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Back in college, my group of friends had a “golden couple”. I think most groups of friends have one of these: They were the two friends who had started out pretending that they were just watching a movie together, just grabbing dinner together in the cafeteria… until they finally realized that we all knew better. And then they were just holding hands, just kissing, just falling madly in love. Where one was, the other was, until eventually they were seen as a couple instead of just individuals.

I feel like I will never do them justice with my descriptions. E was one of my best girlfriends, the girl I’d look to on our Thirsty Thursdays and for going out on Fridays, and then for late morning brunches after nights out. Almost every single one of my memories from college involves her laughing, dancing, curling up for Grey’s Anatomy. Throwing on the craziest outfits to go to parties. Smiling deviously as she mixed our favorite drink of lemonade and vodka (What were we thinking in college?)

And C, her boyfriend, was quite possibly the nicest guy you could meet. He was the kind of guy that would drive us to go shopping, and spontaneously buy things that he though E would like. And if we ever had a problem, he’d be the one for us to talk to. I remember him jokingly slapping me once because he said it was the only way to get it through to me that PK wasn’t good enough for me.

During the summer before our senior year, E and I drove out to our friend’s house in Pennsylvania for her 21st birthday. E had just spent the semester abroad, so I hadn’t seen her in over six months. I still remember exactly what I was wearing that day as I pulled into the restaurant to meet them: a blue and white polka dot halter top, white pants. They were already there and a few drinks in, whispering conspiratorially at the table. A, the birthday girl, tackled me as I sat down with them. I asked E how her semester abroad had been, and before she could answer, A blurted out “Tell her!”  so loudly that everyone at the nearby tables could hear. E shushed her, then looked at me with a guilty face. She started talking about the school, the classes, the late nights in the pubs. “You’re forgetting something,” A sang, before lifting her drink back up to her mouth.

I remember being stunned when E confessed to having met a boy at a pub, having danced with him all night. “I was really drunk,” she professed. And then she talked about bringing him back to her flat, alluded to clothes coming off. A was giggling, but I felt terrible. The restaurant was on a river, and I remember looking out towards the boats passing by instead of reacting the way I wanted to. I wanted to yell at her: What about C? What about the ring on her finger that he’d given her? What about the fact that, even though they weren’t officially engaged, they always said that they were meant to be together?

I’ve never been one to wear emotions well, and she instantly could tell. “Cait, it’s nothing that will happen again. I know I’m going to marry C, so it’s something I got out of my system. Just don’t tell C.” I put it out of my head, and never brought it up again until recently.

We’d always known that C was planning to propose in the year after E and I graduated. E and I had a falling out about a year ago and have never reconciled. In fact, it seems like she’s fallen away from just about everyone we were friends with in college. C and I still stayed close, so it was a surprise to me on Thanksgiving when he told me that she had broken up with him. He was a mess, but I comforted him by saying that she was probably just nervous about getting engaged.

But by Christmas she hadn’t come back around, and C was even more upset. She was pulling away even more, not just from C but from everyone in college. We were only hearing whispers of what she was doing, though we all had our own assumptions. In the new year the situation had reached its peak. C was a mess, and though I didn’t immediately address it there were rumors that she had met another guy. That she had fallen in love with him. C was still optimistic, but the rest of us were livid with her.

Finally I broke down. “She cheated on you, C.” And I told him. I had no loyalty to the girl anymore, not to someone that would put someone else through so much pain. Not to someone who disappeared from all of her friends without an explanation. Not to someone who, even in our last semester at college, was going out dancing inappropriately with other guys.

I need to know: Did I do the right thing? On one hand, it wasn’t my place to tell him her secrets, something she’d asked me not to say. It wasn’t my place to get in the middle of their relationship. And it broke C down, I stayed on the phone with him while he cried. But on the other hand, he’s the one that I’m friends with now, he’s the one that was wronged in their relationship. Have any of you guys faced something like this? And how’d you handle it?


I was thinking about you all day yesterday, i don’t know why, i just was. you in my shower, you and me walking, you’re part of most memories.”

He said those things yesterday and I felt sick. That aching, nauseated feeling was back and I knew it was going to be another few weeks before it would go away. I haven’t written directly about PK in weeks for two purposes. The first being that he loves when things are about him- including this site. He’s terribly (and admittedly) self-absorbed, and I was hoping it would be more hurtful that I hadn’t been mentioning him. The second reason being that it’s not always a one-way street between the brain and the blog. I may write about what’s on my mind, but I’m also going to end up thinking and reprocessing everything I’d written. I’d decided on tabula rasa, to clear both the brain and the blog of him.

