Hang On Jesus!!!

Recently I visited Independence, MO (one city east of KCMO). Independence is the birthplace and home of the "Community of Christ" (formerly Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (RLDS)). (See breakdown of Mormon faiths below).

The Community of Christ folk built the Independence Temple in 1994 in response to 1984 prophesies and prophesies over the course of the past 150 reveled to "prophet-presidents." CC doctrine believes that Jesus Christ will return for the Second Coming right here in Independence. I mean, really folks, consider the implications. JESUS CHRIST OUR LORD AND SAVIOR is going to make his re entrance less than 10 miles from my home! This could be both endless interesting and fabulously exciting.

On the site of Christ's prophesied return, the Temple was built. Atop the temple is "the spiral." Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior is going to ascend from the sky, walk down the spiral stair case, and return to earth.

I visited the Temple. All I could thing was...

Hang On Jesus! We're going for a slide!

Leven Is Zoet!

Talked to my dear, newly-married, Yankee Blooded Southerner-Expat (in New England) friend. She's right.

Life is good.

Picked up and moved to the M/W for the love of my life.
She decided I was not the love of her life after all.

I Have
a fuckin rad job
a fabulous new housecompanion
a part of the world i had never seen
a wonderfully yet-unknown future
friends in every state and at least 15 countries

A new community that is nothing like what i was looking for and
exactly what i wanted.

Life is good.

Wij praten over sex

Don't know the politics or etiquette behind re-posting someone's article, but this one is TOO GOOD to pass up. Enjoy. ~sarah g.

Let's Talk About Sex
By ATUL GAWANDE
Published: May 19, 2007

One statistic seems to me to give the lie to all the rhetoric about abortion, and it's this: one in three women under the age of 45 have an abortion during their lifetime. One in three. All politicians -- Democrat and Republican -- say they want to make abortion at least rare (as Giuliani did in Wednesday's debate). On, this they could reach agreement. But it's clear they haven't been serious; the U.S. has 1.3 million abortions a year.

Reducing unintended pregnancy is the key -- half of pregnancies are unintended, and 4 in 10 of them end in abortion. For a while now, we've had solid evidence about how to effectively do this. But it requires getting specific about two subjects that are perilous in politics: sex and contraception. That, politicians won't do. So let me try to help with four facts everyone needs to know.

Fact one is that, with children, parents do matter. Reviews of multiple studies have shown that parents who maintain a close relationship with their teenage children, monitor them carefully, and send a certain message about sex actually do reduce unintended pregnancies. That message, when most effective, is neither permissive about sex nor focused only on abstinence, but instead combines two components. First, it emphasizes throughout high school that teenagers should wait until they're older to have sex (because the majority regret not waiting; because having a child as a child wrecks their lives); and second, it makes it clear that when they ultimately have sex, they should always use protection.
More children are, in fact, getting this message. Pregnancies at age 15 to 17 are down 35 percent since 1995, according to federal data; one-fourth of the drop is from delaying sex, and three-fourths is from increased use of contraceptives. Today, just 7 percent of abortions occur in minors.

Fact two follows from this: Abortion is mainly an adult problem. Forty-five percent of abortions occur in adults ages 18 to 24; 48 percent occur after age 25. Most are in women who have already had a child. The kids are all right. We are the issue.

Fact three is that our biggest problem is not using contraception properly: 92 percent of abortions occur in women who said they used birth control. Six in 10 used contraception the month they got pregnant. The others reported that they had used birth control previously but, for one reason or another, not that month. (Many, for example, say they didn't expect to have sex.) The trouble appears to be blindness to how easy it is to get pregnant and what it takes to make birth control really work.

Oral contraceptive pills, for example, are nearly 100 percent effective when used consistently. But in the real world, they fail 8 percent of the time -- that is, 8 in 100 women on the pill get pregnant in a year. The lower dose hormone formulations used nowadays have fewer side effects, but missing a dose by even six hours puts a woman at serious risk. (One should add condoms for that whole month, experts say.) Miss two days and one is effectively not on birth control at all. Anyone prone to missing really needs to consider switching methods.
Birth control requires constancy, and most people overestimate how constant they can be. Fifteen percent of women who rely only on condoms get pregnant in a year, largely from inconsistency in using them. Withdrawal is even more dicey -- it has a 25 percent failure rate.
The most effective methods are long-lasting: I.U.D.'s are safe and nearly 100 percent effective in actual practice. So is Implanon (the under-the-skin implant which replaced Norplant) and surgical contraception. But no method is perfect. Each has downsides -- costs, risks, side effects. Every woman must weigh them. A few good Web sites have the details. WebMD is one, for example. But this is where you come to the last fact.

