Employment before Engagement

Our school newspaper is the Red & Black. I've tried to send in articles in hopes of being published but had no luck.

This semester I'm in a class with the new editor-in-chief, a friend of mine that I've had about four classes with. One day before class, I jokingly said, "I like your paper, Mimi, but I found some mistakes."

At which point she responded, "Really? Where?"

I said I was just teasing her but still showed her the two places I found mistakes. At which point she said, "Well, wanna come be a copy editor for us?"

Which is when I realized that maybe it pays to be a wiseass.

So at least once a week I head up to the old R&B and check out the paper before it heads to print. It's a very cool atmosphere and I'm excited about the experience I'm getting.

Anyways, it a moment of giddiness, I checked out the "Our Staff" section at the bottom of page 4 and came across this gem:



See that name after "Copy Editors"? Tis mine.

You can also see it here on the online site.

I'm proud. Can you tell?

So, in my pride, I sent the link to my family. And got this video from Lisa in return.

I can see myself instilling that in my kids. Guess I'm marriage ready? Oh haaayyyyllllll naw.

Hell or Higher Power

My roommate Meagan doesn't think I'm going to hell.

Now, this may seem like a normal thing for friends to think about each other, but Meagan was born, raised and schooled pretty conservatively Christian.

As I've learned and grown in my beliefs, it's very clear that I don't recognize with any one organized religion. One of my favorite quotes of all time is C.K. Chesterton: "Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair." And that's what it is to me.

Point being, a large majority of my friends are strong Christians, many of whom even went to Christian high schools. And I love to discuss religion with them, hence my major. I'll talk to anyone about it.

But I learned early on that not everyone is receptive to non-traditional beliefs. I've been called a heathen, told I'm going to hell, asked if I was kidding when I said I wasn't Christian, and even received a 12-page letter from a good friend of mine explaining why God disapproves of my beliefs and choices.

Now for the SparkNotes version, I believe in God. God and I hang out. We're besties. I think pretty much everything can be contributed to God so the details don't really concern me.

That being said, I talk to my roommates and some friends about God openly, and it's evident to them that God and I have a relationship.

Meagan and I had a long talk the other day. After being taught her whole life that Jesus is the only way to heaven, she's confused as to what's going to happen to me. I've never been too concerned about it, I'll trust that God knows what he's doing.

Plus, there's no point worrying about the afterlife cause we're not going to know if we're right til we die. And then we're dead. Or in hell. Or heaven. Or purgatory. Or swimming around in a giant midnight truffle blizzard from DQ.

Anyways, Meagan (and a lot of my friends) aren't used to questioning the beliefs they grew up with.

If there is one thing that I have constantly been taught and put into practice, it's to question. Question everything. My parents always taught me that sometimes the teacher ISN'T right. And that no one actually knows all the answers. Yes, even them. This was never an excuse to be rude to anyone, but I was always pushed to question.

In my mind, there is nothing more important to question than religion. It is the core of billions of people, shapes cultures and is used as a scapegoat for war. It is a huge part of the reason homosexuality has such a stigma, and it causes unnecessary rifts between people that could otherwise learn from each other.

I've learned that many people don't understand the texts they're taught to live by and that many people haven't actually studied any other religion but their own.

Now, this isn't meant to be a rap on religion in general. If someone has studied and thought deeply about everything they've been taught, and at the end of the day honestly believes in the truth of it, then more power to them. I'm not saying I'm right and I'm not saying anyone else is wrong. Because, quite frankly, how are we gonna prove it?

All I know, is I believe what I believe because I've questioned every aspect of it, and what I'm left with is what I can't shake. Things that I haven't lost faith in after four years of religion classes.

I believe my God wants me to question everything. He wants me to get angry, ask why, feel lost, and at the end of the day, come back to him and say, "Yea, you were right."

Now I'm in no way an expert on anything religion. Not sure anyone really is. But if I have one piece of advice that I can offer, it's to question. If anything, it'll make you stronger in the things you really believe, and I promise you won't be left empty handed.

Love Lotion #9

I have the mother of all papers due on Friday.

As I sit here, pouring over New York Times articles and deciphering my own notes from interviews, I realize that I have been neglecting the most important journalistic endeavor of all time.

Duffluff.

Last year around this time I wrote about a great quote from a great woman.

"Being in love is being late to work."

Said by my much loved, three time religion/women studies professor, mentor, and grad school recommender, Wanda Wilcox.

This follow up post will be two fold.

One: a story about this wonderful professor.

It is my last semester in college and quite naturally my advisor misadvised me, so that while I thought I was done with all religion classes last May, I actually have to take three this semester to fulfill the major.

It is rare in this major that the majority of a class is the seminary-bound, Christian type. May seem contradictory, but it's just not how religion majors are.

The typical religion major can be found with unwashed, longer hair, worn jeans with one leg rolled up (cause he rode his bike to class...obvi), thick rimmed glasses, and a cigarette outside of Peabody Hall. Most likely chatting up and challenging one of his professors, who is also indulging in a cigarette.

I, on the other hand, wear sorority t-shirts, a long pony tail, and the Nike shorts that solidify my position as a white girl from Alpharetta. This is neither here nor there.

Point of that was- I'm in TWO classes this semester that are majority Christians. This is rare, people. Very rare. The classes happened to be titled "Gospel of John" and "Modern Christian Theology." Interesting that they wouldn't want to learn about other religions to expand their knowledge and open their minds, but I digress.

My other class, with my favorite teacher? "Feminist Spirituality."

Can you guess what people are like in that class?

Anyway, we didn't have class last week because Wilcox was sick. Yesterday in class, there was an accident.

As Wilcox taught, she took a step towards her podium. Picture a "where I place my music while I attempt to play notes on my trumpet in 4th grade" podium, not a sturdy podium, made of wood or any other reliable substance.

In a moment of expression, Wilcox went to lean her elbows on the podium, sending the thing crashing to the ground, scattering books, binders, and pride. It remained on the ground, in two pieces, for a moment until Wilcox sighed and said, "Y'all are gonna have to excuse me, I'm high on cough syrup today. It said no heavy machinery but I guess they should have included podiums."

Thus solidifying her as STILL my favorite.


Two: rewriting the Wilcox quote.

My wonderful, beautiful, successful sisters traveled down from North Carolina this past weekend to visit with me and see where I've been living for four years.





Ashley is highly allergic to poison ivy. She is the girl who somehow got it in her eye in the 5th grade and came down the stairs the next morning with her eyes swollen shut.

Well, wouldn't you know it, she got it again. As smart as that woman is, she isn't always the quickest learner. A week after the actual contact with the ivy, Ashley rolled into Athens with arms and legs covered in welts and calamine lotion.

Luckily the lotion was clear, so it didn't look like dried Pepto Bismol, but when it dried it did look like her skin was flaking off. Unfortunately, her sisters aren't the most compassionate or medically inclined people ever, so she did all the rubbing and such while we gave disapproving looks and told her it smelled.

During the week prior that she was home, however, her husband helped. While my sister was in pain, itching and squirming, darling Hunter took care of her. Now normal "taking care" coming from me would include a pat on the back and an offer to go get ice cream together.

Hunter went above and beyond.

Truly encompassing "in sickness and in health," Hunter not only lotioned and then hairdryer-ed Ashley, he also gave her an oatmeal bath to soothe her.

And so, in honor of my favorite brother-in-law on this Valentine's Day, I am rewriting Wanda Wilcox's quote.

"Being in love is giving them an oatmeal bath."