BFF 100 Celebrate like an Atheist!

In my last blog I got a little heavy explaining how and why I became and Atheist. Giving up a deity to worship and ask for assistance is a difficult change.  It can be a little lonely when you realize you are on your own.  But all is not doom and gloom. One of the best parts of Atheism is the holidays.  Yes, I celebrated the holidays.  They mean something a little different to me.  Let’s start with the big ones.

 Christmas:  The Christian Christmas marks the birth of the Christian messiah.  The month of December also marks Winter Solstice for my Wiccan friends and Hanukah for my Jewish friends.  December for this Atheist means Christmas in the secular sense.  

 Christmas decorations for us include Santa, but no holy family in their crèche. Tree decorations that started as a theme a decade ago have devolved into a mish mash of snowmen, snowflakes and cartoon characters.  These reflect our sacred tradition of getting one new ornament per year, per family member.   Friends and family are welcome to add their own.  The tree stands sacred as a living family history. It’s not uncommon to hear us reminisce about past Christmas’ as we decorate.  The presents, I hold these sacred as they represent our ability to fill our children with delight and restock their toy supply.  The opening of them is a sacred time for me, or at least it counts as sacred after I go back to bed!   The feast; this is the equivalent of my church ceremony.  The meal is our gift to our friends and family.  There is sacredness to sharing this meal, because we chose to spend this time together.  As for Christmas carols,  I am the one that listens to them with the children as we  drive to look at Christmas lights.  I will admit to being a huge fan of the more serious Christian Christmas songs for their drama.  I have always loved singing Christmas music.

  Easter of course is the other big one. While my friends talk about the passion play, Passover, spring solstice, I am gearing up for Easter bunnies, baskets and dresses.  I get to skip over the questions about why we get a basket of chocolate if the lord died but was resurrected.  I get to buy my kids more toys and new clothes, which is stressful enough with out having to explain the religious overtones of the holiday.  Easter dinner is the same.  It’s a huge dinner with friends and family that allows us to celebrate our love for them.

 Birthdays share the same concept.  We shower the birthday person with gifts and love.   It’s the same concept for anniversaries.  Our favorite holiday:  The first day that G is home from work.   These days mean shopping, presents, food, and parties. We prepare for them as laboriously as any other holiday. We accept these preparations as a show of love and celebration of our family. We know that other families, regardless of religion feel the same.  For an Atheist, any day can be a “holiday”.  The sacredness of celebrating our family does not need a specific day.  Every day with my whole family is a holy day.

An Everyday Atheist

                                                             

   When I was young, I was in church every time the doors were open.   I was there for Sunday school, Wednesday night services, children’s choir on Saturday.  I believed because I was taught there was no other way, but to trust and obey. There was a niggling doubt that all this was true.  I remember asking church elders for proof of God’s existence. I was told I had to “have faith”.    I was not satisfied, but knew enough then to be quiet. After all, Santa and the tooth fairy were real, even though I was beginning to have my doubts about them too.

  I accepted unconditionally during my teen years. Church was a haven from the day to day pressures of growing up in a single parent home.   Church was safer than school with it’s bullies and hierarchy of rich kids, hoods, hicks , nerds and those like me  who seemed to belong everywhere and nowhere.  Church was a place I felt important. I was surrounded by adults who could help me figure things out from not only a religious perspective, but a social and emotional perspective too.

  When I entered my twenties as single parent I did what most of the twenty something’s were doing: I went to bars and clubs to meet people my age.  I’ll admit to drinking, though it was not as heavily as some.  I learned my alcohol limits the hard way a couple of times. It was a fun way to spend a weekend.  I had grown up dancing with my older sister. This was more of the same.  The best parts of going out were the hours spent getting ready to go out with my girlfriends.   I had also met my boyfriend in the same arena. These relationships proved that you could find love, friendship and other good things in the dens of iniquity.  My best relationships have come from bars, including G.

      I began to question whether or not my being in these places was as sinful as I had been reared to believe. Surely sin could be found there, but sin could be found in church as well.  Growing up in a Southern Baptists church had taught me that one of the greatest sins was to dance. But dancing made my body feel good. Not just in a sense of desirability, but in an exercise sense.  I found places in the bible that spoke of drinking wine /beer at celebrations.  Was this not a celebration every weekend?  I took care of my son and worked every week.  I was not an alcoholic.  Again, I found no definitive answers after asking my pastor/stepfather.  “Because Jesus said so” didn’t fit into logical thinking.

  I also began to explore other belief systems.  I thought back to the ancient Romans and Greeks.  They had their god’s, as did the Norse, Egyptians and Indians.  They all believed in their concept of afterlife. These civilizations were convinced they were correct.  Would “God” allow only a chose few to be correct and go to his heaven, forsaking these ancients?   I realized that Christianity also adopted many pagan customs in order to convert new followers. It started to sound like a pyramid scheme.  I realized that religions main focus was to control the behaviors of the masses by offering eternal rewards or damnation for right or wrong acts.  It was the ultimate “wait ‘til your father gets home” threat.  Was I not old enough to make my own decisions on my own behavior?  

