Recent glimmers of hope...

I learned that my good friend MM, the professor for whom I act as a teaching assistant (he has also been my clinical supervisor, fellow researcher, and all around great guy) was blacklisted back in the 1980's by James Dobson on his Focus on the Family radio show. Dobson called him out as heretic and not a Christian for supporting Mary Stewart Van Leeuwen, Ph.D. and her publications on gender roles and gender identity development. Heh, it makes me like him even more.

When you add that his brother got kicked out of Liberty University, I love the whole freakin' family. It helps that his 13 year-old son is the coolest kid on Earth, and his wife is amazing as well.


Also, I have this fantabulous Spirituality class that is a required course for the Psy.D. program. (How cool is that?) I have grown up in church, been a Christian for 12 years, and this is the first time I've been discipled in the spiritual disciplines, learned the major spiritual movements, and read such great works as The Great Divorce, Till We Have Faces, Return of the Prodigal Son, and Embracing the Love of God, among others.

Our professor is this amazing scholar whose calling is clearly to be a man who pursues the spiritual disciplines and helps others to do so. He spends a couple hours at least in prayer or spiritual discipline every day, takes a good run every morning, and is an incredibly peaceful person to be around. There seems to be no hint of pride or arrogance in him.

This is why I was shocked (and INCREDIBLY encouraged) when he did allow a glimpse into his political leanings. We were discussing the Keswick movement *shudder*. And the major flaw of this movement is that there is absolutely no way to address corporate sin within its teachings. So eventhough your retirement money is invested somewhere in a corporation that does some evil things, there is no acknowledgement of that, or the fact that your bank probably uses your money for some type or another of ursury. So on and so forth...

My prof said something to the effect of:

Because of the implications of corporate sin, and because of the current president's preemptive stance toward a war based on these "weapons of mass destruction, which, of course, we're going to find any day now," that is soley for monetary gain, I haven't been able to vote for that candidate in the past two elections.

This just thrilled my soul that 1.) This prof is in the Christian Formation Department 2.) He said it in class 3.) I'm not the only one who feels this way.


Just when I had started to think that my own personal journey to this decision was only because I am a megalomaniac...

I'm a trained rat...

Actual conversation had between me and Mr.GoingApe

Me (Rubbing his neck): What'd you do today?

Him: blah blah blah work. Ohh, keep rubbing my neck.

Me (Spying a package of Jelly Belly beans on his desk): It'll cost you a jelly bean.

Him: Okay...oh, move there. That's nice..

Me: This is costing you more. How many beans do I get?

Him: Five

Me: Okay, I'm done.

I Caught on Fire Today

Uh, so, I'm not talking in a spiritual God talk way. I was literally. On. Fire.

Well, I have weekly clinical supervision. And it's the day before Thanksgiving. And my supervisor lives 5 minutes away. We planned for me to go to her recently purchased townhouse for supervision while her young son napped. I show up and all is super great. But we decide we're cold. And that lighting the gas fireplace is a good idea.

Now, I've lit gas logs five bazillion times. Had them in our home growing up. So, she says, okay, the flue is open. But, either she was wrong, or it fell shut. Cause when I went to light the logs, A massive fire ball comes out of the fireplace and ENGULFS MY FUCKING HEAD. Hair on fire. Burning sensation. Screaming supervisor. I pat the fire out. Run to her bathroom, and hop into the shower.

The damage is not so bad for having one's head on fire. I did lose some hair in the front and right side, luckily my hair is kinda long, so I can cover that up. I have first degree burns on most of my face, especially the lips, nose, and right eyelid area. I have very very small eyebrows that make me look like I tweeze 'em with a weed eater. I do have eyelashes.

We spent 1.5 hours putting cold compresses on my face before she left to go buy some aloe, and I called Mr.GoingApe. Boy, that was an interesting phone call. Almost as interesting as the one to my mother.

Now, about 9 hours later, my face isn't red any longer. It is still sensitive. But the hair, so sad..the hair. That will take at least a year. At least. But I do have this cool, thank God I'm alive thing going on. And my supervisor, who is also a faculty member, will never, ever forget me.

First ever

My first ever class lecture is today. And it's not to undergrads. Nope, Master's Students. (!!!!) I think I'm going to throw up.

I Speculum This Might Be Funny

Well, since Ninjanun feels comfortable enough to tell all of you about her yearly visits, I think you'll all appreciate this yarn, or maybe you'll be repulsed, mortified, and horrified. If that's the case, you're probably a man.

At conservative evangelical Christian college of the Midwest, we have a very interesting insurance plan. You see, before one can go to a doctor of her own, she must first see a nurse at the Student Health Center who decides if her complaint is worthy of the doctor's time. Have a cold? Not good enough. Running a fever? Maybe, come back next week. Arm severed? I think we can fit you in tomorrow.

