Let's Recap 2012

To sum up 2012

1. This lovely, influential lady passed away.

2. I quit my job teaching writing to teach women how to enhance their God-given beauty. (I chalk this up to my patron saint, Veronica, the patron of the Holy Image/Face).  Also little known fact, Ms. Lauder was born to one Catholic parent and practiced some throughout her life (according to her auto-biography Estee: A Success Story).

3. My first white knight, super hero, and true love passed away. 

4. This boy came along and reminded me that when I can't pray, someone is praying for me.

5. I finally made my peace with God and reconciled myself to Him, taking the Eucharist after a six month stint of no communion.

6. My favorite cat died on Christmas day.

7. I got to see the ball drop for 2013.

I have no idea what 2013 holds for me. I don't have any expectations or wishes or wants. If there is anything the last few years have taught me, it's to look at everything as a blessing and take everything else as it comes. 

And to somehow not become discouraged or despair. 

And so with that, I say

Bring on Lent, and let's do this.

MIA or AWOL. You decide.

Obviously, I haven't been posting. It's not that I haven't had thoughts or have wanted to share them or needed to get them down, but it's more that I've stopped pushing myself. Or rather, I needed a break after everything that has happened this year.

I know Advent is coming. I know I'm supposed to be anxiously awaiting and excited and joyful.

But if I'm honest with myself and with you, I'm not. I couldn't care less. For the past four or five years, I've entered this season hoping for new beginnings, clean slates, and chances for my life to get better. Every year, it hasn't. It hasn't gotten better; some years it got worse. Some years, I broke even.

But after all this, I don't expect or wait or hope for anything anymore. Lately, I have just been trusting that this is my path and the load I'm expected to carry.

That makes things a lot simpler, but it also makes me apathetic at times. Regardless, I'm thankful for what I do have.

To be honest, Christmas is great, but I don't think it's what I need right now. I'm spiritually and emotionally spent. I need a renewal, a recommitment, a moment to suck it up and reconcile with God and say "okay, I'm over being mad at you." And that, to me, sounds more like Easter. So maybe that is what my Advent will be. Waiting and preparing for Lent and Easter and a chance to pick up where I left off.

Memento Mori

A very strange thing happened to me the other day while tending to my family's graves, especially while laying a bouquet of flowers on my father's.

I can remember being twelve or thirteen and watching my grandfather's casket being lowered into the ground and knowing what was happening, and coming back at eighteen or nineteen and looking at his headstone and comprehending what had happened. Mostly, my heart broke when I saw that my grandmother had already bought her plot next to him and had her name and birth date carved in the headstone. I boo-hooed out there that day when I realized what it meant.

Like I said, I went to put flowers on my father's grave, and I saw my mother had bought his head stone with her name and birth date already inscribed, I boo-hooed like I did when I was a teenager.  There, in big, black, bold letters was our last name - a name I don't think I'll ever be able to give up for a husband, not only my father's name, but my name, too. A name that I feel like is such a part of me and so representative of who I am, I can't disassociate it from myself and my identity. And it scared me. And it reminded me, everything in this world passes away, and I will, too.

I can honestly say I've just about got everything I wished for as a child. I have a job I like, I finally live in a house I pay for, I own my car, I pay my car and health insurance. And for the first time in my life surrounded by my dead family, I felt like an adult. I haven't been so lucky as other people my age and had the right of passage of marriage and children (which I feel like is most people's right of passage into adulthood). And it's in that moment that I realized, I am actually a little thankful that I haven't experienced that feeling yet because somehow, I feel this is fitting. I haven't had a "normal" life or an "easy" life, so why would entering in this phase be any different?

My family is falling apart. My mother keeps busy (which I actually think is good for her) but she rarely has time to talk to me. My baby brother has gone to the marines (he's already gone, actually). And my other brother and I...well, we try, but we never really have gotten along. Maybe this is why I've never been able to marry. This is a tough time, and it seems as if there is no joy. I think only the hope of having my own family could salvage my current one and bring everyone together again.

