The Suffrage

I just finished reading The Good Earth.

It was phenomenal. I LOVE a book that really makes you think and analyze and ponder... And goodness, this one certainly does! As a result, my brain tonight cannot stop thinking until I get these thoughts out in the open, so a long-overdue post is the result.

The Good Earth. Read it. Call me. We'll talk. It tells the life story of a Chinese farmer, beginning when he first purchases his wife and starts his life as a man. It (beautifully, tragically) illustrates their successes and failures over a lifetime, and overall is a brilliant representation of the Pride Cycle: Asia. It is extremely well written.


Something kept creeping back to the forefront of my brain as I read, though. And while it was not actually the theme of the book, I couldn't help but ponder it more. The thought is this:

Women's rights have certainly come a long way.  

I'm not saying it is perfect, but when you look back on history and you see how things actually were... Wow. It is MUCH better.

But what I realized, as I read, was that in my past enthusiasms to appreciate the women who paved the path for equal gender rights (Alice Paul, Joan of Arc, Rosalind Franklin, Mother Teresa, Harriet Tubman, "Rosie the Riveter", Emma Smith, Eleanor Roosevelt, and, yes, including Hillary Rodham Clinton... the list goes on and on), I have completely neglected an essential group in that undertaking.

Tonight, 

I am incredibly grateful for the MEN who are feminists.

As I read The Good Earth, it occurred to me that men are completely underappreciated when it comes to this subject. Ironically, men are often ignored or assumed to be arrogant/anti/apathetic in regard to women's rights... which is precisely the OPPOSITE of equal rights. #fail

So here is a small tribute to the MEN in this world who truly see women as equals. This is a shout-out to the MEN who value women's opinions because they see them as intelligent, capable contributors to society. Thank you to the MEN who value the inside of a woman (brain, heart, courage) more than the outside. Most of all, thank you to the MEN who fought and continue to fight alongside women for equal rights to spread to the whole world!

It is so easy to support women's rights as a woman. I mean... hullo!! It is a cause that can only improve a woman's life. To not would be ... silly, actually. Too many similes are coming to mind, and it's late, so I can't figure out which to pick... I was thinking "to not would be like insisting on a VHS when a Blu-ray DVD is available", but that is a lame example. Especially because I am so movie-illiterate that I had to look up how to spell Blu-ray. Use your imagination. 

It is not so easy to support women's rights as a man. If anything, it could be downright hard. Look at the progression from a man's perspective: man loses servitude in a wife, gets more competition in the workplace, has to learn to compromise/communicate instead of holding the only opinion... etc. That could be a hard pill to swallow!

If you ask me, a man who is a feminist is incredibly unselfish. And smart. But mostly unselfish. 

So while we are SOOOOOOOO SOO SOO grateful for the wonderful, smart, brave, heroic women in the world... let's also be grateful for the MEN who stand alongside them. For the men who don't stunt progress or ignore solutions because it was a woman's work. For the men who aren't chauvinistic, bigoted prigs. And not just the men whose only contribution to equal rights is simply not preventing it from happening... 

I am talking about the men who intentionally inspire women to keep going! They are there to clear out gunk and weeds and HELP pave the way for future generations as well! Like Atticus and Jem to Scout; like Rudy and Max and Hans to Liesel; like Gordon to Marjorie.  

Ladies and gentlemen, we are in this together, so let us WORK TOGETHER!

I am grateful that I have not only been "allowed" to educate myself, but that I have been encouraged to do so! I am grateful that my opinion is my opinion. I am grateful for all those men and women throughout my life who have inspired me to reach my dreams. Even though I'm a girl. :) 

#wherewouldwomenbewithoutmen
#wherewouldmenbewithoutwomen
#womensrights
#thegoodearthwasreallyamazingandyoushouldreadit
#thepeoplethatreadtogetherfeedtogethersoweshouldhavelunchwhenyoudo

The Smell

Inevitably, when I introduce myself, someone will look at me with a deep, confused expression. They will look me up and down, and after much thought, politely say (almost as a correction, because surely they heard wrong), "You know, in Spanish, linda means pretty..." To which I reply that yes, I know. I am very much aware of that AND the irony.