So, this week, I realized that I have an infection of the girlie sort. We won't get into the sordid details of that. Thursday afternoon, I venture over to see the nurse. I fill out the little slip of paper, listing "Reason for Visit" as suspected *insert technical name of girlie infection here*. The nurse calls me back, sits down next to me, and WHISPERS, freaking WHISPERS, while pointing to my slip of paper where I had written suspected *insert technical name of girlie infection here*, "What is that? I've never heard of it." Suppressing the urge to yell, "Look it up on WebMD! I sure did!" I politely explained the ins and outs of the most common girlie infection known to girlies to the nurse, liberally using terms such as "sexually active" and "oral sex", whose face was screwing itself up into a growing grimace of disgust. Then, she ducked her head, and said in the lowest discernible whisper....."Does it itch?" So, I ducked my head and whispered in my lowest discernible whisper, "Yes, like bloody hell." (Really, I said, "No" because it doesn't, but admit it, that was funny).

So, the nurse decides that girlie infections are quite urgent, and that I should see the doctor tomorrow, come severed arms or high fevers. She sure as hell wasn't going to go poking around in there. So she escorts me to lobby, and then whispers in the ear of the receptionist why I need an appointment. I'm pretty sure she was saying, "I'm disgusted by this vile woman, schedule this for the other nurse." Meanwhile, the secretive nature of all of this and the evident discomfort of these so called health professionals is making me want to scream in the lobby to all of these undergraduate students, "I HAVE A VAGINA, and it's INFECTED! I'VE BEEN HAVING SEXUAL RELATIONS!" Instead, I said, "Thank you." and took my appointment card.

Fast forward, next morning. I return to Student Health, sign in, and this time a different nurse calls me back. (I told you that other nurse didn't want to see me again.) So we walk through the entire facility all the way to the very back exam room. Because we must only do things with our privates in private places, where no one else might figure out that we have privates and girlie infections, and some of us might be having sex. GASP!

New nurse asks me how I'm feeling today, are my symptoms any worse? I point out it's been less than 24 hours since the last note was written, and so she reads it. She looks up and asks me quizzically, "It doesn't itch?" (NO! It doesn't itch! Do you want my girlie parts to itch? Isn't it a bonus to not have one's most private and publicly inappropriate places to scratch to not be itchy?) "When was your last menstrual period?" I have an endocrine disorder, which affects these period thingies, so I say, "Eight weeks, but I'm not pregnant, I took a test at home to make sure last week. This isn't uncommon for me. I'm seeing another doctor about it." The nurse’s eyes grow as big as saucers. She says, in slow motion, "Are....you....married?" (No, I'm a whore and your incredulity makes me feel so much better about it.) But I reply, "Yes, nearly four years." The nurse scrawls MARRIED STUDENT across my file, so I can be absolved from eternal damnation by Student Health Services. With that resolved, I take off my clothes from the waist down, retaining some dignity in still wearing my socks, and wrap the plastic sheet around my waist.

The doctor comes in; who I must admit was highly professional. She gives me the spiel on what happens with a pelvic exam*, and then pulls out the speculum. For you men, a speculum is a medieval torture device used to open a woman's cervix. To fully appreciate what happens next, you must see this device. If you're worried about the mechanics of it, here is a tasteful medical diagram.

So, doc pulls out the speculum, and unwinds a cord and PLUGS IT INTO AN ELECTRICAL OUTLET! I'm getting that unsettled feeling, like someone is about to do severe bodily harm and that I'm just supposed to lay back and let her. Then I realize, the speculum lights up! Like a Christmas tree, the clear plastic speculum has a light that is inserted in it that lights it up. So, I do the "Scoot to the end of the table, put your feet in the stirrups position."* She does the exam, and I somehow manage not be electrocuted, and I miss getting to see whether my womanly flesh glows the same way my hand does when I put a flashlight to it.

Doctor leaves, I get dressed. Doctor comes back with diagnosis and confirms girlie infection of a different sort. And somehow the rest of my day is supposed to be typical. Hmmm, and they wonder why women hate going to the gynecologist.


*The Pelvic Exam Spiel is "Scoot all the way to the end of the table, and put your feet in the stirrups. Relax. You'll feel a little pressure." This is code for, expose your self to me with your feet in midair, try not to clench yourself together to avoid this foreign object while I pry open your insides."

Below are some of our pictures from our trip to see Derek Webb in Marion, IN at IWU. The longer I live in the cookie cutter concret jungle of suburbia, the more I long for rural roads, small towns, old growth trees, and small town churches. The drive through the Indiana countryside made me wax nostalgic about my own tiny town upbringing. (Rural East Tennessee town of 900)





Sunrise in Indiana.

