ONE YEAR AND ONE WEEK AGO ...

I took my Shahada like a champ! It was amazing, and awesome; my Daddy, who doesn't quite agree with my religious choices, was there, supporting me like the totally awesome and amazing man I'm blessed to call Daddy. Which I still do. Stop judging me.

So! It's been a crazy year. Wow. I do mean crazy. Right now, I find myself 3 quarters and 8 classes away from my Associate's degree (finally), still at my Restaurant of Awesome job and kicking butt & taking names, in possession of a new sister-in-law, psyching myself up to apply for a Pixar internship next spring, and more content and happy in my faith than in any faith I've ever tried or looked into.

I was also sick with the flu for a week, then not sick for a week, and now I've got strep or something. My manager was so mad when I called in sick for the weekend, but what can you do?

Over this past year, I've been blessed with so many amazing friends; I'm continually astounded by how much I'm loved. We've done amazing things this past year. I am so blessed. I'm looking forward to many more years with every.

A review of Captain Planet: Episode 1.

Captain Planet and the Planeteers was an environmentalist cartoon that aired in the United States from September 15, 1990 through December 5, 1992. It ended two days before my sister was born, and I'm sure its cancellation is somehow her fault. I barely remember the show, more that it was cheesy, the theme song is amazing, and it started my love of blue men. So, I decided to watch the first episode again. And then I decided to review it.


All opinions are mine, and I'm making no money off of this. Captain Planet and the Planeteers is copyright Turner Program Services and DiC Entertainment.

An open letter to Mike Huckabee.

Mike Huckabee, rumoured to be the Republican Party's main Presidential candidate in 2012, has made inane and idiotic (is that redundant? Close, but no) remarks about Natalie Portman's pregnancy.

For those who don't know, Ms. Portman, who is 29 years old, an Academy Award-winning actress, and a Harvard graduate with a B.A. in psychology (obtained during the filming of the three Star Wars prequels), and who's had a 4.0 GPA since grade school, is pregnant by her partner and fiance, Benjamin Millipied.

Mr. Huckabee slammed single mothers in general, calling them "very poor, uneducated, can't get a job, and if it weren't for government assistance, their kids would be starving to death and never have health care." He neglected to comment on single fathers, or men who abandon the women they've knocked up, as if it's only women who have a hand in getting pregnant.

An open letter to my hormone and menstrual cycles.

* Disclaimer: I am going to discuss, in vague detail, the act of my uterus trying to kill me on a monthly basis. If you are male, this will probably make you feel icky inside. Therefore, if you are male, and you read this, you acknowledge that you have absolutely no right to whine that I made you feel icky inside, because you read this disclaimer, and you read the post anyway.

Dear hormone and menstrual cycles;

I realise that, me being of the female persuasion, you are a natural fact of life. I understand quite perfectly that you have your uses, that you wish my body to harbour a baby as quickly and as often as possible, so that I might contribute to the human race continuing. I know this. I get it. And hey, that's dandy, because I don't want the human race to die out any time soon.

But that being said, I hate you. I hate that you make me burst into tears for no reason. I hate that I bleed like a stuck pig every month. I hate this immense welling of despair that I feel, that I can't control, just because my body is going crazy because ZOMGWHYISN'TITIMPREGNATEDTHISMONTH?!?!?!?!?!

This, despite the fact that is has NEVER been impregnated and, God willing, never will be.

Hormone cycle, I hate that you make me hate myself. I hate that you make me feel like no one will ever love me because I'm too "me" to be loved. I hate the surges of insecurity that you give me. I hate that you make me want to crawl pitifully toward people and timidly ask, "Will you like me?" You take an already-present yet well-controlled shyness and multiply it like a schizophrenic hobo on crack cocaine while riding a rollercoaster.

Which, coincidentally, is what you do to ALL of my emotions.

I really wish you'd stop. I wish that you'd stop making my body cramp up to the point that I'm doubled over in pain.

So what I'm really trying to say, body and various shrieking-and-crying-rage-inducing cycles, is piss off.