I totally understand their perplexed look. I am sure that, if my parents could go back, they would change my name to something a bit more appropriate.

Such as: Personalidad (Spanish for 'personality')
Such as: Høj (Danish for 'tall')
Such as: Potius (Latin for 'embarrassing')
Such as: Meinung (German for 'opinion') 

But today, I feel like the most accurate name given to yours truly is Idiot (English for 'complete and total moron'). This is not a quest for pity or sympathy, but it is a warning to all of you: I am an idiot.

(The first step in recovery is recognition.) 

Now, I know all of you are saying,"Why have you only just now come to this conclusion? We've known for years!!" But please, allow me to explain. 

I live in one side of a duplex with 4 other girls. I love where I live. I love my neighborhood. I love my huge private room. The only thing I do not love is my roommates' collective inability to make our home UNATTRACTIVE to the enemy: Rodents. Pests. Bugs. Weird boys.  

Those of you who know me best, or at all, understand that I. Do. Not. Like. Animals. But. ESPECIALLY. NOT. RODENTS. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty better pass on by my house when they need a place to stay. Just saying. 

So you can imagine my horror when, upon arriving home very late Saturday night, I opened the door to my very clean room and smelled essence of ANIMAL DEATH. 

I recognized that Smell. 

It was The Smell of my childhood: the pungent Smell of the dead deer head from the neighbor's yard that always wafted over the fence and destroyed my outdoor experience. #smalltownrednecks

It was The Smell that seeps through the car vents as you pass over what was once a cat on the side of the road. 

It was that dreaded, awful, rotting Smell of DEATH and DECAY and DISASTER, which is exponentially worse because the producer is Animal.

Clean air is very precious to me. I do not tolerate gross air (caused by smoking, pollution, chemicals...) very politely. 

In fact, my not-so-secret-but-dearest-ambition is to spend my days attacking smokers and 
particularly polluting cars with a portable fire-hydrant-like water gun. Such will be my contribution to society.

That MY BEDROOM, which I vacuum weekly/bi-weekly and regularly bathe in bleach and peppermint oil, REEKED WITH THIS MAGNITUDE OF GROSSNESS was nearly enough to cause a nervous breakdown for yours truly.

I took out my sniffer. Feeling like Trusty, I sniffed every corner of my room, every nook and cranny, trying to pinpoint The Smell source. 

photo cred: The Internet

But it was the weirdest thing. The Awful Smell was most awful in midair, right above my bed. Not on ANY surface, just in the air...floating around... destroying my sanity... 

Now I am not a canine when it comes to spotting smells. All of my senses (sight, smell, taste, hearing, etc...) 
are about as acute as Granny's on the Beverly Hillbillies. But I swear, that is the truth. 

My room was spotless. Everything was in order. So there was clearly only one explanation, since my hygiene and general obsession for cleanliness in my room were not at fault. 

Explanation A: There was a dead rodent somewhere in my walls*. And it obviously was attracted there by my roommates' terrible trash-storage habits**.  

*A thought that caused me major panic.

**A story for a later date.

Sub-point A.1) This abrupt heat wave along the Wasatch Front caused whatever rodent a) was stupid enough to crawl into my walls and b) subsequently had the nerve to DIE there to Smell VERY bad. And as such, my room-air was unbreathable. 

If ever there was a reason to call 2319, this was it.

This explanation led me to consider possible solutions:

1. Burn the duplex to the ground. Leave town permanently.
2. Contact Landlord about The Smell problem. Abandon all possessions. Leave town permanently.
3. Leave town permanently by volunteering to travel as the first human to Mars, wherein there are no rodents.