Blah blah blah!!! >:\

Ever done an expense report? Yeah, it's supposed to be easy.. What you spent minus your cash advance equals free trip to a conference. But, my friends, it cannot be that simple in my graduate department. No no no...see, they first give you a cash advance for you and four other students. Then they tell you to split it up among you, so you do. Then, you go to do an expense report, and they think you're a fool for splitting it up among five people, even though THEY TOLD YOU TO DO IT! And you can only do an expense report for these things from the admissions department, and then you can only do an expense report for those thing from your academic department. Then, six weeks later, you've already had to pay your credit card bill, and you still haven't gotten your 400 dollar check. You're writing your fourth draft of an expense report, after getting four different instructions on four different occasions. You start to hate the people involved in the process. Then they tell you that it's your freaking job to figure out the receipts for you and the four other people if you want the money from that cash advance back, because they have already all been paid.

F'ing academia.

What I Need

So, we all know what Meg needs. But, what does Nicole need? Hmm?

-Nicole needs to raise around 600 to ensure her place.

-Nicole needs a family that can provide her with the accommodations she needs for her wheelchair and other medical supplies.
-Nicole Needs help.

-Newbie Nicole needs inspiration/encouragement...

-Nicole needs to gain about 30 or so pounds, some talent, and at least one movie
that doesn't suck.

-"Nicole needs to find productive ways to spend her time when Ryan isn't
around."

-Nicole needs to get to a photo shoot.

-Nicole needs to shut her mouth.She is fat and ugly. (OUCH!)

-Nicole needs open lines of communication.

-Nicole needs the Solar Plexus blend ('Persephone') to recharge her self-confidence.


Well, wasn't that interesting? I don't know whether to gain weight, lose it, fill my time, shut my mouth, communicate more openly or find some Solar Plexus blend. Okay, then.

Ohh..this is gonna be great! "Oh, Snap!" Waspjerky would say!

It takes a village..

Okay, you guys have been able to witness the little conversation about poverty I've been having with my uncle. And Zalm asked if maybe you all could see his response.

So here is my Uncle's response. He asks some great questions, makes some assertions that I don't agree with, and what not. But I seriously invite ya'll to take on his questions and let me know how you would answer them... I am continually amazed that my uncle, who may actually pursue his doctorate at LIBERTY UNIVERSITY, (blegh, yeck, gross..skin crawling) and I can have this conversation in love and it is still a dialogue even though we disagree on some very fundamental things. So, I applaud his openness and the way he is letting God move him.

I agree with what you are saying and, by the way, never apologize for taking a long time to answer complex questions or address important issues. The worship of Brevity is an American _expression of idolatry. My question is, how, as an evangelical almost fundamental pastor, do I lead my church to see that our very lifestyle – our love affair with lavish worship facilities, padded pews, air conditioned facilities, etc. – is a denial of the faith as it relates to the most needy of our nation and the world? And, to add to that, how do I come to see that my own lifestyle is no different from anyone else’s except for the fact that I expect the church to support me? This attitude is as deeply entrenched in the theology of American Christians now as slavery was in the antebellum South. How do we “establish justice” in a market place whose existence and prosperity are rooted in and supported by injustice? When I think of these things, I grow frustrated to the point of accepting the status quo as inevitable in a fallen world. That is until I am reminded that even though poverty and its causes and results may stem from the fall, as a follower of Christ, I am called to “give myself to the hungry.”

One of the barriers to involving conservative southern evangelicals in social justice is the dismal failure of the Government welfare system (government with a capital “G” is the newest god in the American pantheon. For an illustration of this phenomenon, look at the debacle of New Orleans after Katrina and the expectations the victims and the onlookers had of this deity.) People see that and conclude that the results will always be the same whenever the government, a church or anyone takes steps to lift people out of poverty. I can’t imagine that the “broad shouldered” city of Chicago would have a very different perspective given the horrible conditions of its south side slums and housing projects. How do we accomplish such change here, much less in Honduras or Togo?

More from community psych...

Excerpts of my response paper to this week's readings on "Community" in my community psychology course...


What I sensed in all of these writings is a profound absence of understanding of how community among Christians may or should be different than community in a general context. Yes, I need to understand community theory, what works, what does not, and to utilize such knowledge in my personal and professional life to create places of living and learning that are safe and accepting. The Church (the entire body of believers) and the church (local, congregational) have much to learn from the body of research as presented in the text and by the other writers. The articles even highlight one amazing community of faith, L’Arche, which has done community well, in my opinion. However, I feel a loss that Christ followers do not seem to be analyzing the meaning of Christ’s claim, "For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst (Matthew 18:20).” What implications does the fact that my God is not passive, but active and involved, have in my community?

