Sex and JayDubs...

Now, let me preface this by saying that I like the way I was raised.  This is merely a humerous look from an insider turned outsider's standpoint on life as a JayDub:

 

I had my first kiss at 19 years old.  No, I'm not ugly.  I was sheltered.  I didn't know anyone my own age (with the exception of the creepy kid down the street).  Now, when you think sheltered, multiply that number by 10 and you'll begin to get a glimpse of sheltered life.  I was homeschooled from 8th grade on.  Not a religious choice, I just never got along with kids my own age.  That changed when I started independent study and the only school that provided that program was a contiuance school.  I got along with everyone there!  I found that I tend to fit in with the oddballs...the rejected ones...the ones looking for a second chance.

 

At any rate, let's get back to being sheltered.  I wasn't to have friends who weren't JW's.  While I was very social...it was JW social.  No kissing.  No holding hands (unless you're engaged to be married...yeah).  Certainly no sexual contact of any type.  I had the same group of friends from the time I was 13 until I was 23.  It never bothered me much because I did not know anything different.  Like holidays or birthdays.  Missing those was never a problem.  If you don't celebrate them to begin with, how do you know what you're missing?  It really never bothered me missing holidays/birthdays.  I remember, though, "rebelling" and on my friends birthdays telling them "Happy Birthday" because I was oh so badass that way.

 

I remember my first "real" job (not babysitting) at 17 years old.  I worked at Blockbuster.  There were boys there!  Boys my age!  Boys who were not JW's!  It was crazy.  They were like crack to me.  I think they thought I was more of an enigma.  I wore no make-up...dressed in baggie clothes because my step-dad didn't like me showing my figure I and trusted people completely at face value.  You see, as a JW, you make friends immediately.  No work to it.  I could walk up to any JW anywhere and anytime, tell them what congregation I'm in and I'd be welcome with open arms into their homes.  It was instant family.  The only downside to that was how rediculously naive I was.  Because of all the instant trust I grew up with, I instantly trusted everyone...EVERYONE.

 

This was, perhaps, no good.  My job at Blockbuster lasted 3 months.  3 months of AWESOME!  3 months of "rebellion" (I dated a guy there...sorta...nothing happened because I was too scared).

My Mom made me quit because "bad association spoils useful habits"...a wellknown scripture with witnesses.  I cried...a lot.  But, they were "worldly" boys and I was not to be friends with them because I would most likely end up pregnant at the drop of someone's pants.  By the way, wordly people are what witnesses called people who were not witnesses.

 

I should probably also tell you that not all JW's were like me.  A lot of young people rebelled like crazy...dated guys...were probably having sex.  I was a really really really good girl.  I was too afraid God would hate me to ever cross him by sinning.  Sinning = telling the elders = public or private reproof = disfellowshipping (all dependant on the sin and how repentant they are.)

 

That reasoning changed, however, when I actually started to date...within the organization, of course.  I was convinced my first boyfriend and I were going to get married.  Not because I wanted to get married (I've never wanted to get married...at least up to date), but because I wanted to get laid!  We got into plently of trouble together...trouble that wouldn't cause a worldly person to bat an eye, but would ultimately make me hate myself and question everything I said and did.  What did I do?  Nothing really.  Mess around with my boyfriend (over the pants, of course), but because my conscience was on overload I immediately confessed to my grevious sins. I learned dry-humping is from the devil.  Touching makes you "unclean" and God forbid you masturbate.  My argument that you couldn't possibly have so many teenage boys in the congregation and assume that NONE of them masturbated fell on deaf ears...or really pissed off ears.  Anyway, we got in trouble on more than one occasion.  Praying my sins away didn't help.  I had to confess each time.  Sadly, we ended pretty badly.  Fast fwd a few months after our break-up and I found a new boyfriend.  An older one!  I figured this would be a smarter choice.  Older means wiser, right?  Wrong.  I confessed left and right with him.  It probably didn't help that he was a complete nutcase, which probably didn't help with my overall psyche.  At any rate, we lasted only a few months. 

