525,600 Minutes

The song "Seasons of Love" from the musical Rent explores the ways in which we measure a year. 365 days or, as they put it, 525,600 minutes can be measured "in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights and cups of coffee; in inches, in miles, in laughter and strife." Measuring the small, day to day moments as well as the large monumental ones has become so important to me, and this song is a favorite of mine in terms of summarizing that. The song, though, also mentions that another way to measure a year is through love, and that's what I want to do in this post. There are, of course, many different forms of love in my life -- love toward and from my son, myself, my friends, and my family, for instance -- but here I want to write about romantic love (something I'm not entirely used to writing about).

One year ago, one of the last places I ever thought I'd find myself was in a monogamous relationship. Back then, I was happily polyamorous and didn't see myself entering into a partnership with any one person at any point in my life. Life is a funny thing, though, and sometimes the paths we never expect to travel are the ones we wind up exploring anyway. I entered my partnership with Matt about a year ago now, and I call it a partnership because that's how we've approached this idea of a relationship ... that is, while recognizing and respecting each other's differences and individual natures, we've decided to experience life as friends, allies, and lovers. And this approach to our relationship, I think, is why it works for me.

Having jumped, earlier in my life, from extremely strict parents to an extremely controlling marriage, I chose to spend the majority of my young adult life single (after said marriage ended in divorce). The freedom that came from living as a single person who called my own shots, made my own decisions, and answered to no one was intoxicating and exactly what I needed to grow as a person. Sure, I dated around during this time, and entered a few very brief relationships, but the majority of the time I was single -- happily single. There were times when, I think, I wanted to enter a relationship with someone I was dating, but usually didn't because of an overwhelming fear of losing the freedom I'd fought so hard to attain. So my polyamorous lifestyle -- in which there were a few people I was casually dating and a few other people whom I did refer to as boyfriends -- centered mostly around maintaining my freedom and independence at the center of it all.

It was a cool lifestyle, one that I was very happy in, and one that I know many others are very happy in. So entering monogamy with Matt wasn't a decision made out of necessity, because I wasn't even sure, at the time, that such a relationship could even be possible while maintaining personal freedom and independence.

My past being what it was, I knew exactly what I didn't want. I did not want someone believing they had any sort of say in where I went, who my friends were, how long I was out, what I did with my free time, and so on -- I didn't want to answer to anyone. I did not want to be with a jealous person who was constantly worried that I was cheating on them or that I would leave them for the next best thing the second the opportunity hit me -- I didn't want a significant other who felt the need to break my self-esteem down to such a low degree that I would thank my lucky stars every day that I was with them (because, surely, no one else would want me). I did not want to be with an angry person who acted like a ticking time bomb, leaving me in a constant state of dancing on nails to try and avoid the next blow up about who knows what. I didn't want to have to, once again, come up with lie after lie for everyone else about why this or that thing was broken. I did not want to be with someone who thought it their duty, or even their right, to judge my likes and dislikes, my choices in clothing, my parenting, my hair length or color, my friends, or any other such thing. I did not want to be with someone who wanted to take control of my health choices, including what I ate and when I ate it, how much I ate, how much I weighed, and such, as though I were a dependent rather than a partner.

And, yes, I've experienced all of the above. And I was never, ever, ever going to go back to living that way again.

Learning to trust has not been an easy road, but the approach that Matt and I have taken has been different than any other relationship I've ever been a part of, and it's been wonderful for me. For starters, we've never looked at ourselves as "halves" seeking a "whole" -- both of us see ourselves as whole beings, full and complete in ourselves, who seek to complement each other's lives. Though we have quite a bit in common (we both love video games, roller coasters, reading, travel, and the same classic films, such as Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure), we're also very different. He's the extrovert to my introvert; he loves sports and the outdoors and dogs while I, on the other hand, love politics and staying in and cats. He likes going to baseball games and I like attending the live theater. He likes skiing and snowboarding while I enjoy studying voice and dance. He's a beer guy; I'm a wine gal.
And the thing is, a huge part of our approach has been respecting that both of us will have lives outside of the other. When he wants to go play baseball with friends, or go to laser tag, or go for a weekend snowboarding getaway, there are times he does those things without me because I have no interest in those things. And when I do shows or debates or go out for coffee with my own friends, there are times I do those things without him because he'd rather be doing other things. And, because we respect each other's individual lives and privacy, it doesn't bother either of us that the other has a full and complete life outside of us.

