Sunday, March 16, 2014


Hate is a disease.  Hate is an infection.

You can be born with hate; that is to say, it can be an infection transmitted from your parents who raise you with that hate.  It is all you know as a child and during your formative years.  It can be part of the interpretation of the religion with which your parents raise you.  Like your parents give you your morals, your guidance, your status in life, they also give you hate.

Hate can be a tiny seed implanted in you through some negative event, like a member of the subject demographic of your hate imparting some wrong upon you.  You hate the deed that was done so much that you grow to feel that it was the greater entity to which the person who imparted that wrong belongs that is responsible for that deed, so you hate that instead of the wrongdoing itself or simply the person themselves.

For whatever reason hate is borne inside of you, when unimpeded, it can only grow.  It grows to consume you, it becomes part of your being.  Not only do you hate the people or the ideology that is the target of your corrupting disease, you hate everyone responsible for bringing that person or ideology to power.  You grow to hate everyone who simply stands by and continues to allow those people or that ideology to exist, although those uninterested parties have never been done harm by the person or thing you hate.  It grows, it multiplies, and eventually, you become hate itself.

I said in the above paragraph, "when unimpeded."  Hate can be cured.  Hate can be purged from your system like any other disease.  Life experience and wisdom often cure hate.  But, most often, those with the disease of hate surround themselves by others with that same hatred or worse, are charismatic masters of rhetoric, like Hitler, who implant that hate in others.  Combine hate and power and build entire demographics on it?  Much, much harder to cure hate.

Then, those who are targets of that hate, hate in return.  It grows to where they not only hate the hateful oppressor, but the entire demographic to which the oppressor belongs, the ideologies the oppressors by proxy espouse though not related to the oppression to which the hated are being subjected, and all those people who stand by and let the greater demographic of the smaller hating oppressing class prosper.

Fred Phelps, leader of the Westboro Baptist Church, one of the most vile, hate-filled organizations in the United States, is dying.  He could be dead by the time I hit "publish," I don't know.  He has infected all of his descendants with the hate with which he is infected and is a charismatic enough master of rhetoric that he has created a small but powerful following.  The main target of their hatred is the LGBT demographic.  I am not gay.  I am a Christian.  Fred Phelps calls himself a Christian, though his works do not reflect the teachings of the deity I share with him.  I have seen the hatred of Fred Phelps and those like him create a hatred of Christianity, which I certainly can't blame LGBT people for.  Not only does he piss me off as an LGBT ally and fuel a greater power which oppresses people I care about, he also makes me look bad as a Christian.

Yet, I want Fred Phelps to find peace in death.  I sincerely believe that the majority of his life has been filled with suffering from the disease of hatred with which he is infected and I want him to be released from that.  My belief in the afterlife is foggy, but if there is a Hell, I don't want him there.  I don't want anybody there.  I want everyone to spend their afterlife with God, in peace, released from all of the things that tortured them on Earth.

I believe God will punish Fred Phelps, I do, and greatly, and deservedly.  He has most assuredly turned people away from God with his hate, and he should be punished for that.  But I want him to be released from the hatred, the suffering, the disease he had on Earth.  When he dies, the internally- and externally-fueled suffering of a diseased man, and the power which he exerts over those he infected, will be over.  And for that, I will be glad.

Thursday, March 06, 2014

I need car manufacturers to hear me.

Cars are fancy these days.  Minivans come with vacuums, some cars have backup sensors and even cameras, some have headlights that turn with the road, some will parallel park for you, some have sensors that tell you if the car two cars ahead of you is braking suddenly.  (I do believe the last two are voodoo.)  These are just middle-of-the-road cars, not even for 1%-ers - these are cars I see during my daytime trashy TV commercials.  This is the future!

I have a 2013 Limited Edition Toyota Camry SE.  It was an impulse therapeutic purchase while Ace was in the hospital last January.  Drew and I were emotionally compromised, so we blew the cost of a small house on a car.  It has a sunroof that opens, like, 9 different ways, big tires, leather seats, seat warmers, and a USB port.  Its LCD touch-screen display tells me what song is playing on my iPod, the band name, the album name, and shows me the album cover.  I can switch to satellite radio or Pandora.  I can see my fuel consumption rates and tire pressure and access a map.  I can make and receive phone calls from the display or my steering wheel and the call comes through the radio speakers.

While the car is in park, I can input an address and a businesslike female voice will gently navigate me turn by turn to my location.  Also while the car is in park (safety first), I can check movie times, nearby gas prices, stock prices, sports scores, and make restaurant reservations.  You get the picture.  I'm saying, my car is pretty fancy for a Toyota.