After complaining (like I do, because I am a total whiner) to everyone I know about the problem, and quickly blaming everyone else, I generated a lot of sympathy. My ego stroked, I was barely able to endure the next few days, which (whenever I was in my room) consisted of soaking all surfaces in vinegar, essential oils, and bleach.

Still, The Smell persisted.

Last night, as I was going through my "food storage" shelf (i.e. my 8 pounds of dried herbs and enough food to MAYBE last about 3 days), I discovered a dark spot. Tracing up the spot, I found a dark trail. Tracing up the trail, I found the organic aquifer from which The Smell originated.

This photo was taken outside in the dead of night: such was my shame.
I did not want the roommies to find out. Nor will they ever, unless they stumble upon this blog. 

It is a potato.
A very old potato.
A very old, very dead, very rotten potato.

I definitely am the person who put it in my "food storage" area. It was there, in plain site, contaminating my room. How did I miss it? Why on earth was it there? 
Ah, dear readers, we have come full circle: I'm an idiot. 



And, by the way, The Smell disappeared precisely 25 seconds after The Potato's eviction.
Another problem solved (and caused) by dear Linda. Or should I say Potius? I should really get going on that name change...

The D-Day Post

I cannot possibly end the day without sharing a thought or two about one of my favorite topics ever: WWII, especially on a significant day like today (June 6, 2016).

Two years ago, I was in Normandy (on my LDS mission, which I absolutely adored) and spending all day every day strolling the streets of Caen. Oh, how I love that place. Of all the places I've lived, Normandy is definitely my favorite. That is the place I've ever felt most "at home" away from home. I could write pages and pages about all the reasons I love it there (and my secret desire to return), but that is not the focus of today's post.

It was particularly significant to me to spend the 70th anniversary of D-Day in Normandy itself. As you can imagine, it was a celebrated event. The entire summer was packed with activities and dedications and parades and memorials to commemorate the anniversary of such a magnificent, terrible, and awe-inspiring victory. Of course, as a missionary my participation was limited (rightly so), but I had many opportunities to see the effects of war, destruction, and restoration in a gorgeous place. I saw the marks of war that STILL scar beautiful Normandy. But I also saw the recovery and the reverence that it maintains. The similitude it has to the Atonement I found beautiful and touching.

Every D-Day, I take time to reflect on the symbolism of what the soldiers who raided les plages de Normandie called a "quiet journey". As they rode in the boats taking them to storm the beach, the soldiers were silent.

photo cred: http://www.cnn.com/2013/06/03/world/europe/d-day-fast-facts/

Doubtless, they were terrified. Terrified because death was so immanent. Terrified because the task they were assigned seemed so impossible. Terrified because they were so young... too young to die. It is unfortunate that the price of liberty always seems to be paid for by the innocent. 

But I imagine that the terrified silence was also a reverent silence.

We hear all the time that "freedom isn't free", and I agree. But what I thought about today as I reviewed the events of that great and dreadful day 72 years ago was not necessarily the price that these young Allies paid for America, but the sacrifice they made to FREE OTHERS. While they may have chosen to think about loved ones whose pictures they held in their pockets, in reality, most were fighting to save strangers in a strange land. I don't want to idealize the attacks of the Allies (heaven knows it was not a smooth nor an easy /perfect/bloodless victory), but I do want to focus on the fact that in that moment they weren't fighting for themselves. 

And they did it silently.

They were fighting to make a better future for someone else. For the French, the Polish, the Danish, and the German as well. They were not boasting about their heroism as they went off to literally save the world. They were silent. Theirs was a humble, selfless sacrifice.

As I read about (and get frustrated with) politics and world trauma and local catastrophes, I see a common thread tying many problems together: gone is the attitude of quietly building a better world for someone else; we want it to be better for us, now, regardless of futuristic consequences, and we want the credit for what little improvement we contribute.
#iamdoingsomethingamazingsogivemesomefame

Instead of taking accountability for our mistakes/neglect/poor judgment and CLEANING UP after ourselves, we are pushing the mess on to someone else in the future, but quick to grab the residual popularity.