Along with this, we've also been building a life together. We do things together that we both enjoy, such as theme parks, and sometimes we'll go to ball games or the live theater together, so that we can experience each other's passions, even if they're not our own. And this is why the relationship works for me. I have been able to maintain an individual, free life while, at the same time, building a partnership with someone else (and so has he).

In this way, we've had some awesome experiences together. So today, on this kinda, somewhere-close-to one-year anniversary of us being together, I wanted to highlight some of those experiences to honor the year I've been with Matt.

1) Disneyland/Disney's California Adventure

As some of my previous partners can tell you, it's pretty hard to be in a relationship with me and not find yourself at Disneyland once in a while.

Despite my love/hate relationship with all things Disney, it's still one of my favorite places to go. We've been to Disneyland a few times, having ditched out on work and school to make it happen, and Matt and I went to California Adventure once on our own. We were on an impromptu trip to California and decided to make it happen (which turned out to be really cool, because Matt had never been to DCA before.) We found out on that day that you can drink beer at DCA. The capacity to enjoy adult beverages at Disneyland was foreign to me, so we go to each experience our first Disney beer together. (In case you're wondering, it was cheap piss-beer, but beer nonetheless.) We stayed all day, right until closing, eating soup in bread bowls for dinner while watching World of Color. (Unlike the beer, the soup at Disneyland is actually really good -- Matt had tortilla soup and I had clam chowder, and both were outstanding.)

Also on this trip to DCA (which seems worth mentioning), we experienced the onslaught rush of a high school grad night. We realized this was happening when, a couple of hours before the park closed, we got in line for another ride on the Tower of Terror and realized that we were surrounded by loud, excited teenagers. Being around such a group of people who are about to embark on their grad night was more annoying than anything, but the reactions from the employees was nothing short of amusing. The ride attendants were changing shifts while we were in line, and those who were leaving were wishing their grumpy colleagues, "Good luck." After we actually boarded the ride, the teenagers were being so loud and obnoxious that the woman giving her safety speech had to break character and snap at everyone to shut up, after which she quickly delivered her spiel and slammed the doors.

Quite a different experience for a Disney trip.

Fun times.

2) Filming Twisted Colossus

Matt and I are on the Six Flags Magic Mountain website (the picture in which you can see us is the one I've posted right here -- you can see me on the right train, wearing bright pink, my long hair flying wildly behind me. Matt is next to me, wearing purple).

And just why are we on the Magic Mountain website? Well, back in May of 2015, I managed to book us a gig where we were invited to Magic Mountain to be a part of the promotional filming for the brand new Twisted Colossus. This was the coaster that premiered at Magic Mountain in 2015 as a replacement for the classic coaster, Colossus. This was a huge deal for two roller coaster fans!
The morning of, we went backstage and filled out paperwork and had our photos taken, along with everyone else who would be a part of filming. It's important to note that there were two distinct groups of people -- the professional models and actors who were hired to sit in the fronts of the trains during the filming, and everyone else. The actors would be used primarily for the on-ride filming, and after they left everyone else would stay for off-ride filming and still photos of the ride.

But something really cool happened. As they were filming the actors in what we (Matt and I and two pretty awesome guys we met while standing around) called the "pretty train," the crew plucked us out of the crowd to fill in seats in the very back of the train. So, if you watch the actual Twisted Colossus promotional video, you won't see the four of us, but we were there in the back of the train. What this meant for us was that we got to ride again and again while they got the filming right.

See, the thing about Twisted Colossus is that it's got two tracks with a distinctly different ride on each track. The ride is almost 4 minutes long because, once your train finishes up on the first track, you get to go through again on the second track. But, part of the big deal about this roller coaster, is that the trains are supposed to be in sync with one another.

So, in other words, while your train is getting ready to start its second run-through, the train at the station must be dispatched at just the right moment so that, while the ride is happening, the trains are twisting over and around each other. It's a pretty cool experience ... when it works out. On this day, it wasn't working out correctly. They couldn't get the shots they wanted because the trains weren't synced properly. They tried all sorts of things while we were breaking for lunch, but, in the end, this meant that after all of the actors had gone home, we rode through Twisted Colossus an additional 8 consecutive times while they tried to get the syncing right. Finally, when they did, it was like magic and everyone cheered and we all had some great rides. It was a wonderful, unique experience altogether.