Yet, my vanity mirror still shows my disturbingly multiplying amount of gray hairs in glaring detail.  What the hell, science?  Young people with smaller budgets and hair that's all the same color are not buying Limited Edition Toyota Camry SEs.  Well-established thirty-*cough*-year-old people are your target market, and we're a little salty up there.  I don't care what my next car costs or if I have to *beleaguered sigh* give up the ability to check my stock inflation while my ass is nice and toasty in my leather seat, I want my vanity mirror to blend the grays in.  It's called a VANITY mirror, can we not make it for the vain?

Monday, February 03, 2014

Baconators and heroin

This may piss y'all off, but you're pissing me off, so I don't really care about your feelings.

If you have ever been significantly overweight, barring a medical condition causing the weight gain, you have no moral high ground to talk about the famous actor who died of a heroin overdose yesterday.

Stop furiously texting me and hear me out.  You, for whatever reason, developed an unhealthy relationship with food and didn't exercise enough.  Maybe, just maybe, you use food to cover up your feelings.  Maybe you didn't use it to cover up your feelings - you just REALLY enjoyed food and just couldn't say no even if you knew you'd had too much.  So you gained a bunch of weight.  Gather 'round, kiddies, that's addictive behavior.  Are you pissed that I'm calling you an addict?  Then tell me how your behavior doesn't parallel the pattern of an addict's.

Some (damn) people are able to eat comfort food or just overstuff themselves on special occasions and snap out of it and exercise it off and face their feelings and go on about their lives and maintain a healthy weight.  We significantly overweight people, when we eat unhealthy food, hope we are those (damn) people.  We are not.  We stuff our faces, vowing to work it off or start a diet on Monday but that doesn't happen, so we figure what the hell, might as well stuff our faces again.  Eventually, we become overweight and we crave more food to satisfy ourselves.  And sugar, trans fats, aspartame, all physically addictive, and we NEED more.  We know when we put that food in our mouths that we're hurting ourselves, but we don't care.  That's addictive behavior.

You know when I knew I had a problem?  When I ate a Baconator (two beef patties, two slices of cheese, four slices of bacon, condiments, lettuce, tomato, and a bun) and a large fry to stifle my anger and was still angry and hungry and wanted more.  That was a rude awakening.  I was fortunate enough to be in a place in my life and have enough money where I could seek professional help.  Others are not so fortunate.  I don't judge them, and neither should you.

Replace "food" with "substances."  Some people are able to have a couple glasses of wine after a particularly hard day or get drunk occasionally and not have a problem.  Some people can take a pain pill as prescribed for pain and then let the rest of the bottle rot away in their medicine cabinets forgotten.  Some people can smoke cigarettes once or twice a month.  When we try a substance for the first time and enjoy the high, we hope we are the kind of people who can walk away from them.  When addiction happens, it's triggered from the first time you try a substance.  You don't know until you try it.  You're aware of the chance, but you think it won't happen to you.

It's the same thing with heroin.  Some people can and do use heroin recreationally and don't develop an addiction.  I'm sure that when Philip Seymour Hoffman tried heroin for the first time he didn't think he'd become addicted.  Nobody WANTS to become addicted to anything - they just want to experience a high or have a temporary escape, or be like non-addicts who can use those things on occasion.  And as with food and other substances, heroin addicts eventually need more to become satisfied.  You never know which dance with your drug of choice will be your last.

"But Stacey, Philip Seymour Hoffman was clean for a really long time and went back to it."

Hey, overweight people?  Have you ever gotten to a much more manageable weight for a number of months or years then gained it back?  Tell me how you're better than Hoffman.  Hint: you're not.  Unlike with substances, you can't quit eating food.  You can develop a healthy relationship with food and a good exercise regiment and keep the addiction at bay.  Then at some point you're just tired of watching numbers all the time and just want to be like one of those (damn) people who doesn't put on weight with everything they eat.  You know exactly what you're doing to put the weight right back on, but you do it anyway, thinking there's no way you'll get all the way back into your fat pants.  Maybe a footlong chili cheese dog won't kill you immediately like too much heroin in a needle will, but you know eating the wrong things and not exercising will eventually get you overweight again.  You do it anyway.  That's addictive behavior.

