at from behind. The soldiers call it "encouragement" to be brave. Without a gun to protect themselves, the smallest boys are placed between the crossfire of two armies - forces fighting for reasons far beyond their ability to understand. WITH FALLING WHISTLES, THEIR ONLY CHOICE IS TO FEIGN DEATH OR FACE IT.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING HERE?" Am I even capable of doing anything to help such madness? Busco's the oldest of 8 children. Many times he watched that number dwindle to some soldiers petty fire. His only wish is to go back to his farm, because he's sure his parents need his help to raise the family. For quite some time, they have believed him dead. As with us all, the boys gained freedom from sharing their stories. Tears turned to smiles and smiles to laughter. Little in our respective lives was similar, but storytelling is strange and powerful. Surrounded by angry and onlooking guards, we found some small comfort in one another.


The only Rwandan of the group was sure that he had fought against Nkunda's army - the very same rebels that had abducted these Congolese boys. I asked if that made them enemies. He looked at me, laughed, and kissed Sadiki. "We are only boys. How can we be enemies?"
As the day turned to dusk, we all grew worried the UN wouldn't come to pick them up. Their hands and eyes betrayed their dread at staying yet another night, standing among these merciless guards.


We started making some calls only to discover that the UN had passed responsibility of the children to Unicef, who had then been turned away at the prison 4 times. The soldiers wanted the children to stay for another night of entertainment and weren't prepared to have them released. Lindsay hit the phonebook for some frantic politicking with our newfound connections. Finally both the Unicef and the UN trucks were admitted inside the Titu compound. I'm not sure what changed their decision. But I suppose I don't care. We quickly loaded the boys into the trucks as the soldiers prepared to block our exit. Just because the trucks had gained entrance didn't mean they'd allow them to leave.


Halfway through the camp they demanded the truck stop and empty out. Again, politicking and protesting with all the Americana authoritarian aristocratic animated attitude we could muster, the boys were finally allowed back in the truck and set free. Weeks ago they had each planned out their escape. Praying they'd be rescued from their mad dash out of Nkunda's camp. When the Congolese army picked them up, they thought their dreams achieved - only to be corrected by dark fist in the night. As we watched them leave Titu, we knew we were seeing their escape finally fulfilled.


The burden of their lives weighs heavy on me tonight. I close my eyes and see whistles falling from palm sized hands. And I haven't the damndest idea what to do about it. I have to share their story. But haven't a clue how to pull it off. I know simply that this cannot, cannot go on.
And I know we're gonna need a lot of help. From a lot of you. There is a Peace Conference starting tomorrow, regarding decades of war and millions slaughtered. Yet I’ve seen no other westerners. No American media. No Muzungus. Nothin. We are the land of the free and the brave and seem not to notice that the brave here have never been free. But today was a start. Five are safe at least.


It's a beginning I suppose.

whistle blowers

Here is what I need people to do. I need people to research what is going on. I need people to be aware of the mass slaughtering that is happening in the world.

invisiblechildren.com

Go here first, and read the story. And then go on to:

fallingwhistles.com


Tell me this doesn't hit you at all. If it doesn't....

So, I just typed in the google search bar, "I am fat and...." to see what it would fill in and here is what came up:

*ugly
*need to lose weight
*depressed
*want to lose weight
*lazy
*disgusting
*I want to die
*pregnant
*unhappy
*miserable

Of course, I was really annoyed by this. Why is it that there are only negatives about being fat? Not one thing came up about being fat and beautiful. So, I guess that you cannot be beautiful if you are fat? Are you kidding me! Now, here comes the rant......

In almost all ancient civilizations, big was beautiful. Women with big hips, pillow like bellies and abundant bosoms were idolized, by the Romans, the Grecians, and even the Paleolithic Europeans. More flesh at the right places meant fertility. Fertility was surely important at a time when people mostly died of war, food shortages and pestilence, and average life expectancy maxed out at forty years. Even till a few hundred years ago, artists like Peter Paul Rubens liked their women well endowed. Women in real life till the end of the 1800s liked to exaggerate their assets through their gowns, nipping in only the waist.

And then there was a turn around. After the whole Coco Chanel thing and the flapper girls in the 20s, looking emaciated was hip. Designers followed this trend of course. These designers wanted fashion and clothing to have an otherworldly grace, and the ideal figure of thinness got superimposed on the existing concept of beauty. Despite a revival of curvaceous-ness in the 1930's and then again in the 1950's with Marilyn Monroe, the ideal female figure remained slim, and in the nineties became epitomized in the pre-pubescent (and gross) looks of the likes of Kate Moss.