3) Adopting a Kitten

When we met, I already had a grey tabby cat (Auryn Baby Girlface) and Matt already had a large, brown dog (Bodi). But during the summer of 2015, we found ourselves with another pet that we adopted together: a small orange kitten that we decided to call Gavroche (due to his mangy, alley-cat look and orphan status that he possessed when we first adopted him).

My vocal coach, Madelene Capelle, had a stray female cat living on or around her property who had a few litters of kittens in 2015. Madelene, being the awesome person that she is, systematically caught all of the kittens and got them spayed and neutered at Heaven Can Wait. She released most of them back outside, with two exceptions: first, there was a very tiny black female that she kept and named Mimi Meow, and second, there was a very tiny orange male that she asked me to help find a home for because he seemed to be happier inside than outside.

Gavroche has a story. While Madelene was in the midst of catching these kittens, the little orange one was actually found, by her neighbor, in a shed. He'd accidentally gotten locked inside. If you know anything about Las Vegas in the summertime, you know just what that meant for this kitten, too. When they found Gavroche, nobody thought he was still alive. But Madelene wrapped him up in a cold, wet towel and took him to her vet, who essentially brought him back.
He was timid when we first brought him home, but you'll be happy to hear that now, almost a year later, he's grown into a very large, rough-and-tumble cat with more quirks and nuances than I think I've ever seen in a pet.

4) Canada

Matt and I got to go to Canada for a week in 2015, and it was such an awesome pleasure to get to do so. We were there primarily because I was singing the national anthem at a Toronto Argonauts football game, but while we were there we got to do so much else -- wine tasting, live theater, Toronto island, Canada's Wonderland, and so much else.

We stayed with my dad in his condo overlooking the city. Our first day there, we went down to Niagara on the Lake to do wine tasting (my dad has a particular preference for sweet wines and ice wines, which I don't care for, but tried nonetheless), and then we went to a football game in neighboring Hamilton. On Tuesday, Matt and I got to go to Canada's Wonderland, where we both got to experience a giga coaster (a coaster which features an initial drop of over 300 feet) for the first time. After Wonderland, we got cleaned up and Dad took us "appetizer hopping" -- a favorite past time of his, in which you visit 4-5 high-end restaurants in a single evening, just to sample appetizers and wine.

On Wednesday, after a day out, we all went and saw Newsies (which I absolutely loved). On Thursday, Matt and I wandered downtown Toronto, including a venture onto Toronto island, and then went to see Kinky Boots in the evening (which I also loved). On Friday, we went down to Niagara Falls, where we both rode a Maid of the Mist boat for the first time (despite having lived near the falls for years, I never did take one of those boats down near the falls until this day). We all ate a steak dinner overlooking the falls before driving back to Toronto. And on Saturday, we attended the football game in which I sang the national anthem for over 20,000 people (and I was happy Matt could be there for that event). On Sunday, we came home again.
It was a busy week that went by quickly, but an awesome experience.

5) The Color Run

I'm not, by nature, a runner. When I was a teenager I did gymnastics and the flying trapeze, and I used the treadmill on a daily basis, but that was over half my life ago. I'm not in the same shape I was when I was a teenager, so joining athletic events always makes me a bit apprehensive.

Matt insisted that The Color Run was fun, so I agreed to do it. And I have to admit, it was fun. We kinda walked, kinda ran through the 5K, getting blasted with color along the way, and I realized that such things aren't as scary or intimidating as I thought they were. And, best of all, it served as momentum for me to start exercising like I used to.

And, again, it was another first that we got to experience together.

Every relationship has its series of ups and downs. I, however, have never had a relationship like the one I'm currently in, which respects both the ups and downs as legitimate, necessary aspects of growth, and honors the ways in which the both of us continue to grow on our own.

I can't wait to see what the future holds.

UPDATE: As of April, 2017, Matt and I are no longer together. Our breakup was a simple matter of lifestyle differences, and we have parted amicably, both understanding that it was the best thing for both of us. I am, once again, polyamorous (monogamy, I have discovered, is not for me, though I was nothing but faithful to that lifestyle while I was with Matt). I have decided to leave this blog post up, however, as it highlights a specific time in my life for many of its proverbial "ups." Matt and I had some great times and we learned a lot from each other. I am still so excited to "see what the future holds," as I'd said before, even though the two of us have decided to explore different paths.