If those D-Day soldiers had the same attitude ("I'm not interested in helping if it doesn't directly benefit me"), the mission would have failed. Maybe this is cynical of me... but if they had spent the morning publishing selfies about the amazing thing they were about to do, don't you think the sacredness would have been lost?

  (And... is it rather hypocritical of me to be BLOGGING about it? Haha oh well :) 

That summer, their purpose was not to help themselves.
Despite the turmoil and emotional scarring for the survivors, and life itself for the lost, I know the sacrifice they made for others DID benefit them. It benefited them more than anything they could have done for themselves.

The pattern holds true for us as well: if we focus on sacrificing for others, which may mean foregoing personal comfort without a guarantee that we will be compensated for our efforts, I know that the character that is developed by doing so will be more satisfied, happier, and grateful.

I need to work on that. I need to be less worried about what I'm going to get out of doing something for someone else, to stop thinking about whether or not the "pros" I can see with my pathetic mortal perspective outweigh the "cons", and just DO for others.

The attribute of GRATITUDE is one we always should strive to improve.

To the soldiers who stormed those sandy and intimidating beaches: I thank you.
To the leaders who led them: I thank you.
To the families who supported them: I thank you.
To the Europeans who welcomed them in: I thank you.
To the civilians who were hurt, killed, or worse during the rescue: I thank you.

But most of all...
To the God who continually delivers us: I thank thee.

At the end of every day (whether it is D-Day or not) I think it's best to trust in Him.

The Children

"For of such is the kingdom of God." (Luke 18:16)

As I bask in this glorious sunshine today and stretch out in the welcome warmth, I watch the neighborhood kids chase each other. I watch them laugh. I hear them chatter. One just fell off his bike and bravely fought the tears as he got up again. Two more are helping their mother in the yard.

I love children. I love the simple fascination they possess. I love how they rarely mask their emotions or feelings: if something makes them happy, they laugh. If something disappoints them, they cry. If something tastes gross, they spit it out. If they love something, they say it. They trust that the people around them are basically good, that the adults in their lives would never intentionally harm them. Children innately count on those adults to care for them, to create a better world for them to enjoy.

In return, children give light to life. Don't you agree? Who can't help but smile when a baby giggles, or a four-year-old girl rocks her doll to sleep, or a ten-year-old in an over-sized hat struts around and sticks his fingers in the belt loops 'just like Dad'... Those moments are sunshine to the plant of human life.

I wish that everyone had that perspective: that human life, not human power/control, is sacred.

Because there is a harsh and unattractive reality: not all children are safe.

Not all children are fed. Not all children learn to read. Not all children are lovingly tucked in at night or have someone waiting for them to come home. Not all children have a home. Not all children feel loved.

Not all children have any reason to believe that adults are trustworthy.


And it tears my heart apart. 


Right now, in my life, all of my energy and brainpower and focus is absorbed in a single purpose, which is best summarized by this quote:

"I believe we should claim certain rights for children and labor for their universal recognition."

-Eglantyne Jegg, founder of Save the Children (http://www.savethechildren.org/site/c.8rKLIXMGIpI4E/b.6115947/k.B143/Official_USA_Site.htm)

Certain rights being: Life. Love. Food. Shelter. Safety. All I really want to do is help as many children as I can find a safe-haven, to feel loved--not just by me or humanity, but by the Father who created them. As I read and learn and work, that goal is my target: to save children. Other people can work out the MANY social and economical problems going on today, but this is my project! This will be my contribution to the world.

But... It is frustrating for me to feel limited; time, mostly, is my biggest obstacle. As I work to educate myself, which I do in order to be in a position of expertise, sometimes I feel like time is slipping between my fingers like sand. There is so much to do, so many children to help, so many things to learn, so many facts to sort through, so many complications, so few resources... Which direction do I go? How can I be more efficient? What can I do now?