And you see how far that’s gotten me.

I shouldn’t be surprised though, because this is how our pestilential and cyclic relationship goes. After a few of his whimpers of missing me I give in. I convince myself that this is the time he will change. It’s a rotten thought, and I usually know I’m wrong even as I’m confessing to missing him as well. But we hardly last a few hours before it’s too much for him.

We’re like Kate and Sawyer and you want us to be Jack and Kate” he writes to me later that evening. Our relationships has always been defined by terrible metaphors and comparisons. We’re like Daisy and Gatsby. We’re Eliot and J.D. We’re every quirky couple that should be together that isn’t for various reasons. His words aren’t exactly poignant, but to me they make sense. It’s our language.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not him that I want; maybe it’s just the idea. Today a friend of mine got engaged. Last week another friend got engaged. I have friends that are married, friends with babies. Even here in blogland, friends are getting married. I read about Clink picking out bridesmaids gowns, Molly figuring out churches, and KLC picking a date.

And it’s not that I want marriage. It’s that I have friends that are in relationships and are madly in love. So much so that they want to spend the rest of their lives together. I went looking at rings last week with a guy friend, as he was getting a start on looking at some for his girlfriend. “You’re the perfect age to be settling in!” the saleswoman crooned. I may have seizured a bit when she said that, because I’m not at that phase.

I admit: it scares the hell out of me that I have friends that are there. But it scares me even more that I’m still not even ready for the dating life. I have years ahead of me before I’ll be at the stage where they are. It hurts that they have boyfriends sending flowers at work, that they have pictures of them on beaches or at family dinners. They’re reading bits of their stories to each other in bed, or going running together. I have a guy that I love who simply says “you want us to be Jack and Kate”, who occasionally feels a vague sense of missing me. Who is unable to tell me that he loves me to my face (because I really doubt that he does anyway).

I didn’t need any of this today. I have an interview early tomorrow morning for exactly the job that I want. I’m already stressed because the dry cleaners closed 15 minutes early, and my favorite J. Crew suit is sitting behind their counter. I’m stressed because we have a hard basketball game tomorrow, and because the girls couldn’t stop arguing today. I’m stressed because all I want to do is fall asleep without thinking of him tonight, and I know it won’t be happening.

I mentioned the other day about how I had an accidental slip up with my shirt coming undone at practice. I had been hoping that the incident would be forgotten, that high school boys would somehow forget that they had seen a woman’s breasts. Is that asking too much?

Apparently, it is. If anything though, it’s made the boys team like me a lot more. The following day we had a “Friday Funday” for the kids. They’d all PRed on their 4k and 6k tests, so we figured it was only fair to let them have a day of dodgeball, pizza, and homemade cookies. Head Coach and I picked up the pizzas and brought them back to the erg room, and when the kids came in- still sweaty from dodgeball- all of the boys sat in a circle around me. Head Coach couldn’t stop laughing. “You won them over,” he joked.

And this week has proved no differently. I covered the tail end of their practice last night after basketball practice, and the boys hit their rates the entire time I was there. Between each of their sets, they told me stories from school and joked with me. Endearing, really. Well, at least it was endearing until one of them hung his sweaty spandex into my coaching locker. “That’s his way of flirting,” the little coxswain noted. As if I hadn’t dealt with years of immature high school boys to understand that.

I pulled the spandex out and threw it so that it landed squarely against his face.

I’m going to be honest: Yesterday was one of those terribly, horrible, no good, very bad days. One of those days where you catch yourself chuckling while stuck in traffic because really, how does it all add up like this? And you start thinking of all of those idioms that people use, like when it rains, it pours. But I don’t want to write about all of the stupid people that made my stupid day, well, stupid. Instead, I’m going to mention two moments from the day that, while still horrible, were at least moderately humorous. OK, at least to my stir-crazed mind yesterday they were funny.

A bit of the back-story on the first: Just recently, a woman was killed in my general vicinity, and while they have a confession they have yet to find the body. I had literally just been reading an article in the Inquirer about it before heading over to crew practice. My schedule was supposed to be girls crew practice, boys crew practice, then driving over to a different school for basketball practice, but the head coach said that he needed me to stay and stick with the novices. I called Childhood Friend and told her that I wouldn’t be able to be at the basketball practice, but that I would run the basketballs over to her house. I got to her house and carried the giant bag of balls up to the front of her house. I saw a car slowing down on her street, the passenger staring at me. After a few moments I decided to just put the bag of basketballs into the shed next to her garage.