I did keep Gavroche, though. ;)

Me. At Midnight. Running Through the Rio in My Batman Pajamas With My Cats.

On a school night, even.

This is actually quite a story. And I'm going to tell it despite the fact that there is a certain level of judgment that usually accompanies the situation I'm about to reveal. Those of you who know me well understand that the number of fucks I usually reserve for judgment associated with misunderstandings about said situation is, like, zero.

Interested yet? All right, buckle up.

This all started over the MLK holiday weekend. We had lots going on -- I was attending multiple auditions, Brendan was having multiple sleepovers, and we were just generally busy. The fact, though, that Brendan was having sleepovers (time spent at others' homes, and others spending time at ours) is important to note. This entire experience all boils down to that one fact.

You're about to see where this is going.

Because, you see, toward the end of the weekend, as we were getting ready to head back to school and work, Brendan began complaining of sores on his arms. To me, these sores looked like spider bites -- an obvious red welt surrounded by a halo of pink skin. When he first pointed these out to me, he had one on his elbow and one on his leg, and I assumed that he'd been bitten by something (again, likely a spider) but that it would eventually go away and he'd be fine.

I'm sure you've already guessed that they didn't just go away. Each day he complained of new bites, and they were appearing all over his body. By Wednesday, he was so uncomfortable with painful, dreadfully itchy bites that Matt suggested I take him to the doctor. I agreed, too -- this didn't seem like spider bites anymore, and I began to wonder if he was exhibiting an allergic reaction to something (either a new food or a new laundry detergent or something). I gave him Benadryl just so he could sleep at night. I was pretty mystified (although, honestly, I really shouldn't have been).

The next day, Thursday, I spent the majority of my prep hour and lunch time trying to contact Teachers Health Trust so that I could set up an appointment for Brendan. One of my fellow teachers, Ken Witty, asked what was wrong, and I told him. I gave him a detailed description of what I was experiencing with Brendan, and he responded with raised eyebrows.

"You know what that sounds like?" he asked.

I knew where he was going with this, and it made me stop, pretty much frozen with anxiety. See, a couple of years ago Ken dealt with a bed bug infestation that he'd picked up at Hickey Elementary School, where we both used to work. And he told me that what I was describing in Brendan was nearly identical to what he and his wife had experienced. I insisted that I didn't think we had bed bugs, but when he pulled up pictures on his phone of what those bites look like, I couldn't deny that they were very similar to what I'd seen on Brendan.

"I would recommend that you go home and search his room," Ken told me. He instructed me in how to do this -- stripping the bed of sheets, lifting the mattress, looking for telltale signs of these awful, vampiric insects.

I rushed home, filled with anxiety, telling myself over and over again that it probably wasn't bed bugs and that I needed to calm down. But I was also very well aware of what a nightmare bed bug infestations can be, and knowing that the notion of one in my home made perfect sense was nothing less than terrifying. Bed bugs are an extremely successful species and, much like cockroaches and head lice, can be extremely difficult to control. They hide well, they survive most pesticides well, and, most importantly, they breed well. A small infestation can turn into an out-of-control problem very quickly. And a bed bug can survive for up to 18 months without eating -- for real. So you can't even go away for a week or two and starve them out. I've heard of people spending thousands of dollars to deal with bed bug problems, people buying all new furniture to eradicate them completely, and people moving because they couldn't win the battle with the bed bugs. This was not something that I wanted to deal with. At all.

I arrived home just minutes after Matt and told him that I needed to inspect Brendan's room.

"Just to confirm that it's not bed bugs," I told him.

The two of us went together upstairs and I tore all of Brendan's sheets off of his bed. His mattress was clean -- pure white, with no signs that I could see of bed bugs. I inspected closely in the crevices, but found nothing. I lifted the mattress and investigated the underside, as well as the box springs. I looked at all four corners, as closely as my eyes would allow.

Nothing. Everything looked clean.

I was about ready to give up the search, pretty convinced that bed bugs were not the problem, after all. But then, I saw it.

A tiny, rust-colored bug, with a wide, flat body. Just a single bug, standing on the edge of the box springs.

"Oh, shit," I said. "I see one."

"Where?" Matt asked.

I pointed. "Quick, get me something to catch it with. We'll need it for identification."