Hoffman probably didn't put that needle in his arm thinking it would kill him.  Maybe he did, who knows.  But turning your nose up at him for falling off the wagon ignores the very real disease of addiction.  He could no more stop himself from putting that needle in his arm than an obese person can stop themselves from getting a third plate at a buffet.  Yes, they can stop themselves, but the voice of addiction is much, much, MUCH louder than the voice of reason.  I topped out at 291 pounds.  I know.

(Before you "but Stacey" me some more, I'm aware that you can be 100 pounds overweight and still have healthy blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar numbers.  I'm also aware that you can be at a healthy weight and have healthy numbers and eat a fried chicken sandwich with mayonnaise with every meal.  You can also be a meth addict and still have all your teeth.  Doesn't mean you won't lose all your teeth eventually.  I'm also aware that you can eat healthy and exercise and still be overweight.  That's awesome.  I'm referring to people with food addictions.  Did I cover everything you want to "correct" me about?)

Friday, January 31, 2014


I've seen this post all over my Facebook this morning.  I reckon she envisions herself as some kind of revolutionary but 99% of the parents I know espouse this philosophy.  It's just part of the universally accepted rule book for how to raise a child.  I do it, you do it, your parents did it, their parents did it, ad nauseam, time immemorial.  I hate to wreck this selective memory echo chamber, but I call bull.

My parents certainly espoused this philosophy.  They were in no way going to cater to my individual meal demands.  I sure did go some nights without eating supper.  I have lived in France, New Orleans, and Los Angeles and traveled to Las Vegas and New York City and have been exposed to and tried many, many different cuisines.  I have been adventurous in my cooking since reaching adulthood and am very open-minded about the things I will try.  Key word:  TRY.

Y'all, I am a super picky eater and I assure you, I will slap damn be a brat about not eating the foods I don't like.  The food I find most offensive in the world is cooked cauliflower.  I don't know what hellish otherworldly realm cauliflower goes through during the cooking process that turns it from a perfectly palatable vehicle for hummus into... whatever it becomes, but I refuse to eat it once it's cooked.  I'm not throwing it in the face of the person who cooked it, but I will not put it in my mouth - I don't care if Justin Timberlake cooked it for me.  And no, I won't like your cooked cauliflower, no matter how proud you are of it.  You can put a bunch of parmesan and garlic in a goat's ass and deep fry it and it still tastes like a goat's ass.  I also refuse to eat anything that has the texture of a tongue (ugh, sushi), I think cooked cabbage smells like farts and tastes worse, the only spicy food I will eat is crawfish, and I think you might as well put a teeny mound of hot rotting garbage on a filet mignon if you're going to put bleu cheese on it.  Disgusting.

You know whose parents did not espouse this philosophy?  Drew's.  I know this because his mother llloooovvvees to recount literally every single meal he ever turned down and what she would serve his spoiled self instead.  She cannot tell me enough about the times she'd make "spaghetti with meatballs and red sauce from scratch and muffalettas and gumbo and fried catfish but noooo, he wouldn't even try it.  He ate Chef Boyardee instead.  Oh, he LIVED on Chef Boyardee, boy boy.  I thought he'd turn into a can, Stacey!  Thought he'd turn into a CAN."  And I assure you, Drew's mother is an incredible Cajun cook.  But she spoiled him to pieces.  You know who's the least picky eater I know now?  Drew.  Once he started cooking his own food, he became a lot more adventurous and now he'll eat anything, especially his mother's food.  The only food he doesn't like is raw celery.  He even eats MY cooking, so pray for him.

There's a whole massive middle ground between "mmmyyyy children eat a new cuisine from a different country every night or they starve" and "I thought he'd turn into a CAN."  It's okay if you are on one side or the other, and it's okay if you fall in the middle.  It's where my parents fell, and I guarantee it's where most parents fall.  No, my parents didn't serve me a bowl of Cookie Crisp on a silver platter if I didn't eat what they served me, but they also weren't serving star fruit and quinoa at every other meal.  My dad was (is) a very meat-and-potatoes and restaurants kind of guy and my mom and stepdad had 4 kids to feed and were doing their best to please a crowd 6 nights a week.

I make Ace take a few bites of new things, several times, but once it's established that he absolutely hates it, I'm not going to make him eat it.  Blueberries, for example.  What food is more inoffensive than blueberries?  Why would ANYBODY not like blueberries?  Ace just doesn't.  I've given him blueberries in every presentable fashion and he simply hates them.  Am I gonna give him blueberry pancakes if that's what Drew and I want for supper?  Of course not.  He gets a grilled cheese sandwich and some baby carrots.  Now, if I'm cooking something I know he likes and he wants something else, or if I cook something new that's relatively inoffensive and he refuses it, sorry, champ, see you for breakfast.  But 99% of the time, Drew and I make stuff that the whole family likes.  Ace gets a healthy diet and doesn't fight much with most meats and fruits and veggies, so I'm not gonna fight with him over food if I don't have to.