It can feel overwhelming.


Today, as I sit in the peaceful quiet of my neighborhood, and as I contrast that to the of the terrors of Syria, there is a gnawing that makes me wonder why I am here, safe, and they are there, not safe. But, as I reflect, I remember the Old Testament story of Elijah and the widow.

"And the word of the Lord came unto [Elijah], saying, Arise, get thee to Zarephath, which belongeth to Zidon, and dwell there: behold, I have commanded a widow woman there to sustain thee. So he arose and went to Zarephath. And when he came to the gate of the city, behold, the widow woman was there gathering of sticks: and he called to her, and said, Fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink. And as she was going to fetch it, he called to her, and said, Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand.
"And she said, As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse: and, behold, I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it, and die. And Elijah said unto her, Fear not; go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son. For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth.
"And she went and did according to the saying of Elijah: and she, and he, and her house, did eat many days. And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord, which he spake by Elijah." 

                      (1 Kings 17: 8-16)         https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/1-kgs/17?lang=eng

I could spend hours telling ALL the reasons I love this scripture, but for today's blogging purposes, I will focus on one:

Perhaps I was put here because God trusts me to help others. He knows that I could not rest easily knowing children are starving, and I hope that He continues to help me find ways to share with those children. Not only that, but God multiplies our efforts when we put our trust in Him first. How reassuring! How reassuring it is to everyone who is working to accomplish something, big or small, for the people around them. 

For me, today, that message also speaks about a Savior who came not only to save me, but to save ALL of the children. He knows and understands their needs much more deeply than we do. Their cries are not ignored. Do we trust Him to provide?

However, we have an obligation to our part. I hope we all will unite and sacrifice for those who are suffering, who are hungry and cold, and who feel forgotten. Let us NOT forget them. Let us pray for them. Then, as the adage says, let us get off our knees and get to work!

The Church places high importance on humanitarian aid. It is a blessing and another testimony to me that the Gospel of Jesus Christ has truly been restored.

I pray you all will find a child to save. And I ask for your prayers as I do the same, because I suppose this post is me "publicly vocalizing" my commitment to the Lord:

I will do all I can to help Your little ones. 


Hold me to it ;)

The Crossing Guard

When I drive to work in the mornings, nothing makes the day sweeter than seeing this kind old woman.

 

She is a crossing guard. Every single day, rain or shine, warm or cold, she is at her post. 

But as admirable as that is, this is what I find so touching: every day, she waves to all the passing cars. In addition to waving, I can read her lips saying things like "Have a good day!" or "Good morning!" to all of us. 

To whom is she speaking? We are strangers, we hustle by, we don't pay attention. 

But that seemingly small act of kindness makes my whole day. 

Does she know this? Does she know how much I (we) appreciate her friendly smile and encouraging greeting every morning? Does she feel our support and thankful spirit? 

As I enthusiastically wave back, I hope she catches, at least in part, a measure of my gratitude and neighborly affection for her. And I hope that it warms her heart too, especially on those mornings where she's standing in chilly rain. 

What an EXCELLENT example of lifting where you stand. 

I have a firm testimony that serving others DOES warm your soul, especially during times of trial and heartache. I hope I can be a better example of that, like my Crossing Guard friend.

The Bank

A few days ago I went to the bank.

Around January or February, I ran out of checks. FINALLY. I’ve been working on this single box of checks since I opened my first checking account nearly 10 years ago. To say that I rarely write checks anymore is a gross over-exaggeration of the matter, especially when the Church started letting us pay tithing online. (SCORE!)

So running out of checks was not a huge concern. Then, I had to do taxes, and you can imagine my devastation when—for the first time—I owed the State money.

You are welcome, Utah, for trying to be a stalwart and upright citizen during the year 2015. 

Even the State is upset that I’m unmarried and childless.  