Fact four: you have to educate yourself. The details matter. An effective national campaign would provide the details -- on television, on billboards -- and actively use what evidence shows works best to cut our massive rate of unwanted pregnancies. But politics precludes this. There's not going to be such a campaign anytime soon.

Nonetheless, there's no reason you have to join the one in three -- or as a male, contribute to it. You just have to understand: the effort is strictly Do-It-Yourself.

Atul Gawande, a surgeon at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston and a New Yorker staff writer, is the author of the new book ''Better.''

Hoe ghat het?

Current Life Projects and Goals

(or 5 Reasons Sarah Has Been In Therapy Way Too Long)

1. Launching Phase 1 of Personal Financial Restructuring

2. Trying to get 8 hours of sleep every night

3. Eating at least 2 actual meals a day, one of which must be balanced and super nutritious

4. Catching up on my letter writing

5. Reorganizing my apartment in preparation for new roommate Oske

Hair Makes Me Nice

Apparently, hair makes me Nice.

I was a girl like most Southern girls of the 1980s. I played with My Little Ponies, but spent long rebellious summers in the dirt. I wore skirts when I wanted, but pants and jeans were just as “cute.” My parents never readily furnished Barbie Dolls, but I would not have been denied if asked. I said Ma’am and Sir, and was addressed as sweetie, honey, sugar by strangers. I grew up in a fairly “gender free” household, given a gaggle of girl children and post-hippie parents. It was never suggested that I couldn’t grow up to be president (or dictator or empress of the universe). But I was never really a woman.

Starting in Junior High I wore baggy boys clothing. Circa a year before high school graduation, I shaved my head. My hair grew out a bit, and off I went to a women’s college. My first two years of college were very insular- I spent the vast majority of my hours in the company of feminist women and a few feminist men. I stopped shaving my legs and armpits. I wore a dress for the last time circa 2002. I wore men’s button downs and ties. To school formals I wore a men’s tux. I dated women. I shaved my head again and kept it short. I was butch, a real good Southern butch grrl.

But over the past six months I became a Woman. If I had grown up a Woman, perhaps I would not have noticed the subtle ways the world welcomed me into the fold and celebrated my traditional gender. But the past six months have been total shock.

Suddenly, in stores, restaurants, and various civic and social settings, people have begun addressing me with gendered language. “How can I help you, ma’am?” and “This woman is waiting.” Simple, nes pas? Not quite. It had never occurred to me that over the past 10 years, no one really called me woman or ma’am. In public I was addressed as Sir (despite my large breasts) or spoken to without reference to gender. “How can I help you?” In parking lots and at bus stops, strange men have begun to compliment me and hit on me. Men are holding doors open for me. Strange women strike up conversation in line about husbands, babies, beauty. On a daily basis, my categorization of Woman is assured, noticed, and complimented.

During a visit to Chicago, a friends first question was, “So… how does having long hair affect your gender identity?”

In April I went to a Sister’s wedding. Since most of my community- and family-of-origin had seen me last, I had grown my hair to chin length. I had lost about 30 pounds (due to illness, not efforts at health or vanity). I was wearing make-up. I had my hair dyed and styled. I was wearing women’s clothing. Every Sister, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin, High School Friend, Girl Scout Leader, Church Members, and Person Who Could Speak pulled me aside in excitement to tell me how beautiful, good, pretty, nice I looked. 10 years of family and community-of-origin functions, and perhaps I had received 3 to 5 compliments on my physical appearance.

Most jarring of all, my father told me I looked very nice. Growing up, we showed out for church on Sundays. Nice dresses/skirts/slacks, clean dress shoes, hair done. Every week on the way out the door Daddy would say to each of us in turn, “You look very nice/beautiful/pretty.” This continued into adulthood. When Sisters brought boys home for church in their ill fitting suits, Daddy’s usual comment, “You look very nice” or “You sure do clean up good!” Upon my own transition into primary church attire of men’s button downs, ties, buzzed hair, etc, never, NOT ONCE, was I called nice, beautiful, or pretty by my Father.

For ten years I was not a Pretty Girl, I was not a Nice Woman. I looked like a butch dyke, loved other dykes in public, and proclaimed my dissent on my body and in my politics. When you are not a pretty girl or a nice woman, you learn to be Other things.

But now I have medium-length hair. I own some well fitting women’s clothing. The world around me has designated me a Pretty Girl and a Nice Woman. I do not want to be either; I’d rather live in the freedom of the margins. Ex says if I shave my head, I’ll get my edge back, my confidence. Do I shave my head in order to be not noticed by the Gender Affirmation Society of Amerika? Do I shave my head so people will call me dyke, fag, queer instead of honey, ma'am, bitch? How do stereotypically feminine women survive with freedom and self intact? Maybe that is the point. They don’t. I’d rather be Other things. I’d rather be not-Woman. I’m not Pretty and I sure as shit ain’t Nice.