Most women in the twentieth century fell for this image that denies a woman her earthy femininity, and makes her a twig. This image was fed by the fad diet and beauty industry worth billions, and women and even girls barely in their teens bought into it. In an age where life expectancy spiraled into the 90's a woman's fertility and hence her girth was no longer considered a priority.

What is more, it is the rich in the Western world that had access to diets, to organically grown food, to health spas, trainers and gymnasiums. The poor, brought up on ho-ho's and no home gym, usually could not afford to be as thin.

At this point it is probably useful to mention that most of the aristocratic women in Peter Paul Rubens's time were rather large, and so large was the norm for beauty. The "less privileged" women portrayed in the paintings of Vermeer were not so well-fleshed: slim meant poor at the time. And sometimes in other countries, it is the same.

But in the end of the 20th century, it was the rich and powerful that could be thin and chiseled (mmmm.... the word chiseled makes me lust a little), so slim became the accepted standard of female beauty: slim meant rich. And women stepped with this baggage into the 21st century.

Interestingly, throughout these ups and downs in the world of fashion through the last century, where thin was more in fashion than out, curvy women have remained the constant theme of men's fantasies. Look at Playboy, and there has never been a stick-thin, skin-and-bones woman in sight. It is true that you don't see a size 18 woman often, but it is less often that you see a size 4.

Thin has been fashionable, but rarely has it been sexy. Men still prefer their women curved at all the right places. And what men rarely accept in public is that a lot of them are not averse to much, much more than curves.The 'hourglass' shape is always a plus.

A lot of men found Renée Zellwegger in her part as the plump Bridget Jones much more attractive than her skinny figure in Jerry Maguire. Moreover, this year there has been a turnaround in the world of fashion, with runways in Brazil and Italy refusing to admit underweight models. Curves are back in. Women like Manuela Arcuri and Valeria Marini are increasing becoming mainstream in terms of ideal body types.

Big women beauty pageants have begun to come up, and big women have begun to prove that spaghetti strapped tops and low cut jeans are not for the extra-slim alone. Jean-Paul Gaultier put a woman Italian size 50 on the ramp for his thirtieth anniversary celebration last October. Even in Italy where the fashion world usually shies away from bigger sizes on their clothes racks, there is a new acceptance of women who are not ashamed of earthy, well-rounded shapes.

The stick-thin models that are featured on magazines form about 1% of the population and people have begun to realize that it is time we celebrated the real women. The real women are not found in fashion magazines. We see them all around us, in their natural form without any artificial additions or subtractions, in all sorts of shapes and sizes on streets, in trains and restaurants. And most of them cut a bella figura, they are some of the most beautiful women in the world. They are also mostly women of substance, their beauty cannot be measured on the weighing scale.

_{Queen Latifah, Spokesperson for Plus Size models}

I am accepting curves. I am so tired people telling me that I cannot be beautiful because I have huge hips, a big bottom, and curves. Screw that. So many women are going against the norm and being seen as beautiful. Queen Latifah, Nikki Blonsky, America Ferrera. So, what? I am a size 18 and. I do not feel the need to eat a diet of lettuce until I have whittled down to the size of a stick. Besides, if you had 2 presents, one tiny and whimpy and the other one nice and big, which would you pick?

My best friend is a bitch, and so am I.....

My best friend is someone I have known since 3rd grade. You know, one of those relationships that has withstood crazy trials. I moved away for two years and came back to my hometown, and she treated me as though I never left. She has accepted me from the beginning. She has become more of a friend to me, and she is family. She is home, she is my best friend. She loves me more than most people can even imagine. She offered me a home when my parents gave me the boot, she is harsh with me when I need it the most. The night when I found out the guy I liked was interested in my best friend, she let me sleep with her in her bed, and we watched 'A Walk to Remember' together as she played with my hair and let me sob in her bed. The night when I had a panic attack at a club, she drove me to my boyfriend, and let us go back to her room, and we all slept in her bed.

She has been with me through everything. She was the one who told me that everything my father said was a lie, and she was the first person who ever told me I was beautiful, and made me believe it. She is amazing. She has taught me so much about life, and some of her morals I find are much more admirable than anyone else's. I wish everyone in the world could know how great she is.