ANYWAY, I needed a check for that. And I needed to order checks in person, since apparently you can’t do that online for your first check-reorder (which I guess most people have done before they are 20?). Whatever. So I stopped by the bank in downtown SLC.

Let me preface this with another story: this particular bank and I already are on rough terms. Just a few months ago, I desperately needed to take out a large sum of cash* and GOOGLE said the bank closed at 6:00 pm. That day, I strode up to the front doors at 5:07 pm only to see this sign:

It’s been a rocky relationship since.

*The cash was not for a criminal activity, FYI

The bank is empty, to my joy. I fill out the necessary paperwork for my simple request in the deserted bank, all the while thinking, “This is going to be quick,” and walk up to the teller.

Bless him. Gangly, be-spectacled, messy dark hair, wearing a light green buttoned shirt and bow-tie, I couldn’t help but think of Bernard, the librarian from Mega Mind.

His name was Guest Teller. Here is how our conversation went:

Me: Hi! I’d like to get a cashier’s check, please.

Guest Teller (eyes widen, droplets of sweat instantly appear on his forehead): What???

Me (confused as to why this request is stressing him out so much and handing him the paper): I just need a check from the bank to this recipient.

Guest Teller: Ummmmmmmmmmmmm…

Me (right eyebrow raises): What?

Guest Teller: I really, really, really don’t think I can do that.

Me (both eyebrows shoot up): Why?

Guest Teller: Well…….. ummmm….

At this point, he frantically starts typing on his computer and yells to his coworker for help, who is standing about 2 feet away.

Me (eyebrows go up even higher, which I didn’t know was anatomically possible): Is this a problem?

Guest Teller: Look, just don’t panic, okay.

Me (to myself): 

Dude. I am not panicking. Panic is something that happens when you are trying to pull your foot out from a boulder 10 feet underwater, or you stumble upon a large puddle of unicorn blood in a dark forest, or someone unattractive leans in to kiss you… I am not panicking.

Looking back, he might have actually been talking to himself. By now, my eyebrows have lowered to the point of obstructing my vision, but eventually the check is made out, thanks to the support of the coworker.  

Guest Teller: Okay, here is your check. Goodbye!

Me (apprehensively): Actually, I need to order some checks.

Guest Teller: Oh my goodness… I don’t think we can do that.

Me (taking charge): Yes, you can.

Guest Teller: No, we don’t do that here.

Me (closing eyes): Yes, you do. This is what the website told me to do. I just need to order checks.

Guest Teller (shakily, frantically resuming his typing): Well, okay…… How many boxes of checks do you need?

Me: One please.

Guest Teller: Would you like 5 boxes?

Me: No. I only need one box.

Guest Teller: Well, you just strike me as someone who uses a lot of checks.

Me (imploring the heavens for patience while simultaneously starting to lose my cool): Idon’tusealotofchecksIhaveliterallyonlyusedoneboxofchecksintenyearsThisismyfirsttimeorderingchecksPleasehelpme. 

A bit huffily, he then proceeded to successfully pull up the site for checks. Wanting to just be done with the whole thing, I said, “Yes, those are great,” to the first type of check he pulled up. Just as he was about to finish the order, my financial life (past, present, and future) flashed before my eyes: true panic started to build. Mental red lights started flashing with alarms blaring.

Those checks had DOGS on them.

Dogs in baskets. Dogs on motorcycles. Dogs with sunglasses.* 

*I am not a dog person. 

Me (in my brain, like Ralphie from The Christmas Story): Wait, we are talking about personal checks. I am going to have these checks for another 10-15 years… What impression will this leave on all the people with whom I associate financially? They are going to think I am a dog person, that I like dogs enough to HAVE THEM IN MY PURSE, and I’ll be 40 by the time I order checks again! These are crucial building-block years for both career and social status! What if my future husband sees these checks and gets ideas about a family dog? My "decade of decision" will be MARRED by these canine-canvased checks!