I walked down the driveway and opened the door, put the balls in, and was closing the door when I heard “Stop right there!” I turned around and saw the woman in the car that had passed earlier. “I’m calling the police!” she added, furiously grabbing at her cell phone. Now, Childhood Friend lives in the town I grew up in, a town where my friends and I would go over to each others houses and walk in the door. “I’m not breaking in,” I explained. I would have laughed, but her face was stricken with shock. “There was a body in that bag!” I felt instantly relieved, and smiled. She opened up her door, and said “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?” I told her that Childhood Friend and I coached basketball, and that the bag (which, by the way, could totally fit a body in it) was full of basketballs. The woman and I shared a laugh over the fact that she had really though I was stashing a body in complete daylight. “I guess the news is making all of us a little tense,” she said.

The second moment happened when I got back over to crew practice. The girls finished up their practice, and then the boys jumped on the ergs. The pieces we lined up for them were terrible, as yesterday had been their 4k and 6k tests. The running equivalent would be training by running 7 miles every day, and then one day switching over and running several 400 meter sprints as fast as possible and maintaining those speeds. The head coach came in and was shaking his head that none of the boys were able to hold their rates. “They’re not going to be able to hit them today,” he said before walking into the other room. 

I sat down in front of the ergs to talk to one of the boys about his form. The head coach came back in and was watching their ergs from behind him. I watched as his face lit up, and a few minutes later he mouthed they’re hitting them! to me. He looked absolutely confused- every single guy in the room was suddenly hitting their times and rates. But I realized none of the boys were actually looking at their ergs; they were looking at me. More specifically, my chest.

The head coach and I realized it at the same time- when I had crouched down in front of the erg my button-down shirt had opened and my pink lace balconet bra was completely visible. The head coach was cracking up, and I turned pink to match the bra as I scrambled out of the room. “At least we know how to motivate high school boys!” he laughed as I grabbed at my shirt.

Embarrassing? Yes. But at least it provided some humor to cushion the rest of the day.

“Bottom line is… we’re around each other an’… this thing, it grabs hold of us again… at the wrong place… at the wrong time… and we’re dead.”
-Brokeback Mountain

I feel as though every form of media has been infiltrated with every hypothesis, description, or interview that they could surmise surrounding Heath Ledger’s death. I can remember growing up and, as one of my best friends had her childhood crush on him, watching his movies back to back. I remember her eyes glazing as he glided down the steps in 10 Things I Hate About You, and I remember her pausing and rewinding A Knight’s Tale so that she could see him on a horse. I admit to tearing up every time I see Brokeback Mountain- including this past Sunday night when I forced Briface to watch it with me.

And while the entire thing is devastating, I feel fairly disconnected to it. There have been media tapes of people- most who have never met him- crying outside his apartment. People who know him only by screen, photographs, and the infrequent spotting on the street. I even cringed when I saw an email from my beloved uncle entitled “Re: Heath Ledger’s Funeral”. But the contents, a pdf and a link to the website, angered me. The PDF read as follows:

Westboro Baptist Church
(WBC Chronicles – Since 1955)
3701 SW 12th St. Topeka, Kansas 66604 785-273-0325
Religious Opinion and Bible Commentary on Current Events
Tuesday, January 22, 2008


‘Brokeback Mountain’ star
– Heath Ledger – is dead.
WBC will picl(et his funeral.

“Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with
womankind; it is abomination.” Lev. 18:22.

“For because of these things cometh the wrath
of God upon the children of disobedience.” Eph.5:6.

Yes. WBC will picket this pervert’s funeral, in
religious protest and warning: “Be notdeceived; God is not mocked.” Gal. 6:7. Heath
Ledger thought it was great fun defying God
Almighty and His plain word; to wit: God Hates
Fags! & Fag-Enablers! Ergo, God hates the
sordid, tacky bucket of slime seasoned with
vomit known as ‘Brokeback Mountain’ – and He
hates all persons having anything whatsoever
to do with it.

Heath Ledger is now in Hell, and
has begun serving his eternal
sentence there – beside which,
nothing else about Heath Ledger is
rerevant or consequential.