The thing about her (and I) is the defense mechanism used, of being crass and sarcastic, using wit as a weapon. We both fear rejection so much, that we turn into complete bitches. Here is my thinking; if someone chooses not to be friends with me, I will understand why. It is because I am a bitch. But, if I were to truly put myself out there as I am and someone were to reject me and still not want to be friends with me, I would be so hurt. And I believe this is why I love her so much.

She was the first person I was ever 100% myself around, and she still loved me. We say that humans cannot love unconditionally, and I agree, but I do believe that we can come pretty dang close. And she is the only one who has ever loved me as unconditionally as can be. I was stupid and she still loved me. I was a drunken whore and she still loved me. I was whiny and annoying, and she still loved me. She is the only person who has never asked me to change who I was. Everyone else has. Maybe not right out saying it, but hinting at it. Not Samantha.

We are both over-protective and we put up walls. This is truth.

I remember coming to BGSU as a freshman being so scared that no one would like me. I also remember feeling so lucky as to have my best friend going to the same school as me. If no one wanted to be my friend, I at least had her. And I still have her, and she still has me. For the rest of my life. She will never be able to get rid of me. I don't care if I make thousands of friends, no one will ever be like her. This is not to say that I do not love my other friends. Believe me you guys, I love you. But, I love her on a different level. I am 19 years old, and I don't know much about life at all. But, I do know that she is my best friend and will be for the rest of my life. I don't know much at all about my wedding, but I do know that whenever it is, Samantha will be my maid-of-honor. Heck, at this point she is the only one I know of for sure that will be in my wedding! I keep expecting everyone else to just run from me!!!!!

She has never ran. I don't know why she still sticks around, but she does. It is crazy! I am crazy!! I don't care if we love 100 miles away or a few blocks away, we will not be shaken.

I believe that everybody should have one friend like her. Maybe not exactly like her. But, someone who loves them all the time, and who accepts them completely, and will cuddle with them if need be. Someone who won't leave you for their significant other (God knows I have had so many friends do that to me!). Someone who would drive 2 1/2 hours across a state if you really needed them. This is why she is my best friend, for now and always.



(I am blowing the whistle, Samantha has the construction hat on [:)

A public apology

Do you know that point in a friendship where you get to know the person very well, and things seem like they can't get any better? And then as soon as you think that, it all begins to fall apart? That is going on right now with me, but it is not in just one friendship. I feel like it is in most of them. I feel like one of my friends is slowly withdrawing from me, one of them is leaving soon, one is always busy, one I am getting constantly annoyed by, and so many other things. I feel like I am slowly losing them. Everyday that goes by is one day closer to when we completely fall apart, or before they just up and leave me. I am getting so worried, and doubting whether I should let myself get attached to these people or not. Is there a point anymore?

I have gotten to the point where it is hard to hang out with them. Frustration fills the air and PMS becomes toxic like smog. Everyone unfairly bites off each others head. We are rude, we sneer at each other, and we roll our eyes as if to say, "drop dead." And we snap at each other because of being annoyed. And, believe me, I am not trying to point fingers at anyone. I know that I am far too sensitive, yet at the same time completely cruel to everyone else. I was raised in an environment where love was shown to me by criticism and mean jokes. So, of course, this is how I know how to show love. But, honestly, who feels loved by someone who is constantly down sizing you?

I learned today what a lying, fake, hypocrite I am. I have a friend who I am mean to. I am not mean to her because I don't like her. I am mean because that is how I show love. But, I can tell that I hurt her when I say the things I do. She always looks like I just stabbed her with my words, but I just roll my eyes and tell myself she is way too sensitive. Then, there is this guy who I feel is always talking down to me, always condemning me. I address it, and he says he can't help it, that is just the way he is. I think that the way he is hurts me though. And then I get punched in the face. That is exactly what I do to my other friend! WHAT THE EFF?!?!?!


I hate hurting my friends. Shoot, I hate hurting anyone. I want to be sensitive and caring and loving and all those good qualities. But, I am uuber defensive, more afraid to be hurt than a lot of people would understand, I am completely misunderstood, and I always feel so dang defensive. How can anyone stick around? I see now why friends are slowly inching away from me. It makes total sense.