I looked at Guest Teller, my eyeballs practically bulging out of my skull, perspiration starting to form on my temples. 

Me (still in my brain): Wait!! Stop!!! I can’t suffer from this rash decision forever! LINDA! Wake up stupid!!!! DOGS ON THE CHECKS? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND??????????

Me (attempting to regain my calm composure, shakily): Um, actually, could I see some other options?

Guest Teller (possibly thrilled to not be the panicked one, cheerfully and reassuringly): Of course! I have the hang of it now. Don't worry, we can get what you want. 

8 happy minutes later, cute butterfly personal checks were ordered, and my financial and social future seemed a bit more stable. Guest Teller and I ended the exchange (haha) on a friendly and forgiving note, and heart-felt farewells were said. My initial, revengeful schemes (which involved making billions of dollars, buying out Zions Bank, and sending the downtown branch into total oblivion) vanished as I skipped back to work. 

Thanks, Guest Teller! You, quite possibly, saved my life. #hero

The Blog

Welcome to The Blog. 

I've considered creating a blog for a while, but since I do not have:

• An husband (not just the Instagram kind) 
• A child 
• Abilities to cook nor craft
• A green thumb 

I didn't know if my simple mind would be a welcome addition to the Net. Then I saw this and decided that I certainly couldn't make anything worse... And hey, that video has 250,000+ views. So I figured this was worth a shot. And what better time to start than a few days before finals and the peak of the financial busy season at work??

#procrastinationhaschallengedsarcasmformymiddlename

About me: 

• I'm a female human with lots of plans. (And SINGLE, my family and future posterity would like me to add.)
• I enjoy laughing. Often at myself. (And sometimes other things too...)
• I am extremely unlucky. (But blessed!! But seriously. Kinda unlucky. You'll see.)
• And I'm a Mormon! (and very happily so :) My testimony of Christ is something I hold very precious.)

...

So why the name for my URL? C'mon guys. Please. That line is way too good to be neglected. What a good little shout-out to the LDS culture, and I was THRILLED/shocked when it wasn't already taken. With all the Mormon blogs out there, I was sure it was gone... 

I am most pleased with it, especially since it represents my life story far too accurately... But don't feel bad that I beat you to the punch; there are other options.

Like: i-know-your-name.blogspot.com

The How to Facebook Stalk your Crushes Blog

Just to add an appropriate amount of creepiness for you bloggees. 

that or: you-are-a-specter-from-the-gods.blogspot.com

The Political Campaign Blog.          
                Seriously. How has THAT not been taken yet??! 

that or: why-would-you-remain-impoverished-and-deprived.blogspot.com

The Education and Career Blog

that or: ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohh.blogspot.com
The Dating Advice Blog (How to throw stones and win hearts!)

that or: papanua.blogspot.com

The Parenting Blog

So many opportunities from The Testaments.

Clarification: The Blog is not actually The-Testaments-themed. However, if my blog does nothing else, I hope I inspired you to create your own The-Testaments-URL blog. That will be reward enough. Maybe I'll actually just start generating The-Testaments-themed URL blogs (and never finish them) just to leave my cyber footprint. 

But why stop there? I may have just opened an entire door of Mormon movie line blogs. 

such as: should-i-write-that-down.blogspot.com

such as: you-do-not-put-pineapple-on-a-pizza.blogspot.com

such as: marriage-is-a-grand-reward-for-kindness.blogspot.com

such as: it-is-not-even-a-name-it-is-a-vacuum-cleaner.blogspot.com

such as: like-an-awkward-dancer-on-a-crowded-floor.blogspot.com

The possibilities are endless. If you ever need an idea, just lemme know. I don't want to publish ALL my gems on the "copyright-free" Internet. Duh.

And actually, I hope you all do go watch The Testaments now.

(Man, this is an excellent intro. I'm liking this already.)

Bisous!