Then again, maybe I don't get to have any joy. Maybe this is just what God has picked out for me. I hope not.

I swear I'll quit posting about death soon. I just can't shake that topic lately. It's haunted me too much this year.

Death defines us.

When you have a parent die, it is indescribable. You go through these roller coaster of emotions. At first, it's like a thrill ride, constantly up and down, and eventually, after a while, it all slows down. The ups and downs are still there, just simply more spaced out.

One thing that has occurred to throughout all of this is that I never knew what kind of man my father was until his passing. Over 500 (500!) people came to his funeral. It was standing room only. All because at some point or another, he had carried them to work, bought them a meal, been a good boss or a friendly neighbor...just an all around good ol' boy always willing to lend a hand. He also had no problem putting people in their place if they weren't doing right by others.  I might have been able to say I'm pretty sure my dad was a good man while he was alive, but now that he's gone, I can definitely say he was a good man.

And then it occurred to me. It was the same with Jesus. People could say while he was alive, "we're pretty sure He's the messiah" but after His death and resurrection, people could definitely say "HE IS the messiah."

Not saying my dad was like Jesus, I'm just drawing the parallel that it was only in death, each man's life got definition. And maybe that is what death is, that last judgement, that ending point that gives each of our lives meaning. We'll spend our whole lives trying to figure out who we are and who God wants us to be only to know at the moment of death.

That's really the first time I've contemplated God or something spiritual in the past three months.

I'm still upset and disappointed at Him. I've been known to be a little begrudging, and surely God knew something like this was going to make me a spiritual zombie. I know it can't be healthy, but work out your salvation with fear and trembling, right?

An Open Letter to My Future Husband

I've been reading a lot of self-help single Catholic gal books, specifically, this one.

And one thing I read that really helps is the idea of writing letters to my future husband, even though I may or may not have met him. I like the idea of all of them piling up and handing them to him on our wedding day before the ceremony just to show him how ardently, how truly, I have loved him and how long I've waited. So I've been writing. I'm not going to share every letter, but this is one I decided I would.

My dear husband,

I feel like I get to know you more every day, even though I've never met you. Is that weird? Is this how it's supposed to work? I feel like by going on all these bad dates and learning what kind of person I am, I am somehow learning who you are too.

You'll be smart, intelligent, and witty. You like studying and will know I'm smart and like good, interesting conversation, but you'll also realize that I don't much care to make myself an academic, though you might be one yourself. You'll respect this difference. In fact, you'll even like it and welcome it.

You'll be polite and hold open doors for me, even though I can hold them open for myself and will let me do it for myself when I want. You'll acknowledge my independent streak, but you'll know when I want and need help.

You'll be my sunshine.  You'll remind me of how good my life is even when I think the world is going to Hell in a hand basket, especially if I'm going through a bout of depression. You'll realize I'm a tad bit dramatic at times about life because of my condition, but you'll know how to deal with me in patience and love.

You'll be holy, and you'll hold me accountable for praying every day, and you will hold my hand during mass. We'll talk about things we read or see or hear, and we'll grow in our faith together.

You are who I want. You are who I dream of. You are the one I am waiting for. And sometimes, when I think about that, it makes me cry, that I already love you so much, but I don't even know you.

I love you, and I'm waiting for you. Come find me.

-V.

(I just can't keep) Hanging On

Sometimes, I write stuff. 

And then I delete it. 

And then re-write it.

And then I finally just think to myself, "Darling, you are absolutely mental."

And then I post I video that sums up how I really feel.

Because I'm too ashamed to talk about specifics, so I'll only speak vaguely. 

Because this shouldn't bother me, but it does. 

So there. 

Birthday Birthday

What a weird birthday.

Usually, I rejoice in the fact of my getting a year older, but this year, I just haven't really cared or been that excited by it.

I mean, I have a lot of good things going on in my life right now.

I have a job I love. I have a boy I really like, who actually wants to attend mass with me to learn about the Church. I have good friends and family supporting me all around.