Matt ran downstairs and brought me a small tupperware container, which I used to trap the bug. With it contained, I had a closer look, and I was 100% positive now that we were dealing with bed bugs. The question now was what to do about it.

I told Matt to go immediately to our property manager, which he did. She understood what an awful problem bed bugs could be, and was absolutely as interested in getting them eradicated as we were. So she immediately called pest control and gave us specific directions as to how to prepare for their visit.

We spent the next many hours, well into the night, essentially moving "out" of our house. Pillows, sheets, and clothing were washed in hot water and dried on high heat. Stuffed animals were bagged and set outside (to be put in the drier later). We emptied drawers and closets and moved furniture away from the walls. Everything had to be washed and dried before being moved out, lest we accidentally move live bed bugs out of the house and then, inevitably, back in.

At this point, I did something I probably shouldn't have done. I emptied a can of bug spray all over Brendan's bed area, hoping to at least contain the problem until pest control arrived. I closed the door so that the cats couldn't get in, and hoped that it would kill some of the bugs and at least contain the others. I realized later that such a move could cause the bugs to spread to places they hadn't previously been, in an attempt to escape the poison, but my hope at that point was that there was enough to kill them before they could leave the room.

As midnight approached, Matt told me that pest control was going to try and come by the next day (Friday). If everything wasn't ready, including our two cats not being on the premises, they wouldn't be able to treat the problem, and they'd have to come back the following week. We didn't want that to happen.

The problem was that we both had work the following day, and it was going to be nearly impossible to leave work, go get the cats, and get them somewhere else once we knew when they were going to be arriving. So I suggested that we get a hotel that very night and stay away until after we were given the clear from pest control. Matt agreed, and jumped on Hotwire to find us a place.

"You know," I told him, "we could probably take the edge off of this whole situation if we turned this into an adventure and stayed somewhere on the Strip. Want to?"

He did -- he agreed that this could add an element of fun to an otherwise nightmarish situation. So we investigated various hotels that were not too overpriced, and also accepted pets. We found what we were looking for in The Rio, and I booked us a room for Thursday and Friday night. I assumed that the cats could stay in the room (with a "do not disturb" sign on the door) while we were all out at work and school, and then we could all return home once we were given the clear. The Rio, I noticed, was also only a few minutes from Brendan's school, which added to the benefits of staying there.

We loaded the car with freshly laundered clothes, some bathroom essentials, and the cats. My sister happened to be in possession of my cat carrier because she recently adopted a kitten, so the cats got to free roam the car. Gavroche drove with Matt, and Auryn drove with me and Brendan (we had to take separate vehicles so that we could each get to work the next day). We had to stop at Wal Mart because, in the fiasco that had been our night, I forgot to pack any cat food or cat litter, or even a litter box. So we picked those things up, along with a small container that the cats could ride in from the car to our hotel room.

We arrived at the Rio, and Brendan waited in the car with Auryn (and watched Gavroche through the window) while Matt and I checked in. Then, we made multiple trips to the car to get the things we needed.

And that's how I wound up rushing through the casino at The Rio, on my way to a hotel room, in Batman pajamas and day-old makeup, with a container full of cats, giving no fucks about what that must have looked like. I had spent all of my fucks earlier in the day, and I really had no more left to give to this particular situation.

Our room was nice. I set up cat food and water, and put the new littler box in the bathroom. Now after midnight, we all pretty much collapsed with exhaustion. We all went to sleep, knowing that, for the first time in days, Brendan wasn't about to be eaten alive while he slept.

I drove Brendan to school the following day and went to work, quite exhausted. Matt picked Brendan up after school, and we all met at the hotel room. The following day we were allowed to move back into our house, and spent the majority of the day completing laundering, putting casings over the mattresses, and inspecting everything for bugs before bringing it back in the house. But we're pretty much done now. Pest control left a note stating that the only signs of bed bugs appeared in Brendan's room -- they hadn't spread yet -- and the infestation was small enough that they didn't see any of the actual bugs, only the signs. They did a thorough treatment, and they're coming back in two weeks to examine the situation again, do a follow up treatment, and make sure that everything remains under control.

Last night we slept in our own beds. And Brendan woke up with no new bites. And so I'm hopeful.

But really, though ... down the road, we'll always be able to say, "Remember that time we took a stay-cation at The Rio because of bed bugs, in our pajamas, and with a container full of cats?" Hopefully, we'll be able to laugh.