 

I had worked at the same place for about 5 years and then the entire company got laid off.  I was out of work for a bit and then found another office, which ultimately led me to another guy...a worldly one.  He was very smart.  Quite a bit older than I and completely facinating to me.  He was brilliant.  This one managed to finally talk my pants off (literally) and, of course, I felt the need to confess my sins.

 

I still remember that meeting with the elders.  You meet with the elders when you commit a sin.  It's a group of 2-3 older men with whom you share your sins.  To say they rather displeased with me would be an understatement.  However, there was something different with me this time.  I wasn't sorry.  I felt nothing, actually.  I remember telling them.  " I know you're looking for repentance and I understand that.  I want to tell you I'm sorry, but I'm not.  You should probably kick me out because I'm going to continue having sex.  I really really like it."  And, they did just that. 

 

Kicking someone out doesn't mean you get a free pass to do as you please.  It means you're kicked out.  Everyone you know no longer may speak to you.  That's been the most difficult.  Only being around a certain group of people my entire life that no longer speak to me...unless of course I repent and do the work associated with returning.  It's very heartbreaking actually, but at the time, I felt I had no right to go door-to-door preaching and telling people how to live their lives when the teaching I had been raised with were no longer in my heart.  I respected them, but also realized I needed to do things on my own...make my own decisions.  It's a decision I've gone back and forth on over the years, but one thing has always remained the same.  The friends I've made since I left are friends that have never judged me and ultimately taught me to be less hard on myself. 

All in all, I'm a much happier girl now.

I Blame the Parents...

Nothing is more annoying to me than a screaming child and a parent who trying to "reason" with him/her.  I hate to pull the "when I was young" card, but when I was young, I got my butt beat when I acted like a banshee from hell.  

I was at the store and overheard the following conversation:

Kid: I want a toy

Parent:  You already have a couple of toys in the cart I'm buying you.

Kid: NO! I want more.

Parent: (perhaps foreseeing what was about to happen) We'll see.

Kid: (SCREAMS) I want it NOW!  *crying*

Parent: Well, if you promise to stop crying, I'll buy you a toy.

Kid: I want TWO toys NOW! (SCREAMS, then HITS Mom)

Parent: Ok

Ok, really? Really?  I don't blame the kid.  I don't.  I blame the dumbass the poor kid got for parents.  It was really awful to hear this.  I get the fact that parents shouldn't beat their children.  But, what ever happened to giving your kids boundaries?  You provide the child boundaries and set up consequences for crossing them.  This makes for a happy child and a happy parent (and a happy me for not having to listen to BeelzeBoy get his way).

Granted, I'm not a parent.  So, take my words for what they're worth here, but if/when I have kids, they'll be polite, happy children who know what "No" means and understand that there are consequences to poor behavior.  

 

Parents seem to get more and more stupid with each passing year.  I believe parents should be required to take a parenting class & pass a test prior to having a baby.  This way, the kid gets the best chance at life and people like me aren't cringing in the grocery store.  

My Psychiatrist Can't Shake Hands...

My psychiatrist is odd.  Now, I realize the fact that I need a psychiatrist to begin with tends to suggest that perhaps it's all in my head.  It's not.  Many many...many other things are, but not this.

The guy hates his job...like despises it.  For example, in our first session went over my family's health history with him and he seemed like he wasn't paying any attention.  I asked him if he was having a long day and his response was "I'm having a long career.".  I let it go, especially considering I tend to overly read into things all the time (thank you OCD, etc, etc) and, frankly, I didn't really care that much.

He then asked me about my Mom's marriages (there've been 5).  We got to the alcoholic-attorney marriage (that's my dad, a good guy with a bad disease) and then the subsequent marriage to the bi-polar (my step-dad, an really good guy with a couple of bad diseases) and his response was "Wow, your mom really doesn't learn her lesson, does she?".  Granted, that answer didn't sit well with me and, thankfully, the look of annoyance was enough for him to apologize.

He can't shake hands, which I find hilarious, but I like the guy.  He's very odd and I tend to appreciate that.  Also, he's shorter than I am.  I don't think he likes that.