But I still have a lot of sadness. I think today it finally sank in that my dad is gone. For the longest time, it's just felt like he's not available - like work made him travel to Australia or Germany again, and he just hasn't been able to talk to me. But he always, always, calls me for my birthday. And he couldn't today. And he won't. And I think maybe that's the moment that I realized he's really gone. 

I've been looking for some consolation in all of this, and I think I've finally come to realize that I appreciate the man my father was for me, and I want to marry someone just like him.  Someone who loved his wife, even in her eccentricities, loved his children, and wanted to be their rock and their provider. Someone who always brought flowers and chocolate to all of the women on Valentine's Day, who always put up the Christmas tree with his children, who flew kites every May, who reprimanded us when necessary, but above all, did all of these things with love for those he loved. 

I think I've been searching for that kind of love my entire life, and I feel a little bit like Dorothy.  My heart's desire been in my own front yard this entire time, and I never really realized it until it was gone. And I know God has that kind of love too; I just wish I could feel it a bit more these days.

NFP vs. The Pill: The Difference? - With Pictures!

So all's well that's going well in the dating arena of my life until this past Friday.

Rewind a bit - I've recently met a guy who seems to be the total package - smart, funny, great smile, studying for his PhD, genuine and honest. He lost his mom six years ago, and he's only a few months older than me. He is protestant, but claims no denomination, prefers churches that give the Lord's supper frequently, and is open to learning about the Catholic church and dating a Catholic girl, which he's never done before.  In fact, he's looking to find a new church home because this current one isn't doing anything for him. It's been going well, to say the least, but then, we've only known each other for a month.

Catholic girls. Stereotyped forever thanks to Hollywood and Britney Spears.

By no means was it a bad time. In fact, I had a really, really good time. We watched some movies, played some video games, and he made me dinner. (That hasn't been done for me in a long, long time). While he cooked, we talked, and we talked through dinner too. It's never awkward.

Until we started talking about how much we don't like politics. Until the Catholic thing came up in connection with that. Until he asked about the Catholic views on morality and sex and birth control. And he grilled me. Right there on the spot. Generally, I tried to avoid this topic as long as possible, but inevitably, it always rears its ugly head.

Sad to say, I think he about crapped his pants when I said "I don't use birth control." And then I had to clarify - not the pill, not the condom, not the shot - nothing. And then I proceeded to tell him how embarrassing it is to have to admit to a priest, let alone God, that you've been having sex outside of marriage, and that I didn't have sex (or haven't had sex) in the past four - going on five- years. I think I sent the poor boy into shock.

One challenge you won't conquer.
Ever.
Unless you marry me.
#putaringonit

But he did keep asking questions - what do you do to control your birth rate? How is NFP different from birth control? Does this mean you should have eighteen kids even if you can't afford it?

And I realized, as a single Catholic gal, I can't answer these questions. I can't really explain what NFP is and differentiate it from the rhythm method or what makes it better than using a birth control pill. I felt so silly sitting there saying, "Oh, I don't have sex, and I can tell you why, but I have no idea how to get through a marriage having sex and still being faithful to the Church and God." I also feel like he needs to see a typical Catholic family in action. I think that would help a lot because I think when I told him all this he automatically thought "The Duggars."

Good on the Duggars, but that life is not for me. 

Normally, if a guy posed this question and seemed to frown upon my answer, I'm gone. I say thanks for your time, it's been fun, but we're not for each other. But he said something the other night that makes me hopeful. He said that he prays about us nightly. I don't think that even Heathcliff did that (he might have prayed about what to do about us, but I don't think he ever really prayed about the relationship). He said that he was well aware that there would be some disparity between us, but he feels such a good connection with me that he felt the need to take it to God in prayer. Isn't this what all the self-help single Catholic girl books preach? Isn't this the kinda man that, as a single girl, you want to pursue?

So ladies, if you have any advice, please comment. We're going to see each other again Thursday, and I'd like to be more articulately able to explain the Church's position should the need arise.

Friday Quick Takes

1. 