This is a public apology. I'm selfish, impatient, and really insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control, and I am usually hard to handle. I'm lonely. Why do you think I had to learn to act so independent? I also get mad quickly, and I hog the covers, and my second toe is longer than my big one. My hair has its own zip code and I get certifiably crazy when I've got PMS. Seriously, stay away during that time. I am loud, and always feel the need to overcompensate for everything. I show love in the most awful ways, but expect it back in cuddling and hugs and comforting words. I am a hypocrite, fake, judgmental. I get annoyed way too easily and I have the patience of a small child. I have an issue with violence, and sometimes I have to clench my fists really tight so I don't start swinging. I could sum this all up with saying I am flawed. Sincerely flawed. And I am sorry for being a complete and total bitch.

The Epic Dinner with the Parents....

Tonight was a big night, the night I met Alex's parents. We have been dating for 3 1/2 months now, and things are starting to get serious, and the "m" word is being thrown around. Can you guess what the "m" word is? Anyways.

Tonight, I met the Waltons. And, I don't mean the television show family, although to humor the coincidence, I put a picture of the Waltons up. Aren't I funny? (Please tell me you can hear the sarcasm dripping from that?)

I was incredibly nervous. To start things off, they were late. Seriously late. And I am a nazi when it comes to being on time. So I was basically freaking out. Luckily for me, 3 of my friends came over to chill me out. Just the presence of Matthew, Nate, and Liz made me feel so much better.

So, finally Alex shows up. I am about to vomit on his shoes. He addresses my attire, complimenting me and telling me I look beautiful. He definitely got some boyfriend points there. We prepped for a few minutes. And by "prepped" I mean he told me over and over that it would be alright and that they would love me. More points for him. He is a wonderful beau. [:

I walk out to the parking lot, and his father steps out of the vehicle to greet me. "You must be Candace? It is so nice to meet you." Of course, I have to scan him to see what he is like. He is a taller man, with a very broad build. He has sandy shaded hair that is colored with age. He looks like a man of stature, someone whom you should respect. I shake his hand and give him a warm, and sincere, smile. He has a nice shake. Good grip, but still tender because it is a ladies hand he is shaking. We chat briefly, and then I get into the vehicle. In thus said vehicle is his mother and his nephew. First, the nephew.

I am sure most of you have made the assumption that the kid in the picture to the right is the nephew, and if you have made that assumption then you are correct. His name is Aiden and he is 2 years old. He was a bit sleepy when I first got in, but I feel like he warmed up to me. He sure did love the chips and salsa at El Zarape. He kept saying about his milk, "It makes my tummy coooolllldddd." It was so darn adorable. I kind of wanted to keep him. He was so darn well-mannered. He minded his own, didn't talk too much, never threw any tantrums. For a 2 year old, I feel like he defys the stereotype of the Terrible Two's. He made me miss my younger brother dearly, but just being in his presence definitely warmed my heart. He has been raised well, and it seems as though he really appreciates his grandparents. He didn't talk to me all too much, but he did stare and smile at me alot. I feel like this is probably a good sign.

Now, on to Jeanie (the mother). Boy, does this women know how to ask some questions! After her little grilling session, she would probably be able to write a novel about me! But, all jokes aside, she was a wonderful woman. I could tell that she genuinley cared about Alex, especially since he is her baby. I know she wants him to be with the right girl, and I honestly respect that. All I want her to see though is how much I truly love him. I don't know how she felt about me, but I was 100% honest and open about myself. I didn't say anything to impress her, I didn't lie or stretch the truth about what was going on. I admitted that I have seen some tough times, but also said that I would not trade my life for anything and I am more than pleased with where I am right now. During the questions, I made small talk with his father, and I found myself growing fond of him. He is a simple man (and I do not say that in a belittling way) who really seems to appreciate a lot of things. We talked about him sailing, a little bit about politics, and just random things about where I was from and Cincinnati. He was very kind and gentle, and I can see why he would be such a respectable man.