I feel as though I won’t do justice to verbalize that anger. In the simplest of explanations, no funeral should ever become the breeding ground for protest. That belief extends to every single person. Death is something that will happen to every single one of us, and every single one of us will be mourned. We should at least preserve the sanctity for those who are grieving, even if we do not respect or agree with the life that they are mourning.

There are so many things that I want to say regarding the antipathy towards homosexuals, but I feel that it’s a useless battle. The people that created that website will never change, and their children will in all likeliness learn their hatred. My uncle typed two short lines in the email: “Why are they so furious? It is just love, after all.”

Well, Jordan and I have finally made up. You might remember that he and I had a rather terrible fight in the days right before the cocktail party, and I was fairly certain that we weren’t going to end up talking again. I’ve always understood why he’s been hurt over our relationship- or better yet, over my quarter-hearted attempts at a relationship.

Last week I got a text from him saying “I’m ready to apologize if you’re ready for pasta.” I smiled and called, and four hours later we ended up at the restaurant his father owns for heaping piles of pasta. We reiterated every aspect of what we have- why he feels the way he does, why I feel the way I do, why we have so much trouble being on the same level. I don’t feel like I deserve him, and for some reason that makes me feel so unwilling to be with him. I also explained that I have this desperate fear of getting into a relationship now- I have absolutely no idea where I will be living in the next year. If I am accepted into an agency I could be placed anywhere in the world. It will already be heart-wrenching to leave everything behind, but leaving a boyfriend will make it that much worse. I’m in no state to be in a relationship.

And we’re at a good place right now. We’ve spent several evenings hanging out this past week. Tonight we went to the restaurant after closing and put his ipod on, danced around, and drank wine. It feels good to not have the intensity, but I’m not sure whether it’s fair to him.

But in a completely selfish way, it feels great to be at this spot. It’s absolutely refreshing, and has been affecting every bit of my day. I went in for a five mile run at the gym the other day, got to thinking about him, and ended up doing ten miles without even feeling tired. Childhood Friend said that means something, but then again she loves Jordan for me.

I am supposed to visit an old boyfriend and TBFC this weekend, and then will be in Atlantic City next weekend with a bunch of guy friends from college, so we’ll see how I feel about Jordan then. If I’m going to have some rash realization about how I should be with him, it had better be soon- he’s heading back to his graduate school next week.

Aside from relationships, I made a spontaneous move and decided to get short bangs. I took the picture below in and my hairdresser- lovely woman that she is- did it perfectly. Now just to get the body…


The Interview was a bit ridiculous. It was in Philadelphia, and thankfully I arrived there fairly early and found the floor to get to. There was only one other person waiting, so I’m wondering whether they staggered the interviews or if my odds are that much better. The room I was interviewed in felt cramped, maybe because of the large desk with three people sitting behind it to interview me. The older man was fairly nice, told me that my suit was “impeccable”. The woman with hair in a tight bun seemed a little less so, as she daggered questions like “Why are you not finished with your graduate program yet?” and “Can you speak any other languages?” Considering that I am finished my Masters in a year and a half, I figured that she didn’t have the room to purse her lips at me. But she did. The younger man simply said that my knowledge of the Arabic alphabet and slight words was a good start, and kept his mouth shut for the remainder of the interview. I’m still not sure if it is a position I would take even if I were to get it. Iraq right now? It is a scary place.

The Game was against a team that has technically beaten the team in second place, but is in third place in our conference. The girls didn’t know this- we didn’t tell them. They were so excited in the locker room, they knew it would be a hard game. We got the first possession, Werewolf drove a layup and missed, and our defense looked amazing. They couldn’t seem to get through that defense all night. Unfortunately, their coach (who looked unmistakeably like Gary Busey and ended up acting similarly) screamed to press. The girls hardly remembered our new press break, but when we finally did it ended up to our advantage. Our strongest ball handler would get the ball right at the half, and with our tallest girl at the top of their key we’d have two of us on one of them. Gary Busey was the furious kind of coach, screaming and flailing arms. And spitting. Childhood Friend and I sat there, eyes wide, catching each others face and then cracking up.