I was offered another full time teaching position, and I decided not to take it and stay with Estee Lauder. I told God I needed a huge sign to know I was making the right decision, and I feel like I got it in the form of my new boss. She's in the position I would like to eventually be promoted to. She got her  Master's in English, taught for four years, joined Estee Lauder, andnow she is an executive for the company, and she's just in her mid thirties. And her mother just died. It's creepy how similar we are. Moreover, our account executive came through the other day and said she was highly impressed with me and asked me "how mobile I was and what I wanted from Estee Lauder." She hinted that I would be looking at a promotion within the next year. Plus, when I think about going back to teaching, I want to throw up. But staying at Estee Lauder makes me feel peaceful, so I think that answers the question.

2.

The only mass that was offered on the Feast of the Assumption was at 8:00, which I, with I'm sure several other people, couldn't attend because we were at work, and father wouldn't offer a 5:30 mass. Not a happy camper about it. 

3.

I've met someone that I actually really, really like. We have a lot of superficial stuff in common, but we also have some more substantial things in common too. He's protestant, but "really wishes we could all be under the same umbrella. Just Christians, no division," and only likes going to churches that offer the Lord's supper frequently. I have hope for this one. Normally with boys, I'm usually hopeful for about a week or two, then skeptical, then bored or scared. This one, though, I have hope. and I'm almost willing to brave a full on relationship again because of it. Almost. 

4.

Fall weather, where are you? I'm ready for cardigans and sweaters.

5.

My birthday is in less than two weeks. It'll be the first time my Dad won't call me at some outrageous hour and then ask me how old I am, and then say, "No really, is that how old you are now?" I couldn't ever really tell if he was joking with me or actually forgot. 

6.

Hair ties are the best thing ever. They hold your hair, but don't put that gross crease in it.

7.

Pray for me please. I still can't seem to get myself back to mass. I literally had a panic attack walking up to the doors for the Feast of the Assumption. I'm really trying, though. God knows I'm trying. 

One Month Down. The Rest of My Life to Go.

Today marks a month since my dad died.

I'm not sure exactly where I stand. Some days it's okay, and some days, it's like a sucker punch to the stomach all over gain, this weird panicked feeling like the world is falling away from underneath your feet.

Also a confession: I haven't been to mass in a month.  The first Sunday it was my dad's funeral, the second Sunday I was home with my mother who was recovering from knee surgery,  the third sunday I was too depressed, and yesterday, I was too tired. The sad part: I haven't missed going to mass. I get nothing from it anymore. I don't even bother listening to the priest's homilies because they are so unsound at times...I usually just say a rosary. Even worse in my opinion - no one has noticed I've been missing.

Not only that, but I'm really struggling to stay Catholic or even care about being Catholic these days. It's hard to be Catholic when you don't much care for your parish or when you don't have a good Catholic support system around you. It would be so much easier to leave and just be protestant or nothing at all.

I can see how most cradle Catholics lapse so easily. Unfortunately for me, I was catechized too well for that.

I guess I'm not mad at God, but sorely disappointed at the hand I've been given, and I don't really feel like worshipping and following someone who has given me such sorrows the past few years. And quite frankly, I don't feel like talking with Him, much less loving him right now.

But He's a big God, right? He was once human right? So He can take it till I sort myself out. Or do something to show me He still loves me because right now, it doesn't feel much like anything.

I Miss You.

I keep seeing blue ford f-150s driving around town, and I keep thinking to myself, "hey, Daddy's back. He's come to hang out, have dinner, and visit."

But then it hits me. And then it hurts. So very, very much. I'd trade twenty years off my life just to have him back for twenty more. Or I'd give anything just to start over from this point again.

Anything. Just to have this again.  As weird and wacky and crazy as we were. 

There is a hole in my heart, and not even God and can fill it right now. 

A Strange Thing Happened.

A strange thing happened.

Someone at the funeral told me that there would be a sign that my dad was ok. I didn't really believe them. I thought it was more worn out platitudes. Granted, I thought he might do a short stint in purgatory due to the fact that he never went to church, but he lived the gospel every day of his life.