Then, was the tough part. Really saying goodbye. And his parents were right there. I promised myself that I would NOT cry in front of his parents, and I surprisingly held myself together. Actually, thinking about it, I have yet to cry about it. I almost did in Subway, but I pulled myself together and told myself that I will see him soon enough, and that I really have nothing to worry about. I know that people have gone much longer without seeing their loved ones, so I have no right to complain. I just know that it will be hard. I have been spoiled by his touch, by his love, by his heart. Whenever he smiles at me and says, "You know, you really are the perfect girl for me" it just makes me feel so incredible. And, I think I almost died the other night, because he said the cutest/funniest thing ever. I made a comment about how he has become a much better kisser since I have known him (which has been for almost a year now), and he said something like, "I try." And then he went on to say (paraphrased), " I am getting much better as I grow. I can just imagine, by the time you are 90, I will take your breath away. I will kiss you and you will be like *cough cough* because of my kiss. Then I will step back and realize I am actually stepping on your air tank."

It is little things like that that make me love him. haha. And, I can totally make it for these few weeks. I have a feeling this will be one of my only sappy blogs, so don't get used to it. I am not a huge fan of being a sapster, so I apologize if anyone is annoyed by it.

Thanks for tuning in this week. And if you're reading this Alex, I love you. [=

Peace, Love, and Chimichangas,
Candace Maria [:

Holy moly, tonight is a big night. Tonight is the night where I meet my boyfriend's parents for the first time. MIERDA! My entire insides have been shaken up since I woke this morning. First, I had to say goodbye to him, because he is going home for 2 weeks. After he left, I became such a woman. See, for those of you who don't really know me, I pride myself on having a "small vagina" as me and my friends call it. I am not like most women, honestly. I grew up with mostly males as friends. So, after he left, I layed on the ground for like 20 minutes and cried. Oh man, do I hate crying. And it wasn't the good cry, either. It was so unattractive. I just thought about how I would go two weeks without staring into his blue eyes, or without his amazing bear hugs, or his random kisses on the forehead. And that was the time my vagina grew, and I was a major woman. So, I cried for a bit, and then ended up crying myself back to sleep. Yeah, it was pretty lame. I can admit to that.

Well, I woke up and began to get ready for the day, as panic mode set in. I started going through my clothes, and I couldn't find anything good enough to wear. Ugh, this is too casual. Yikes, this is much too skankalicious! Ew, I look fat in this. Oh, wait, I am fat. It was so dumb. I mean, in the first place, we are going to a cheesy Mexican restaraunt called El Zarape. Don't get me wrong, this place rocks. But it is still cheesy, as are most American attempts at a Mexican restaraunt. And just so you know, employing Mexicans to work there so DOES NOT make it authentic.

So, I am at the point of no return. I just keep pictuting the first interaction between myelf and the Waltons (no joke, they are the Waltons). I see me extending my hand to Greg, saying "Nice to meet you." And then I imagine him sneering down at me, thinking of me as trash. I have this fear (probably irrational) because Alex and I come from much different worlds. Seriously. I was raised in Section 8 housing, him in much nicer areas. I had many family issues growing up, and he has a great family that has always promised to take care of him. I come from a very liberatarian home, his is most likely more conservative. He doesn't show his emotions much, and I wear them on my sleeve. Shoot, I think I might wear them even more out there then my sleeve.

The fact of the matter is, him and I are complete opposites. I have tattoo's and piercings, I am loud, somewhat obnoxious, poor, a college drop out (who is enrolled back in school, thankyouverymuch). I fear being inferior, not being good enough for his family. The big issue is is that I want to spend the rest of my life with this man, so his family HAS to approve of me. I am just under so much pressure right now.

Dang it, I need a cigarette.

And I promised myself that I would spend the entire day preparing. No Facebook, no e-mail, no blogger. Well, that one failed right away. I needed to get out my fear. And to make matters worse, I have Alex's annoying friend Vidas randomly IM'ing me. Where is Alex? Why isn't he answering his phone? Can you try calling him for me? It is important. I am about to strangle this kid. Okay, I need to get off my bum, and get moving. He will be here in an hour and a half, and I must look my best. I have come down to the decision that I am not wearing make-up. I never wear it on a daily basis, so I want them to get an idea of what I am really like.

Now, where is that cigarette?

Oh, how I love Aladdin....