I can’t even remember when it started- fairly early in the game. Childhood Friend and I had recognized the ref as being the one that our school district has problems with. He had kicked our friend out of a game once for standing up on the sidelines (coaches are allowed to stand) and then kicked out the assistant coach for having argued that call. It seemed like his reffing was worse today. When we were fouled, it was called on us. Things that no ref has ever called at this level (though perhaps at college or professional levels) was called on our girls. It was though his eyes were hawked down on us. Childhood Friend grinded her teeth and gave me the look that said she was just as pissed as me. Nothing was being called against them, and Gary Busey realized it. His girls started pushing a bit more, boxing out a little too hard. I started screaming, but apparently this ref was also deaf. At the half I led a group of my girls to the water fountain, and in passing heard their coach say “Go ahead and let them shoot- they’re just going to airball anyway.It didn’t help that their assistant coach was working their home book and the clock. At the end of the third quarter I had to pull in the refs and argue that she wasn’t putting up all of our points.

“That point didn’t count,” she said. I countered that she should realize, as a coach, that every time the ref holds up two or three fingers that the points counted. I was snarling, and finally the refs told her that she had to add the points. She didn’t back down, said that they had to follow what the home book said. I bit back that apparently the home book had no idea what the rules of the game were, and therefore we should follow the away book. The nice ref (thankfully he came over!) agreed. The points were put on the board.

There was nothing that could be done though. We were three points away and the ref (who, by the way, had a belt that was wayyyy too tight and cut his rather large midsection into two giant rolls) called the most ridiculous calls on us. I tried to argue, but he ignored anything I said. We ended up losing by only a few points. Though it must be noted that our JV won 22-2. Childhood Friend and I allowed them to keep scoring, as we were livid with the disrespect from the other coach and from the ref.

At least there was one funny part about the game: I followed behind the bus in my car so that I could drive to practice after- as we were driving to the school the path seemed really familiar. I texted Childhood Friend to see if she knew what the name of the school was. She wrote back that she had no idea. When we pulled into the parking lot I recognized it- it was the school that The New Guy teaches at! I haven’t spoken to him since New Years, and before that since late November. At the end it had gotten very awkward, so I ducked my head down as we passed the classroom that he worked in. I was relieved when we didn’t end up seeing him in the stands.

The Crew Practice was immediately after my basketball game so I sped over to it and managed to get there right before warm up. The guys had to do two 6ks, and most wanted to PR. I’ve been trying to work with the coxswain on his calls, but none of it seems to stick. He can’t do a coxing voice, can’t remember all of the calls, and says things like “take it down” or “take it up” without clarification. No matter what I say, he nods his head but then immediately forgets. At one point, he went to call a ten for one of the boys. I head him say “Power ten NOW…One……………..four.” I pulled him aside immediately, told him that if he was going to call a ten that he’d have to call every number. And that he couldn’t be looking around the room while doing it.

The majority of the guys PRed, and one said he’d never had someone cox him through a full 6k like that. I let them have a long rest before the second, which they used to try to bribe me out of their second piece. I wasn’t swayed, though I was a ton easier on the second piece than on the first. The (humorous) highlight of the night came when one of the boys pulled me aside as we were closing up the erg room, saying that he had a question for me. I was expecting a question about how to tape blisters, or how to drop a few more seconds, I think that him asking me to his prom by far the last thing I was expecting. Thankfully I didn’t laugh, but explained that as his coach, it wasn’t ethical or appropriate. He grinned, and thanked me anyway.

 I got a call this morning: I have an interview in an hour for a private sector company that, if I get the job, will be sending me to Iraq in the next year. I’d spend the next few months training in different subjects, including language. I’m terribly excited, but I’m also terribly afraid.

And I’m not necessarily sure that this is the path I want to be on yet. In fact, I really want to finish my Masters program first, which should be complete by next December. This is a position I’d want in two to three years, but I’m being interviewed for it now. I called Childhood Friend, who kept telling me to relax, that there is no specific guideline that I will have to follow to get where I want to go. “All roads lead to Rome, or the FBI”, she joked. Meanwhile I’m trying to keep myself breathing, going through double practices every day, three basketball games this week, and classes twice a week.

And as for the basketball team that hasn’t won a game yet? We came incredibly close with the number two team in the conference. We finally have a strong defensive shift, something that has taken them all season to get down. We would have had more of a chance if the girls could have remembered our press break. We’ve switched them over to an easier press break that has a triangle of girls under the basket, one at the half court, and our center at the top of our key. Hopefully they can remember it- I’m fairly sure that today’s team will be pressing.

Anyway, must head out. Will post later this evening about the events of the interview, the game, and the practice.