But, I haven't posted this information here, so let me begin by saying, for the past two months, my previous landlord has pursued a lawsuit against me and my roommate in small claims court.  I talked about it at length with my Dad, and he said she was just bullying us because we were young, she didn't like us, and it was personal. (She didn't need the money at all). He never thought I should pay her a dime and that I should stand my ground.

I had just said to a co-worker after my car breaking down, after my Dad dying, "I'm going to get home this afternoon, and she's going to have sent us an e-mail saying she won, and I owe her money."

There was an e-mail that night.

All it said was that she was dropping the lawsuit.

Holy. Cow.

I think that was my Dad. I think he fixed that for me because he still loves me and is watching over me.
And if that's the case, he's not in purgatory, but in Heaven if it was him. (Heaven!) I don't know anything for sure, but I really feel like that was him helping me out.

HEAVEN! I can't be certain, but I feel it in my gut, and I feel a lot better about him being gone now.

When It Rains, It Pours.

I'm sitting here staring at a text message on my phone that I have apprehensions about sending.

I need to break down. And I need someone who understands that, who knows how I am when I cry, who knows why I need someone different to break down with than my family.

My car broke down today, and I called my mother crying because this is something my Daddy could have fixed and would have fixed. Now, neither she nor I know what to do, and I barely made it to work. But she refused to talk to me while I was crying stating, "she couldn't handle it and wasn't going to handle it." She actually made me hang up, stop crying, and call her back. Moreover, she said since she couldn't handle me crying she wants to force me back onto medication and wants me to stay barred out all the time (that's Xanax) which I refuse to do because I want to be sad for my Dad.

Later, I called to tell her I made it home ok, and she started talking for some crazy reason about my brother's girlfriend, which I didn't want to hear about. Earlier in the week, she said she would give me some of my Dad's life insurance money to use to put a down payment on a car; now she says fix it on your own or call your oldest brother.

The thing she doesn't realize is that you can't depend on him. He's highly immature and irresponsible and never answers his phone when I call, and my baby brother is just nineteen and too far away. He can't fix this either. 

The other night, Heathcliff called and talked to me for the first time since we broke up. He said he was sorry, about everything. And told me that if I needed anything, call him. He sounded remorseful. He said, "I know you probably don't want to talk to me or my ear is not appreciated or welcome, but I do want to offer it if you need it."

So I'm sitting here looking at this blinking cursor. Wondering if I should press send or not.

I know what my heart wants, but I also know what my head thinks. I wish I knew the right thing to do.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

The hardest thing I've ever done is lay my Daddy to rest.

It was harder than becoming Catholic.
Harder than breaking off an engagement.
Harder than my Nana's death.

I never realized how close we actually were, but that's not to say I took my Daddy for granted. I loved every minute I had with him, and death was continually at the forefront of his mind since I was a little girl. Back then, I just thought he was overly sentimental when he used to tell me "You're driving my most precious cargo to school. You obey the speed limits and do right driving." Of course I rolled my eyes, but I knew he meant it.

I'm lucky that I can say I knew my Daddy, that he was there for me. He fed me every night at 2 am while playing Super Mario on the NES in the 80s. He tried to teach me how to ride a bike. He took me hunting. We flew kites every May. We fished together every spring. He bought me sno cones and ice cream in summer. He taught me how to spit out of the truck like a boy. He scared boys off when I got older. He was patient with me in learning how to do Algebra and made me practice an extra hour every night because he knew I was weak in my math skills. He always helped me do my homework. He got me jobs during the summer so I could work to pay for my college. He pushed me to do my best and graduate and not be boy crazy. If I hurt myself, I called him, and he could fix it, or if not, he would give me the money to go to the emergency room. He would give me 100$ almost every time I saw him just for doing good in life. I called him about taxes. About moving. About shower heads and broken down cars. About jobs and careers. He was my rock. My guide. When life was wrong, I went home to Daddy because he fixed it.