I'm pretty sure the writer of the article is the same way, and I'm pretty sure all of you reposting that article are, too.  There's so much to fight with your kids over, why fight over food every night, or hell, even every week?  She probably just wanted to brag that her kids like goat cheese.  The children of France who ate Neufchatel for lunch laugh wholeheartedly.

Monday, January 27, 2014

Ugh, oysters.

Man, I freaking hate oysters.  They have GOT to be the worst food.  So gross.  Taste, texture, all of it, buuu-HARF.

Since I hate oysters, everyone should hate oysters and anyone who does like them is wrong.  Just read the Bible!  Eating them is a Levitical sin.  It goes completely against my way of life of eating tasty animals because watching one of Those People eat an oyster just makes me sick to my stomach.  And don't get me started on OYSTER BARS, where oyster-lovers flaunt their gluttonous sin in front of regular, God-fearing people.  And how many serious hand injuries have happened in those oyster bars while shucking, hmm?  The love of oysters is clearly dangerous and unnatural.

People are not born to like oysters because eating oysters is a sin and God doesn't make mistakes.  It's got to be due to some childhood trauma, like an older sibling forcing them to eat boogers resulting in some kind of Stockholm Syndrome.  Or, even worse, being exposed to oyster lovers.  How could I possibly explain to my child that people like oysters?  He, himself, will never like oysters because I will raise him knowing the truth that oysters are disgusting.

Now, we mustn't judge oyster lovers.  Love the sinner, hate the sin.  But I should be allowed to exercise my religious freedom and deny an oyster lover housing or employment because I absolutely disagree with their lifestyle.  Oyster lovers shouldn't be in any kind of leadership position over children because one of them might offer a child an oyster.  We CERTAINLY shouldn't allow oyster lovers to marry each other and spread the oyster-loving agenda!  What if they succumb to the aphrodisiac properties of an oyster binge and create a child who grows up to love oysters?

Do I sound ridiculous?  Well, so do you if you're against equal rights for LGBT people.  Get on the right side of history, y'all.

(Oysters really are gross though.)

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

I may seem crazy, but...

People think I'm this HUGE clean freak because I talk about cleaning a lot.  They say they couldn't do what I do, that they wish they were the housekeeper I am, and some have asked for my cleaning schedule.

Listen, y'all.  Lemme make a couple things clear.

1.  Of utmost importance, cleaning is not a burden to me.  I look forward to it because it's, quite honestly, my zen time.  You can stop reading now if you want.  I turn on my iPod, put on my headphones, and escape from my reality for between 1-3 hours every day.  I'm a cleaning ROBOT if I'm stressed out or angry or sad about something.  I'm told it's a healthy coping mechanism although I do see in ways where I'm anxiously controlling about it - but then again, it's my main escape.  Some people read.  Some people do heroin.  I'm told there are escapes between those two extremes, but I clean.  (And maybe a little heroin.)  (I don't do heroin, that was a joke.  I'm bad at jokes.)

2.  I'm a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom with very few hobbies or obligations, no chronic pain or fatigue conditions, and only one child who is 7 and isn't very messy.

3.  I had to live with a hoarder in my teens and as a result have grown up to develop a physical aversion to clutter, and EVERYTHING is clutter to me.  Everything I own has to have an immediate purpose or it's purged from my home.  I don't have a lot of decorations or knick-knacks, photos on my walls, books, or anything else that will accumulate dust.  I donate Ace's unused toys to charity every 6 months and I'm fairly ruthless about it.  My closets and cabinets are uncluttered (but admittedly unorganized) and my attic is still mostly empty.  This may seem like a good thing, but I really will donate things or throw things out that we have to buy again, like phone cords or boxes or craft/office supplies.  Or fat/skinny clothes.  Don't get me started on deviled egg trays.  Or... couches.  (Not a joke.)  If I deem it clutter, it is GONE.  It has flustered Drew more than once.

4.  I may not do heroin, but I do take Adderall, as prescribed, and it's The Motivator To Rule All Motivators.  I still would clean as an escape before I was on it but as is common with people with ADHD I had to force myself to keep a very, very strict schedule or things wouldn't get done.  I wouldn't do dishes unless I absolutely had to and I'd go 2 weeks without touching the washing machine.  Now, cleaning has just become The Thing I Do On Adderall.  And drink a lot of water.