Don't you love how sometimes you can find deeper meanings in movies that are meant to be for children ages 6-12? Believe me, so do I. Growing up, my top 3 favorite Disney movies were 1) The Little Mermaid 2) Anastasia and 3) Aladdin. I have seen the movie Aladdin at least 20 times in my life, but for the first time tonight, I heard something that I had never heard before. If you have seen the movie, there is no need for me to describe in full the scene, but I do not want to assume that everyone has seen this amazing movie. So, picture this: Aladdin has just saved two small children from getting whipped by some nasty prince, and the prince criticizes Aladdin, saying that only the fleas would mourn him when he was gone. Aladdin goes on to sing the lines, "Riff Raff, Street rat, I don't buy that. If only they looked closer, would they see what I see? No siree, they'd find out there's so much more to me." My mind was blown when I realized what Aladdin had just sung. And I felt for him. I cried for like, 10 minutes over a fictional cartoon character. But, if you're close to me, you might understand that my spiritual gift is mercy, so it makes sense. When I think about how badly I want people to dig and find me, and accept me, I get 10 kinds of emotional. I become a woman truly then. I cry, and sob, so severly that the snot begins to drip from my nose, as the tip begins to get more and more pink, and my eyes become puffier as the seconds fly by. If anyone tells me I am cute in this state, I may just rebuke them.

I am trying to learn a few things in my life right now, a big one was something I discussed during my last epic blog. I am sorry for my avid readers (if there are any) for not updating sooner, but a) I felt like I had said A LOT during my last blog, and I wanted ya'll calm after my overwhelmingness and b) there were cookies that were not allowing me to go to blogger.com and I was too lazy for a few days to go through the mess (which was about 30 seconds) to allow the cookies. Yes, I can be semi-pathetic sometimes. Hmmmm, I just went on some sort of epic ramble right there. Some insight on the mind of Candace Maria, that is. [=

So, another thing I am hoping to learn is how to truly accept love and grace from others. One thing that kicks me in the gut is when I feel like I am not worthy of grace from others. See, I struggle with accepting grace in general. I cannot be gracious towards myself, and I sho 'nuff struggle with accepting it from God. But, then I think about Jesus. Why did He come and die on that cross? Why is it that the only perfect one who ever walked this earth, shed blood for me? A big reason is because when that blood was shed, and when He was nailed to that cross, after that was the first time that grace entered many Christians vocabulary. We learned what true, unconditional, 100% guaranteed love looks like. And it looks like death. It makes sense, because a way for us to show love to our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ is to lay our lives down for them. To die daily is
how we show love to christ. When we die to our flesh.


So, what is this big thing that I am trying to get through my head. A great quote from another movie I love. "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." (Moulin Rouge) I am always claiming that I am a lover. I say how much I love to love other people. I consider myself an encourager. But, where it gets tricky is the fact that I refuse to accept love from the people around me. I push it away and pretend it is petty and fake, and tell myself not to get my hopes up. No one can truly love me in that way. Only God. He loves me for who I am, and He is the only one who will accept me. Humans, I mean they're cool to hang out with and all and sometimes I think they are quite entertaining. But, do I honestly feel like they will love me even if I were to blow up a children's hospital? No, I don't. And that is a major issue! I cannot accept the love and grace that people keep extending my way. I say, "Um, yeah. Thanks, but.... no thanks."

I want to allow love in my life. I want it to flow, and for me to not try so hard to just love others. I want to get it through my head that people do want to love me. And I think the reason I feel people don't want to love me is for 2 main reasons. Reason number 1: My father. He abandoned me, abused me, and despised me. He hurt me dearly, and did not want to love me, even though he was my father. He was the man who had a huge deal in creating me. But, he wanted nothing to do with my existance except abuse me and tell me how worthless and ugly I was. And reason number 2: The fact that I was raped. I am starting to learn that being raped has an affect on parts of my life that I would never think it did. I was raped by someone I trusted, which hurts. It impaired my idea of all of those people in my life that I had trusted.

I know I am going to continue to struggle, and it will not be anytime soon that I will just accept everyone's love. I need to know that people do love me, though. This is what I am searching for. I want to know that I am loved. I need that affirmation. And, I do know that not all people say that they love me through using words. Some people do it through physical touch or acts of services, or maybe affirming me, telling me that my hair looks cute today (although, I will be completely honest. I am still so horrible at accepting compliments, and I apologize in advance for how I act, because I will most likely just roll my eyes and say thanks.)

I just looked back through this blog, and I realize why I try to blog as not oftne as possible. I feel like after I blog, and if anyone does read it, they will probably just sit in a dark room for 2 1/2 hours, not wanting to think because of how much junk I have hauled on them. That is fine. I say what my heart speaks, and I am letting God prune me so that I may begin to grow some beautiful fruit. [=

Peace, Love, and Chimichangas,
Candace Maria