He was my first and best man in my life. The only boy I ever wanted to white knight things for me. He was my first superhero, and the first guy I loved.

I can remember being six or seven, and riding in that old grey truck listening to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. He would look over and tell me, "Now, when it's my time to go, and it will come, I want you to play this song. And I don't want nobody crying and sobbing and all that mess. It's not a funeral. It's a homegoing because I'll be going to the good Lord. So I want ya'll to be happy. And I want you to play this song and Elton John's Funeral for a Friend and dance on my grave." And of course, I'm sure I was a bit bleary eyed, so he would always say, "But that ain't for a while." He told me that most of my life. In fact, we had just had the conversation again back when my Nana died in January. When my mother left the room, he looked at me and said, "I mean it. And I know that you'll be the only one in the family to make sure it happens." I promised him I would.

And so I did. After everyone had left. After the grave was dug. After the casket was put in the Earth and covered up. I got my phone out and played those two songs, and I danced on his grave just like he had always wanted. 

I just keep wishing I understood God's timing.

The only thing, the entire weekend, anyone said to me that has made me feel a little bit better is this: "Your Daddy is not gone dear. He is just in a different part of your life. He will watch over you and take care of you now, and I promise you, there going to be time you feel like he is in the room with you, and Baby, he is. He won't leave you. He loved you too much for that and knows you need him."

And I thought about it. If I believe in the communion of saints like I say I really do, at some point, Daddy will be in Heaven. And Daddy can help me. I can pray to him. I can still talk to him. I can still ask him to help me, to guide me. He may not be able to fix the sink anymore, but I can ask him to send someone my way who can, be it a plumber or my future husband. That is the only thing I have found comfort in so far.

Still, I wish Daddy had been 82 instead of 52.

My Daddy Died Today.

I. can't. stop. crying.

WHY? I mean, I understand all the theological reasons and all that, but right now, they are unsatisfactory answers. WHY my dad? WHY this age?  WHY when he got regular checkups and the doctor told him he was okay? WHY so soon after my grandmother? WHY WHY WHY?

It feels like God is just picking on the Doherty family. What else can be thrown our way? And I know it's not Him per se, but the effects of sin, but I want to hold someone responsible. I guess I should be pointing fingers at the Devil, but I know God has more power, so why didn't he step in and do something because my father was only 52. He was too young. I'm too young. He'll never walk me down the aisle. He'll never meet his grandchildren.

For as wack as my family is, we at least retained the traditional nuclear family structure. My Daddy was the head, followed by my mom, me, and on down the line. Now I understand why God says be kind to widows. Granted we are all grown, but we are still children. We've barely even scratched the beginning of our lives, and now, we have to take care of our mother. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating that being in this situation gives me a new appreciation for those verses. 

Remember how I said 27/2012 was looking to better than 26/2011? Yeah, right. This year can suck it. 

Feel free to give me a spiritual pep talk. I'm not going to get it anywhere else. 

Another Job Offer!

What?!?!

Yes, you read that right.

My old employer called to offer me a full time position.

What on earth?!

I Had a Catholic Date.

I just got back from a date. With a Catholic boy.

We went to mass. (mass!)

We ate dinner at a little Italian bistro on main street.

We argued (teasingly) over whether "orderly" was an adverb or and adjective in a particular sentence.

We saw Elvis' birthplace.

We missed our turn and got lost on the highway for ten minutes.

We might do all this again sometime soon.

And I just might like that to happen, very very much.

Men vs. Women: A Meditation

I think it's safe to say that I've been doing a lot of meditation on men and women recently. Moreover, I've bought a single Catholic girl's dating guide, and in passing conversation with one of those Catholic boys I mentioned earlier, in talking about the LGBT movement, I stated, "I don't understand it. The relationship between a man and a woman will always be deeper and more mysterious than the one between a man and a man or a woman and a woman." I've also been watching sappy Korean romance dramas. Needles to say, this has been at the forefront of my mind lately.

