C. Harold Hurley & McDonalds.

I heard an absolutely wretched song today on the radio. I was appalled. Disgusted, really.

But let me tell a funny story first!
The Merritts and I had dinner tonight at Taco Bell. I parked behind the restaurant next door, because I turned in too early and didn't feel like fighting rush hour traffic to park in the correct lot. We were talking at dinner about school this year, and Steve said something about having to drive me somewhere. I said, "No! I'll have a car on campus this year!" He started laughing and said, "Well, look who's finally taking off the diaper!" (He proceeded to nickname me Little Bear. Yeah, I don't get it either.) As we were heading to the parking lot, he told me he was looking for the van. I wasn't sure what van (because I don't drive a van!), but then he explained that I seem like the soccer mom type. I looked at him and said, "So am I in diapers or am I a soccer mom?!"
Anyway, the diapers reference made me chuckle, so I thought I'd share. (But now that it's typed, it doesn't seem that funny. Sorry, people.)
(And insert C. Harold Hurley's voice into that last sentence.)

Back to the disgustingwretchedawfulhorriblerepulsiverevolting song.
It's called Carry Out (by Timbaland) - I googled it.
I want to share some of the lyrics strictly for the sake of making my point, not to make you puke.

...Have it your way, foreplay
Before I feed your appetite
Let me get my ticket, baby, let me get in line
I can tell the way you like, baby, super size...
...Take my order 'cause your body like a carry out
Let me walk it to your body 'til it's lights out...
...Number one, I'll take two number-three's
That's a whole out of you and a side of me
Now is it full of myself to want you full me?
And if it's room for dessert then I want a piece
Baby, get my order right, no errors
I'mma touch you in all the right areas
I can feed you, you can feed me
Girl, deliver that to me, come see me...
...Do you like it well done? 'Cause I do it well
'Cause I'm well seasoned if you couldn't tell...
...What's your name?
What's your number?...

Does anyone else think this is totally prurient?! (GRE word of the day!) I can't believe our stupid American culture has cheapened sex to the point of treating it like freaking fast food. Hello, gentlemen, I am not a McDonalds!
I was going to turn off the song as soon as I heard the chorus (can you call it that?) the first time through, but I wanted to know who sang it so I could blog about it tonight. Is that lame? Probably.
But anyway.

Girls, don't listen to this crap. Wait for someone who is going to be thankful for every moment he gets to spend with you, not someone who's wanting to be all up in your...grill. You don't owe guys anything. Demand respect. Remember Who your Father is.
Guys, don't you listen to this crap either. Girls who are desperate enough to take orders such as those described above aren't worth your time - run the other direction. Girls don't owe you anything. Demand respect. Remember Whose you are.

End of rant.

Of Sleepless Nights, Canoes, and Ants

It's true.

I'm becoming partially nocturnal. At the beginning of the summer, I was a regular Benjamin Franklin: early to bed, early to rise. For most of July, I just didn't sleep much at all. And now, I just sleep during abnormal hours: usually between 2 and 9am. I'm sure Scheske is going to deeply appreciate this new pattern of secretion that my pineal body has chosen when it comes time for 8am Calc this fall.

In other news, I'm seriously missing camp. I miss coming home (well, "home") from work and hanging out with some of my best friends. I miss spending time with Jesus every day at the dock. I miss doing my own dishes and cooking for myself. I miss the campers. I miss having the constant support of Christian friends just across King's Highway. I miss singing (shouting?) to my Jesus while surrounded by people who are crazy about Him, too.

I love Dave Overholt. He pastors this church in Ontario - someday I'd love to visit! But anyway.
He was the speaker for Sr. High camp last week, and I was able to sit in on most of the services. I heard him speak seven years ago when I was a camper, and nothing about him has changed. There's one point from one of his messages this past week that stands out to me more than anything. It's funny, too, because it's such a duh statement.

He told a story about how he decided that a camping and canoe trip would be an excellent honeymoon for him and his wife. (At this point, Deb and I agreed that camping wouldn't be a bad honeymoon at all.) Everything went okay until the water got really choppy and the waves started coming into the canoe. His wife freaked out a little bit and stopped paddling, and he was left to steer from the back. However, he realized that steering was impossible when his wife wasn't paddling forward. Did you get that?
You can't steer a canoe unless you're moving forward.
The same is true in life: God can't steer you unless you're moving forward.

Nonetheless, he followed the canoe story by reminding us about the ant.
You know, the ant.
The ant that focuses on moving that massive crumb, bit by bit. It's all the ant lives for, really: to slowly but consistantly gather food. We need to be like the ant in our lives, understanding that things don't happen all at once and sometimes we just need to press on. Sometimes life moves slowly, but over time big things happen.


WHOA.
You mean it's okay not to do everything at once? It's okay not to race through life?
Whoa.
I am typically the kind of person that says, "Screw the ant and bring in an excavator. I've got things to get done!" This was such an incredible reminder, though, that I need to slow down. I need to find joy in every single day I'm given. I don't need to have the next ten years of my life planned. God has it taken care of, and He wants me to just chill.

And yet He needs me to keep taking little strokes with my paddle so He can steer.

Anger Management

I’ve spent the last half hour trying to connect to the DLBCC WiFi. I officially give up.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to experience only one emotion for an entire week (or more). I think most people would (obviously) pick a good emotion—like joyful or excited. Me? I would pick content. But only if I had to.

Experiencing only one emotion for that amount of time would drive me crazy. Even the “good” emotions would get old after a while. Let’s face it: you know those people who are always happy? They never have a mean word to say about anybody, they’re always complimentary, they never complain, and they are just happy. Sometimes I just want to punch those people in the face. For crying out loud, just get angry! Yell at the driver who cut you off. Complain about the humidity. Spill something on your shirt. Say something embarrassing. But please, stop being joyful!

Then there are those people who are just bitter. Constantly bitter. I want to punch them in the face, too. Just shut up about your ex-boyfriend’s current fling. Treat the eighty-year-old with some respect. Stop whining. Find something to be grateful for. But please, stop being bitter!

But I digress.

Emotions are wonderful things. Sometimes (like today), I hate experiencing such a broad range of them in such a short amount of time. (One of the perks of being female, I suppose.) Sometimes (like right this minute), I wish I could make myself experience a little bit broader of a range.

Because right now, you’re probably all convinced that I could benefit from anger management classes. But I’d rather blog.