I went to Borders last night, something I haven’t done in awhile. I’d stocked up almost two hundred dollars in gift cards and was absolutely giddy to use them. Aside from two hours of sleep last night and practice this morning I’ve been reading non-stop.

I just came across a chapter in the book I’m reading now that starts off with a bit about how the protagonist has a journal, or rather a Word document called journal.doc, in which he tries to write every day. The next bit hit home:

There were few times lately when I felt I had to get something that happened written down, lest I forget it. My days had become routine, somewhat indistinguishable from one another. Lots of small funny things happened, sure, but nothing major.

My life feels a lot like this now, fairly regular and routine. I have hours of practices every day, and while things happen at them I’m never sure if they’re worthy of being written about. For instance, the girls have lost just about every game this season so far in rather crushing defeats. I say “just about”, because technically we won one game in a forfeit. But the thing is, they’re getting a ton better. At the beginning of the season they could hardly do a layup. Yesterday they held the other team off for the majority of the game, crashing the boards and hitting rebounds. One of my girls even hit a three-pointer.

Rowing has been a bit of a mess. We were supposed to get this Ivy League, elite rower (who also is a model) to help coaching, but he backed out last minute, opting to go to law school instead. So now we have three coaches doing the work of a six coach team, struggling to cover all of the practices. My novice team is looking fairly good, though they’re all tiny. I pointed that out to the head coach, and he joked that I was even smaller than that when I started out.  

Other news? I got a call back for a second interview for a government position. I’m extremely excited about that, except I’m worried about how it would play out having a full-time job, a coaching job, and going to graduate school at the same time.

I also finally made up with Jordan the other night. I’d been holding out on calling him, but he made the first move and we went to dinner to talk it out. He said that the situation was frustrating- having me single and saying that he’s a great guy, but not feeling it on my end. To be honest, I haven’t exactly been feeling itfor anyone lately. I think I rather like being single, that this break from dating is refreshing. I have plans to go see a movie with Habibi tonight, so a long relaxing weekend is in the works. Hope you guys have a great one!

I’m terribly selfish and self-centered when it comes to this site; very rarely do I talk about things outside of my own little life. In the past year or so, this site has seen the likes of bad break-ups, fights with friends, fears about the future. In person I am highly political. I stand up for what I believe in and will argue it until police come and ask me to leave.

My friend FaveDave is currently living in Germany and it’s rare that we get a chance to catch up. Luckily we caught each other for a precious hour to talk yesterday and he sent me two links: one to Reason Magazine, the other to a Youtube video of a talk given by Naomi Wolf at University of Washington. I really urge everyone to at least read the Reason Magazine link, and if you have the available time to watch Wolf’s talk.

Last night the Iowa caucus took place, and although the results aren’t definitive of what will happen in Iowa, they provide a good guideline. I watched, with cocktail in hand, as CNN reported Huckabee and Obama to be the forerunners for their respective parties. Huckabee? We’re talking about the man who said that “It is now difficult to keep track of the vast array of publicly endorsed and institutionally supported aberrations- from homosexuality and pedophilia to sadomasochism and necrophilia”, the man who said “I feel homosexuality is an aberrant, unnatural, and sinful lifestyle.”

My friend Brian came over to drink last night and of course I was enraged. “Why do you care so much if a candidate is religious?” he asked. The thing is, I told him, it’s not a matter of whether or not he or she is religious. Almost every president to date has had their own form of religious observance. But using religion to condemn a group of people and to decide what is right and wrong for the country?

A few weeks ago a teacher was arrested in Sudan for having named the classroom bear Muhammad. As a country we were outraged, disgusted that the country would react so violently for allowing a religious taboo become a political issue. How dare they arrest her and attempt to penalize with forty lashes (which to many, is the equivalent of death)? Even now we feel that we have a say in what they condemn and don’t condemn. We mock them. The (albeit extensive) use of religion to decide both mores and laws within their country angered us.


But here in the United States? We have a candidate who believes that laws should or shouldn’t be made because of what God thinks is right. Not just any god, but his God. We have not learned; our ancestors used the Bible to subjugate slaves, just as we today use the Bible so as not to grant equal rights to gays.

I can’t wait for the day when I get to explain to my grandchildren what this period was like, just as my grandmothers and parents retell stories of the Civil Rights Movement. And then I will put them to bed with their own teddy bears wearing shirts that say “I am gay” in rainbow print.