I'm not saying I've got it all figured out, but something did occur to me the other day while reading an article about how young men used to be primed in manners and behavior toward young ladies. Boys were taught to be gentlemen. Gentlemen go out of their way for women - opening doors, pulling out chairs, letting ladies walk out first. But really, when you think about it, both parties are actively doing something.

First, men are active givers. We need to look no further than the Holy Trinity to see this example played out. God the Father gave us His Son. His Son gave us the Holy Spirit. Giving, giving, giving. And it's all characterized as a male action. Men (or men with properly ordered desires) like to give as well. Whether it be gifts in the process of trying to woo a girl, or providing for the family he has created, men like to give. And not to be too crass, but you also see this idea at work in the marriage act. Men give their sperm to a woman.

Women, on the other hand, I believe, occupy a far more unique position. Women are receivers. Far too long has literature and popular opinion characterized this as a passive act.  In fact, probably the worst thing to happen regarding this is the advent of feminism. Really though, reception is an active action. When given a gift, a person is never obligated to receive it. And on top of that, a gift needs to be received with a humble spirit. This is a major fault I have with feminism, and by extension, the LGBT movement - it's rooted in pride. For example, I know a man can open the door for me, but it doesn't necessarily mean he thinks I'm helpless. No, the man is going out of his way, giving a little extra to me, to make my life a little easier. In response, I should graciously and humble accept his action, and by doing so, I am acknowledging reception of his small gift to me. Biblically, of course, the pinnacle of womanly reception would be Mary. But we all know Mary had to actively accept the gift she was given. Moreover, the gift of both Jesus and the Spirit, was given to the church, who is inherently characterized as the Bride of Christ, a female.  And again, the marriage act also exemplifies this. A woman receives the sperm of a man. Just as giving is characterized as a male act, receiving is a very female act.

A lot of our literature that we like to read, especially our romantic comedies, are about this too. Specifically, I'm thinking of The Taming of the Shrew by Shakespeare. The shrew is tamed, but what's really happening is that Bianca is learning how to be a gracious and humble receiver of the gifts her lover is trying to give to her.

So there you have it. Feel free to discuss. Like I said, it's just something I've been pondering.

What's Different?

So, I re-read my last post, and it's got me thinking.

What happened? What's different? Why did I ever diverge away from Catholic boys in the first place?

I don't know if it was I wanted the complete opposite of Heathcliff or what. I do know trying to find a Catholic boy in Columbus pretty much made me want to give up hope and dating completely.

In fact, I almost went screaming the other direction when the first Catholic boy contacted me. I looked at his profile and his message and told my roommate "No, no, no! He's Heathcliff all over again." To which she rolled her eyes, read his message, and his profile and said,  "He's your type. That's what you like. You need to give him a chance."

So why am I gung ho and okay with this now? Is it just time? Am I ready to date after 1 year and 3 months? (I'll answer that for you - no! I quite like being single, and the idea of having to give up some of myself to another person, well, that just doesn't appeal to me at all). Is it because I'm so okay with myself and being predominately by myself that I'm now being afforded real opportunities with Catholic boys?

I'm not sure. It's just something to think about, for a moment, at least.

Oh my goodness! Catholic Boys!

I have seen the light. Dating/Talking/Hanging out with Catholic boys makes all the difference in the world.

Currently, there are about three boys in play, two of which, are Catholic. And my, oh my, how different it is talking with those two compared to the not Catholic boy.

They're smart, funny, witty, intelligent, and they don't look at me like I have three heads when I mention a saint. We can play the "hey guess my confirmation name" game. We can talk about our opinions of Vatican II, our priests, and our parishes. I don't have to explain why I can only eat fish on Friday (and it's not because I want you to pay for my expensive sushi). It's like you have an instant bond with someone you don't really know.

That's not to say the non-Catholic boy isn't smart, funny, or intelligent. It's just there's not as strong of a connection there.

I'm completely open to a cradle Catholic or a Catholic convert. But now I can see why people would encourage me to date only Catholic boys.

As a side note, I start my new job Monday. It's weird. I feel like my life is finally getting some traction in the right direction.