It's odd sitting in the waiting room of a psychiatrists office at Kaiser.  You ever know who you'll be sitting next to.  During my last visit, a man sat next to me who (sadly) had a severe tic which caused him to constantly smell his hands.  Unfortunately, I don't have the ability to not laugh when I'm not supposed to, so I went for a walk. 

If you're wondering why I see a psychiatrist, I'm fairly certain it's obvious, however, to those who don't know, I was diagnosed with the usual things afflicting people these days ...major clinical depression, G.A.D. (I love this one, General Anxiety Disorder) and O.C.D.  Granted, the O.C.D. is not as common and I have it pretty tame compared to those you see on T.V. who have to lock the doors x number of times or wash their hands a certain way.  Saying G.A.D. always makes me laugh.  It seems like an illness you throw into the mix when you can't figure out what is wrong with the person.  Basically, you're stressed out and can't figure out why...which pretty much seems like life.  As for the major clinical depression, that's really the only downer.  I was diagnosed when I was 15.  At the time, it really just seemed appropriate because of all the chaos in my family's life, however, when it didn't seem to go away, that's when my parents thought it was, perhaps, a good time for me to talk to someone....thankfully.  I think I was fortunate.  My parents were really flawed like most parents, but like most parents, did the best they could with what they knew.  What they knew was mental illness, considering they had a very good understanding of the term. 

I was taught at a very young age how to be very perceptive.  I tend to think that's both good and bad.  Bad, in the sense that I grew up far too young.  Good, in the sense that I've honed that gift and am generally able to understand and perceive things about people through observation. 

Well, I'm done writing.  Once again, I really don't have much of an attention span and writing about anything serious tends to make me uncomfortable.  With that said, here's a funny picture. :)

Lazy labor

I'm not certain what the "rules of blogging" are.  Am I supposed to write daily?  I have no clue.  I certainly have no end of useless information to share with everyone. 

We can talk about my current pet peeve.  People who waste inordinate amounts of time complaining about not wanting to do simple tasks when, in reality, could have completed the task in the time it took them to complain.

I've always liked helping out clients....priding myself on being one of those people who take that extra step to make things a little easier on my clients.  I absolutely cannot stand people who won't do the same.  In an industry where our services are "a dime a dozen", or rather, in any industry for that matter, you just can't afford to do nothing less than stand out to your client.  To show up to work and assume that your presence and bare-minimum work product is good enough is really enough to make me lose it. 

Whatever happened to people who took pride in their work?  Discuss.  I promise to be funny next week.

#1

Blog, Day 1...

I genuinely hope the outcome of this blog is instant notoriety and I'm able to become independently wealthy based off of the gazillions of dollars I'll make in sponsorship.

With that said, let's begin. 

A little about me.

I'm 30.  Just turned 30, in fact.  I was born and raised in San Diego (well, specifically, Ocean Beach and Encinitas...that's important).  I work at an attorney service.  Before you fall out of your chair with shock and awe, it's actually not too bad.  I've always been around attorneys growing up, (my dad was one and my mom a paralegal) so working for an attorney service seemed a natural fit.  That, and it helps pay for school...to be an interpreter for the deaf.  I love ASL.  Not for the reasons you might hope like, job security, opportunities to travel and experience things I wouldn't normally get to experience.  No, I like ASL because it looks like super cool secret language. 

I was raised in a pretty strict religion, but writing this blog is not going to be about that. While I love ranting and raving, I tend to try and keep things in the shallow end.  I guess I just don't like knowing things can be documented.  Perhaps that comes from having an attorney dad and paralegal mom.  But, then again, I change my mind a lot.  Who knows what I'll talk about here.

I'm not a people-person.  Never have been.  In fact, I'm pretty shy in real life unless I'm very comfortable with a person.  Not a partier.  Certainly not the life of the party (I couldn't dance if it had to save my life).  I don't know any drinking games.  I usually like to blend into the crowd. 

Over the internet, it's like instant extroversion.  I love it. 

My attention span is gone now...and I wrote this over a period of 3 hours, hence the constant change in direction.  Here's a funny picture.  I can't believe you actually read this.