 But like most realizations, Atheism comes from an intensely personal place.  I looked at the world around me.  I saw so many natural disasters.  There were godly people in all theses places. Were their prayers for safety not important?   I looked at violent crime.  Were those victims prayers not heard?  Were they unworthy of heavenly aid?  For what purpose was their suffering?   I looked at the abuse in my childhood.  What had I done that made me unworthy of His protection? What purpose did it serve?  If he was my all knowing, all powerful heavenly father: Why had I not been spared?  

 If HE was able to calm the storms and bring back the dead, why did he not stop the hands and mouths of my abusers?  That was the final realization.  If he wouldn’t protect me, he was just as much at fault. If he couldn’t protect me, then he was not worthy of my loyalty and worship.  If he could or would not do these things, then why should I call him GOD?  

BFF Unchained Melody

    I looked  all over  YouTube for a punked out, gritty version of "Unchained Melody".  I searched through pages of links and  listened to scores of versions .I realized that for many bands, this song has some sort of sacredness. U2 was the only band with the balls  to  rough it up.  I love  U2.  I was hoping for Tina Turner , or  maybe even Janis Joplin.  I could have related.

    One of my favorite songs of all time is Tina and Ike's version of  Proud Mary.  But it's not just for the  song or the sound of it.  Watching  "What's Love Got To Do With It" in the 90's  made me  realize that sometimes you take a pretty song or sentiment and "do it nice and rough, instead of nice and easy".  Not because you want to be different, but because  you want to DO something different, but because  life's circumstances have MADE  you a little different.  Sometimes soft and pretty  just does not fit.  That's why I wanted a rough version and I'm not happy that U2  was still not rough enough. 

                                   

  Sometimes you know nothing but rough. It makes you develop a skin so thick that you can't trust or even relate to the nice and easy.  Soft and easy bores you because it feels artificial and saccharine.  It's terrifying. You can't  trust it.  You are not equipped to handle it.  But sometimes it would be nice.  If you can afford it.

   Love, especially long distance is  never soft.  You long. You hunger.  You stay busy at all costs.  You make really great friends with both lonliness and aloneness.   Anyone who has been there  knows the difference.  To hear such a beautiful song  that expresses all the vulnerability of long distance  can be too much to bear.  


  

Unlikely Role Models

                                                               

  Do you ever read diet books?  The lose 10 pounds in 10 days articles that promise  to make you younger , thinner, smarter?  Yeah, me neither. Ok, I have browsed through the menus.  But they don’t motivate me, even when the food looks good.   The second my head says DIET, my whole being revolts.  I just can’t do it. I hate thinking; this is going to be my last Double stuffed Oreo, pint of Ben and Jerry’s, Starbucks pastry.  In fact thinking about it just gives me a panic attack.   Summer is coming and I’ll admit, I don’t want to bare anything.  I also am starting to really hate the way the body I inhabit looks. But most of all, I am inspired by some unlikely role models.   

  I work in a call center. This means being tethered to a desk by a four foot cord and sitting for 8-9 hours per day.  Yes, I have my own desk and I sit in air conditioned comfort.  But also frustration and stress make a morning and afternoon trip to the break room vending machines seem like an appealing change of scenery.  These vending machines hold the typical assortment of chips and candy bars. We have drink machines, a sandwich machine, even and ice cream machine!  This is nothing compared to having monthly potlucks and a Starbucks in the parking lot.  With all the abundant bad food choice and little exercise, most of us gain weight.  The longer you work in call center, the heavier you become.  Also, your idea of what normal body size looks like becomes skewed as Venezia jeans from Lane Bryant become the norm for everybody instead of Miss Me. 

It’s not the skinny women that motivate me to take a walk at lunch or to grab a smaller hot chocolate. It’s the really big women.   In my first call center I sat next to a lady that brought a rolling cooler to work filled with cheese and chips and cupcakes and several meals. Granted we worked 12 hour shifts.  Watching her eat motivated me to walk around the campus at lunch and climb the stairs on breaks.  I was afraid I was going to become her.  Fast forward 5 years to another call center, another crop of lovely, large ladies.  Like the one with the backside that juts from her back  at a 90 degree angle, or the one that  seems to be kicking herself in the gut every time she raises  a knee.  Watching her walk is enough to make me hit the door at full speed to walk the parking lot a few times. Especially on days when I had planned to sit at my desk, eat my lunch and blog.

Oh, and  BTW, I'm a size 16-20w.   If I make you feel like  exercising, I'm glad I could serve as inspiration!

                        

 Who are your unlikely role models?