On another note, I think that Christians in the field of psychology must embrace that a self-sacrificial model seems most in keeping with Christian theology and Biblical precedence. Although our hope for wellness for the least of these is noble, if we conceptualize healthy communities as only those that are centrist and well balanced, we are missing a large part of the Christian narrative, suffering. It is good to work to bring others out of suffering, but there also appears to be a calling to subject ourselves to it so that we may better grow and become closer to God. It is a privilege of those with power (not authority) to avoid suffering for a life of comfort, and if all we have to offer those in suffering is comfort and not communion, then we have missed the message as believers.

I am reminded of the Pargament predictors for psychological well-being: sense of efficacy, sense of meaning and purpose, and sense of social support. It seems that all of these could be the result of healthy community. However, if we looked at each of these factors, we may find that the poor, the sick, the mentally retarded, and so on are doing on the whole much better than the affluent of our nation and world. I experienced much deeper connection in my small, undereducated, mixed class community of origin that I have seen in the suburbs. I feel that if Christians could humble ourselves to integrate into these communities by relinquishing our power and privilege, then we could make greater strides toward health than by trying to boost others to our level of consumption and achievement.

Considering that I feel called to return to rural East Tennessee to practice psychology, I must consider what being in community means for me. My goal is not to turn these rural communities into affluent enclaves. Rather, strengthening the already positive qualities that exist in these communities essential. Self sacrifice, meaningful work, and giving of self are evident in the daily lives of many in these communities already. I must learn to give of myself in a way that does not feed my narcissism and power, but that gleans just as much from those I serve as I have to offer.

I'm such a slacker..

Okay, so my life has been CAR-AZY busy lately. It wasn't this busy when I had three jobs, an internship, and was getting my Master's degree. (Why did I do that? That's a sign of illness, really.it.is.) But, because of said busyness, I am sitting at home on my lazy hoohah while Mr. GoingApe is at church. I felt guilty for a moment, avoiding the two most important people in my life: Kevin and God. But, that moment passed and I'm thoroughly enjoying being in my pajamas at noon with morning breath, body odor, and a messy apartment.

I even read a trashy novel. I really hate what Jennifer Apodaca's horribly popular books have to say about life, women, men, and oh just about everything else. But I READ THEM ANYWAY! Something inside of me really wants to be a blonde bombshell with silicone (or are they saline?) boobs that only thinks about sex and solving really poorly written murder mysteries. (Every woman reading this just cringed and now hates me and every man just smiled, not so secretly) I don't know if society put it there, or maybe the gender biased Southern upbringing I had caused it. But...I DON'T CARE. So, I will continue to (not so secretly, I guess) read her trashy poorly written novels. But I will only buy them secondhand or check them out from the library...I will not buy them new and support this whore writer propogating misideals about women and men to another generation(What? I'm not that shallow!).


Okay, Off I go to shave my legs.

Some things never, ever change...

Pigpen Wishy-Washy: 65%, Mental: 78%, Physical: 65%

Perhaps the most aptly named character, Pigpen is shrouded in a permanent cloud of dust and dirt. It's not his fault, he just attracts the stuff and ends up contaminating everyone nearby. There's plenty of guilty pleasure in getting yourself covered in mud, though.

Link: The Peanuts Character Test written by timberlineridge on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Kitty Cats

Ninjanun got me thinking about my kitties. Here they are, in all their expensive glory.

Pippin lays claim to yet another box. "I am king of my castle," he roars!

Pippin asleep on my feet. His sweet looks are deceptive.

Oogie strikes a pose.

Evidently, it's her only pose.

Sigh...

Right now, in this moment, I desperately want to quit graduate school. I hear this is the reaction of nearly every student that graduates from the Master's program and comes into the Psy.D. program who is intent completing the degree in 4 years rather than the customary 5 years. Oh, I know I won't. I know it would take several more moments of desperation for me to give up. But today, on less than 5 hours of sleep and a weekend full of non-fun things to do, I want to go back to bed and say "Fuck You" to everyone.

But, instead, I'll go brush my teeth and put on some semblance of clothing. I'll go to my fucking research meeting, and then my group for ethics will come to our apartment, then I'll make a phone call for my grad admissions job to some grad school hopeful. Then I'll finish this damn psych eval for a client. Then I'll grade midterms and reaction papers. Then I'll go to bed, wake up Saturday, have brunch with friends, and finish the above tasks and do more homework. Then I'll go to bed, wake up, go to church, and come home and finish whatever isn't done. And probably waste time being a whiny baby on this blog.

Yesterday I was in financial aid, and the nice administrative assistant said, "You're right, you shouldn't have a hold on your account for an exit interview. It says here your expected graduation date is two thousand and TEN!" I about passed out. 2010...2010...That seems SO far away....