Sharing hilarity.

I'm going to take a break from writing about heavy subjects that tear your soul apart and just brag about my family for a bit.

I have the best family in the world. And no, you cannot contest that. It's just the truth and you have to accept it.

I'd like to think I have an amusing sense of humor. I like to make people laugh and it's gotten me out of many a potentially awkward situation. I learned these skills, as most do, from my family. My mother, almost always smiling and lighting up the room with her bubbly personality, loves to make people feel welcome. This is most assuredly done through making people laugh. My father, less outgoing but surprisingly talkative when you get him on the right subjects, has a secretly dark sense of humor. My childhood memories of my daddy include, but are not limited to: learning to sing the "fart" song whenever beans were served with dinner, begging Dad to do the napkin face (he put a napkin on his face and stuck his tongue through it - why we loved it, I don't know), hearing our names being substituted for the evil people in the Bible and Book of Mormon whenever Dad read aloud to us, and staying up late to watch the show Max X. I've never heard my dad laugh so hard than when watching people get seriously hurt doing incredibly stupid things.

Needless to say, my siblings and I soaked in the influences of my parents - my mother's ability to target an individual's sense of humor and adapt the conversation to make them feel at ease, and my father's taste for somewhat indecent and justifiably hilarious things in life. It could easily be said that this combination has produced one of the most hilarious and awesome families ever to exist on the planet.

And so. I was emailing back and forth with my brother Mitch yesterday. I would like to share this conversation with you, mostly because a) I find it hilarious and I want to share it with the whole world and b) you need to understand how amazing my brother is.


WARNING: If you like Nascar and/or are from the South, this might offend you.



Me: I'm supposed to be looking up the top magazines for NASCAR fans for my job right now. WHO DEDICATES WHOLE MAGAZINES TO THIS STUFF.

Mitch: There's more than one magazine for NASCAR?? Wtf? It's probably pretty enlightening I guess. 
"I only get these NASCAR magazines for the.... articles..."

Me: I hate motor sports. They are so dumb. Seriously, how can this be one of the most popular sports in the world?

Mitch: Cause it's waay cool. Think about it- they go reaaaally fast. Also... beer.

Me: And the occasional boom boom. Nothing like a good car crash to make me want to drink more beer and love my life. 

Mitch: "WOW! It's so loud! Did you see tha- HEY, why doesn't my liver work?"

Me: "One beer for every lap!"

100 laps later...

"Uhhhsldnnskla;skjvienskladslkj!!!"

200 laps later...

Dead.

Mitch: I drink beer during nascar races because I don't get dizzy enough when I'm sober. 

Hey, wanna go shoot something afterwards?

Me: You mean dem hippies? Ja.

Mitch: Correction: Dam hippies. Dam mexicanos. Dam nigroes. 'member the confederation? Thems was good days.

Me: Them good days wen we had all dem der cotton. An now I cain't get up off dis dam porch. Dam yankees took all the moneys there wuz. 

Mitch: Slavry was a good thing two. It's in the Bible somewer.

Me: Yer got that right mister. Hey, pass the butter why don't ya? I ain't got enuf here on my butter cake.

Mitch: y'aint gonna deep fry that sucker first?

Me: I alredy done deep fried the butter and sugar befur I made the cake. And I put in dem friend pickles you like so much.

Mitch: thank'ya's'much darlin. you're the best fieansay/close relative I ever dun did have (toothless grin)

Me: I think nows the time to tell ya dat one of them chickens done peed on yur truck. Mind ya, I wus fit to be tied. But I cain't get that stain off. 

Mitch: S'aright. Times a'comin for a new 'n besides. i thnks i seed a new one at the junk'ard anyhows. Just give the yold'n to Jeheremihuh. Jethrow and I'll get the other'n after t'mar's nascar match

Me: I can't keep up with you. You're too good at this.

Mitch: Well you know... lots of practice. What else do you think we did at scout camp for 5 years?

You're welcome.

Pretty.

"You're really pretty."

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. "Thanks," my obligatory response.

"No, you're like...really pretty."



The bathroom at the residence I'm staying at here in Paris has two incredibly large mirrors that almost take up the entire wall on opposite sides. The shower, which is in fact not a shower but a bathtub with an extension shower head, has no curtains. Every time I bathe, I am forced to stare at myself. All of myself.

It's a horrible experience, I can assure you.

And it's horrible because for as long as I can remember, I have struggled to appreciate one of the most precious gifts God has given me - my body. Feelings of anger, frustration, self-consciousness, and sometimes even hate have crippled my ability to see anything good of the 120 pounds of mass that I posses.

It's hard to say where these feelings come from. Society? Culture? Other's comments? Media? Mental illness? Satan? Maybe it stems from all of those factors, I'm not sure. I used to want to figure it out, but I've passed that point. Now, I just want it to stop. I want to stop being angry and frustrated and self-conscious and hateful. I want to stop being that feminist that advocates self-confidence and respect for ourselves but can't walk past the magazine stand without secretly wishing to even slightly resemble those photoshopped faces. I want to know what all those people know who believe their bodies are precious and special and love themselves just the way they are.

I want people to stop telling me I'm beautiful only on days when I'm wearing makeup or during those long stretches of time when I won't allow myself to eat over 1200 calories a day. Actually, I just want to stop feeling like I need to hear those messages all together.

I've heard the "You're really pretty" thing a hundred times, from strangers and close friends. I'm probably going to hear it a hundred more times. And the thing is, whether or not it comes from a place of love or pity or honesty, I'll probably never really listen. Not because people don't mean it, but because I don't believe it myself.

But every time I hear a,
"You're really smart."
"Wow, you're super talented!"
"Thank you for being so kind."
"You're a good friend, do you know that?"
my heart leaps a little. Sincere affirmations make me want to be a better person and to do good things. They help me to forget, if even for just a moment, that it's my soul I want to love and to be loved, not only the imperfect body that houses it.

I want less pressure to look beautiful and more encouragement to be beautiful.

I want to be more concerned with remembering to tell someone I love them than with trying to remember how many calories I consumed. I want find happiness in long walks, prayers, and music, not in the latest style trends, lipstick colors, and imitation of fake images. I don't even know if I want to learn how to love my body as much as I want to learn how to govern my life by the things that matter most.

My body is important, and I'm very grateful for it. I am grateful that God has allowed me to be strong and healthy. I will probably always struggle to hold it to God's standards instead of the world's or my own, but that is just something to learn I guess.







[I've shared this before, but I'm going to do it again because it's the best. So watch it. Now.]


The end.