With or Without You

     





     Every woman has been the star of her own romance, her own love triangle. We have our Romeo's and Paris', Ashleys' and Rhett's, Jacob's and Edward's.   The terrible thing? What we really want is to create a mash up of the two to create our perfect man. 


 I remember one such summer. Only  in this story,  the gentlemen have the most common names in the modern era.  I had been greedy, I had wanted and hurt them both.  One of them was a gentle giant I could take into the city, take to museums, blend into polite society without worry of his committing a faux pax. He gave my intelligence more credit than I did. I saw with him a comfortable life,  blonde children, and snow.


 The other?  A cowboy as simple and ernest as the mud on his boots and the pearl snaps on his shirts. He understood my need to breathe country air and  drive  old back roads. He understood and loved cans of beer drunk from aluminum cans in dive bars. With him I saw a future of  cotton dresses worn on porch swings, humid nights and  dark eyed babies . 


 I had discarded them for another chance at the wedding ring that had never fully left my heart. After shattering that illusion I chucked the ring , and  now I wanted my  true loves back. I didn't care  which one.I was grateful for whatever they gave me.  Funny thing was I more faithful to the both of them my last single summer than I had been when I was with them.  I had behaved badly , and they were  giving it back to me in spades.  I thought I was going to die , as I slept on my own bed of nails every night.    The pages of my  diary  bled with my shredded dignity. My hands were tied and my heart was torn.  I waited. 

 I waited longer as that summer  turned to fall, then winter.  The human heart can only take so much.  I gave up on the cowboy and settled for being friends.  Summer came round again , and my giant was leaving for  the Black Hills and a future  where I could not follow. I wondered how I would live, his ghost was everywhere .

     Salvation came in a dive,  clean of the ghosts of lover's past.  He had been reared in the city, but could not hide his country heart. Suddenly I realized he was the perfect match for me.  He combined the qualities I loved most from my former loves . He brought qualities I could not have dreamed. He folded me into his life until I could not remember my life before him.  The wait was over. No more stony eyes, no twisting thorn in my side.  I was  whole .

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The pretty girls are listening.....

I went  to my favorite karaoke  bar last weekend. I wore my "Jack (Daniels) Lives here"  T shirt, some flats and a pony tail.  It was a spur of the moment decision and I did not feel like making a fuss.  I wanted music,  friends and an ice cold Wood Chuck hard cider.


   Around  eleven thirty a group of girls having a batchelorette party came in. They were young and gorgeous and fun.   Their vibe got the party started. Soon other people started coming in and the place filled . Being on my own for the night, I  drifted from group to group and eventually found myself  in the courtyard of the bar.  I sat down to talk to an acquaintance.  On the low brick wall by the entrance was a group of  guys . They were watching and commenting on girls as they walked in.  We heard an odd sound coming from the wall as a group of girls came in.  The cause for the noise? A very tall girl came in wearing jeans and flip flops  was causing a stir.  She must have been at least  6' and was not rail thin. She stood head and shoulders above her  high heel wearing friends.  As they  passed the wall, I heard a string of negative comments directed at the girl.

   I've seen  this and worse in the form of  banners on trucks  saying " No fat chicks"  and facebook status'  asking why  ugly girls are convinced that they are beautiful.  I see  and hear these sentiments and it pisses me off.  But  I would be lying if I wrote  that this was new behavior.


   I had a similar experience  in the  last days of the gay 90's.   I remember going out almost every night with  my girlfriends.  We would spend  hours getting our hair and makeup just right. We bonded over  the requisite  manicures and pedicures.  Who could forget the necessary disco naps?  I remember our  air kisses blown at our reflections and our  exclamations that the guys we would meet that night  were not worthy of our beauty!

 We cruised the floors together and separate, with my main hangout being the  Karaoke part of the club.  I was friendly with the dj's  here, even having  my own nic name.  I felt as comfortable  there as I did my own living room I remember seeing  a couple of very attractive guys one evening. I approached them with a smile and flirted with them for a few minutes.  We found out we had a couple things in common.  Everything seemed to be going well until one of the men pulled a napkin from his pocket. Written on  it was a telephone number and a girl's name in swirling  script.  The  "I" in her name was dotted  with a heart.  My  face fell a little . The guys at the table assured me I was prettier than the girl who had given her number  and I knew, a piece of  hope.  I watched him shred her number into little strips into an ashtray.  To my horror he grabbed one of the club's matchbooks, lit one and  tossed it into the pile of shredded napkin.  Both guys laughed at the silly girl who had thought she was pretty enough.  I knew then that my number , if given. could meet the same fate.   At the very least  I was no longer interested. In trying to be  funny I saw  thier true colors.   I left thier company  as quickly as  politely possible.

 Even though this happenend over a decade ago I'm still shocked  and saddened.  But as a warning to  all the foolish  and mean  guys in groups of more than one : Remember the pretty girls are listening. We  are not impressed by your behavior.