5.  I don't do a damn thing after 5-ish, which is probably when the Adderall wears off.  Any laundry or dishes that remain or accumulate after I turn back into a pumpkin will wait until the next day.  And heaven help everyone if I haven't showered by that point.  I'll be in a cloud of filth reading Twitter and watching TV for the rest of the day.  (That was a joke.  I'm still bad at jokes.)

If you have some other healthy coping mechanism, you have a baby or more than one child or a messy child or a job or something else that makes cleaning challenging, you've never lived with a hoarder, or you're not on amphetamines or even a bunch of coffee, who cares that you're not the housekeeper I am?  Nobody notices the mess in your house, seriously, unless you're actually a pig.  People notice smells - they don't notice messes.  If they do, more than likely, they're not judging you for it.  And if they are judging you for it, they can clean it their damn selves.

If you still want it, here's my schedule.  If you've already decided I'm a complete nutcase, hit your browser's X button.  It doesn't get a whole lot better from here.

Every single day, I start with dishes.  On days I just do. not. want. to. clean, I still just start with the dishes and it almost always snowballs from there.  Clear the clutter off the counters, spray them down, wipe them off.  Spray/wipe the front of the microwave/top of the stove.  Clear the clutter from the tables/floors in the dining room/living room, spray/wipe all the tables.  Most days, I then sweep the floor in the kitchen, dining room, living room, scoop the cat litter, sweep the hallway.  All that takes about an hour.  Then, homeschool.

On Mondays, I wash all the clothes, which is usually 3-4 loads.  I do hang/fold it all and put it all away when it comes out of the dryer, so martyr me at will (unless it's after 5).  I do not freakin' iron.  Ever.  If the wrinkles don't come out in the dryer, I'm not wearing it ever again.  Sometimes, for fun, I mop the kitchen on Mondays.  I literally just said "for fun," you read that correctly.

On Tuesdays, I wash/replace bedding/blankets.  Drew puts the fitted sheet back on our bed, though, because that son of a gun is TIGHT and requires manly muscle power, or womanly muscle power, or trained monkey muscle power.  I'm saying I have the muscle tone of a 3-day-old baby and Drew is manly and can put the fitted sheet on our bed.

Wednesdays are "maid days," although my maid only comes every other Wednesday.  I do pre-maid cleaning, and anyone who tells you they don't is lying.  I pick up all the crap that's accumulated in the house and put it back in its right place.  Shoes go back on their shelves, jewelry goes back in the box, books go back where they belong, etc.  I wash the bathroom rugs and the towels.  Then either the maid comes and does her wonderful, wonderful thing or I do my regular daily cleaning then sweep the entire house, vacuum the rugs, and mop everything but the bedrooms.  I leave the dusting, cleaning the bathrooms, and mopping the bedrooms to her.  She also does little things I just don't think about, like cleaning the inside of the microwave, wiping dust off my individual plant leaves (maybe she's on Adderall), sweeping under furniture, stuff like that.  She's my favorite luxury and she's worth every penny.

On Thursdays I wash a load of clothes if I need to.  Mostly on Thursdays and Fridays, I either do a big load of nothing after I do my daily cleaning or I take on some project.  Something small like cleaning my makeup brushes or shaving an armpit.  Just one armpit, though.  I'll do the other next week.  (Also a joke.  Pfffft, shaving.  I've been married 13 years.)

On weekends, I either eschew my daily cleaning in favor of a big project (like throwing away valuable things like screws or a stapler or something else my freakish mind has deemed cluttery), or I wither away watching documentaries about people who are addicted to eating cat hair.  Depends on my level of GiveADamn.

I don't expect Drew to do much in the way of cleaning because Ace remains, as ever, very difficult to manage and Drew takes him off my hands every day after work and on weekends and puts him to bed almost every night.  Drew's only chores, really, are the fitted sheet, taking the trash out on trash days, and most of the grocery shopping because I refuse to take Ace to the grocery store.  Plus, you know, earning the money to keep me in my life of sublime leisure.  I'd really like to take back grocery shopping because I think Drew does enough taking care of Ace and working, but I'm gonna have to do it after Drew gets home from work, so please refer back to where I turn into a pumpkin after 5.  Otherwise, I'm completely happy with the chore balance.

Writing this blog post has thrown me completely off schedule.  It's gonna be a Netflix-documentary-as-homeschool kinda day.  I'm gonna turn on some filthy misogynistic rap station on Pandora and start the dishes.

Wednesday, December 04, 2013

Virginity "mistake"

Hey, it's me, back on my soapbox.  My OPINIONS are LEGION.

I just came across this article on the Facebook and it bugged me.  Cliff's Notes: it's about a woman who took a purity pledge as a teenager, stayed true to that pledge, and feels that her sexual inexperience eventually led to her divorce.  She says that she was never into sex in her first marriage but now knows that she loves sex, whether with randos or within the bounds of marriage.

All I can say to her premarital abstinence - divorce correlation is "balls."  Just "balls."

When I was 15 or 16, I decided that I was going to wait until I was married to have sex.  Neither of my parents were at all religious; I wasn't raised with religious beliefs outside of standard 'Merican Christmas trees and Easter baskets.  My parents had both had children outside of marriage.  My mom kept an open dialogue with me about sex but always said "it's better with someone you love" and "use protection, always."  My stepmom gave me condoms when I was 12 and also kept a very open dialogue with me.  My dad's running narrative was "ggrrrrmmmmbbbbllllrubbersgrmbl."

Watching my parents' respective baby mama/daddy dramas my entire life and watching my friends go through sheer icy terror waiting for pregnancy tests to come back negative as a teenager convinced me that sex without a committed partner and health insurance wasn't going to happen, period.

I would fast forward through my sexually active single years but I don't want y'all to think I was ABSTINENT, for heaven's sake.  I went to college in New Orleans, use your imagination.  I was always up front with the guys I was sexually active with BEFORE sexual activity that they were not sticking their ding-dings in my lady cave.  Most of them thought they could change my mind and were quite frustrated when they couldn't.  There was one time that I came very close to having unprotected sex and that could have been the worst mistake of my life because he was definitely, definitely not marriage material.  But it didn't happen and I'm glad.

I became a Christian at 19 and the fervor of the converted kicked in.  I mean, I REALLY became a Christian.  Some sort of rebellion for my agnostic upbringing.  That obviously contributed to my self-imposed purity pledge, but when before it was something secret it became a flag I waved.  I WAS A VIRGIN, Y'ALL.  WHERE WAS MY DAMN RING.

Drew and I started dating when I was 20 - January 3rd, 2001, several months AFTER we had moved in together as roommates.  His sexual past is his story and private but we were both of a united mind that we would wait until our wedding night to have sex and remained dutifully in our respective rooms every night.  After roughly 2 weeks of brutal temptation, we decided that I either needed to move out or we needed to, in my pastor at the time's words, "get married and get on it."  Since we were living in Los Angeles and I had nowhere to go, we decided on the latter and were married March 15th.

Obviously, my wedding night wasn't the Ginuwine "Pony" video my horny young adult mind had envisioned, but we were desperately in love and desperate to please and learn each other.  We had a freakin' BLAST.  The things we didn't like, we told each other.  The things we wanted to try, we told each other.  I knew my body and what made me, uh, tick and I shared all those things with him and showed him and he's... well, a great learner.  We grew together.  That open communication continues to this day, as does our overall chemistry and mutual attraction.  We could both very well objectively suck at sex and we'll never medal in the Pornlympics but we sure do have a good time with each other.  (High fives to Drew if you're reading this.)

If you read the article, you see that something changed for the author before her wedding day.  She didn't want to marry that guy.  You don't have to have sex with a person to know you're physically attracted to them, or furthermore, that you want to have sex with them.  Drew went on the "Would List" the first time I met him - combination of beautiful eyes, a gorgeous mouth, and an amazing sense of humor.  You don't become shut off to sex with someone you were once attracted to with the recitation of vows - something changed in their relationship before she walked down the aisle.  Obviously her wedding night sucked.  Obviously sex throughout their entire marriage sucked.  She didn't want to be with him - why would she want to improve her sex life with him?  Her virginity wasn't the death blow, it was the fact that she didn't want to be with him.

I'm not sorry I waited until my wedding night to have sex, and I defy anyone to tell me that it wasn't the right decision for me.  I don't care if other people do - have sex with whomever, wherever, whenever you want as long as you're not hurting yourself or anyone else.  I think it's wrong to raise kids to believe that sexual desire is in any way inherently sinful or dirty, because that kind of thing doesn't go away when you sign a marriage certificate.  But the whole "test drive the car before you buy it" analogy is nauseating.  Judging people for their sexual choices needs to be a thing of the past for EVERYONE, not just religious people.  I'll be me and you be you, boo, kay?