I Had an Abortion ... And the Only Grief I Experienced Was Being Told I Had to Wait

Yes, I had an abortion. I had it exactly one week ago (as of writing this piece), at roughly 5 weeks along. I never questioned my desire to obtain an abortion, and have since felt absolutely no regret, remorse, or shame regarding it. Rather, I am relieved, happy, and healthy. And I want to talk about that.

There is plenty of rhetoric, you see, about abortion being a source of pain and grief, or an otherwise dirty, shameful secret for women who choose to terminate pregnancies. And for some women, these things are true. The point of this piece, though, is to illuminate the reality that many other women don't experience negative emotions after an abortion, and the "argument from regret," therefore, does not speak for all women. I am writing this to give voice and legitimacy to women -- such as myself -- who experience great relief after an abortion without any accompanying negative emotions.

This is a rather different type of piece for me, as it's based mostly on a personal experience. I write, discuss, and debate abortion quite often, usually through the lens of bodily autonomy (the trump card regarding abortion rights), but that isn't what this piece of writing is about. If you're unfamiliar with the bodily rights argument (or have read otherwise weak objections to it), or wish to read my refutations to arguments regarding "just don't have sex," "personal responsibility," "fetal rights," or a "special responsibility" regarding deprivation of bodily rights to pregnant women alone, then please read my most recent piece on these very issues here. Otherwise, please understand that this piece is to specifically address my personal experience.

I realize that I may lose friends over my choice to be vocal about my abortion, and that people may be turned off that I am not expressing the socially requisite shame and guilt over a "selfish" (as some will see it, I am sure) decision, but that is precisely the reason why I feel the need to be vocal. We need to lift the veil of social stigma surrounding this very common and very safe medical procedure, and I intend to play a part in doing just that.

I'll preface my story by saying that I terminated what would have been my third pregnancy. My first pregnancy was successful and resulted in a live birth (my son is a happy, healthy GATE student whom I love very much). My second pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage at roughly 8 weeks. So when I found out I was pregnant again over Memorial Day weekend, I had plenty of experience to draw upon when considering what enduring another pregnancy was likely to be like. Neither of my first two pregnancies were easy (I'm a Type 1 diabetic which adds complications, I gained lots of weight, retained lots of water, and experienced high blood pressure and extreme fatigue and nausea, among other things). This isn't the point, though -- regardless of my reasoning, which included physical, mental, and personal reasons regarding my body and my life, I decided right away to not try and complete this third pregnancy.

I not only didn't want more children (a decision I made years ago), but I didn't want to be pregnant, either.

After a day of pondering my situation on my own, I told my partner about the pregnancy and that I wouldn't be completing it (I cared about his input, but had already been vocal about the fact that if I were to ever become pregnant again, I would likely have an abortion, so this wasn't shocking for him). He was 100% supportive of me and my decision (as I knew, luckily, he would be), so I got to experience the privilege of being close to loved ones who, instead of judging me, supported me.

And that is important to note -- this decision was all my own. I made my decision before involving anyone else. Shame-and-guilt-free abortions are also coercion-free abortions, which is a huge aspect of pro-choice mentality. Reproductive choice means that empowerment comes from a person's ability to make their own decisions. Such an empowering decision can mean keeping a pregnancy or it can mean terminating a pregnancy, but this decision, about whether to donate one's body for nearly a year (which is what makes it the woman's decision and not a joint one), must rest with the woman alone. Therefore, part of what made my own decision empowering and positive was that it was mine. I specifically wanted my decision to be free of others' input, which is why, with the exception of a very few family members and friends, I remained silent about my decision until now.

I scheduled the abortion for the following weekend. I was going to need to be out of commission, so to speak, for an entire day, and as school was still in session (I'm a teacher), a Saturday appointment made the most sense. In the interim time, I thought about the varying options the nurse on the phone had given me: Would I want to abort using oral medication, or would I want a surgical termination? Would I use sedation or try to endure what was supposedly a mild procedure without it? I hadn't made any actual decisions regarding these choices when I entered the clinic that Saturday.

This day, though, is when I experienced the only pain and grief that I associate with this process, and it had nothing to do with any of those choices. When obtaining a legal abortion, the first step is to usually receive an ultrasound so that doctors can date the pregnancy. (Interesting aside -- for all of the debate surrounding "mandatory ultrasounds," people should know that, regardless of state laws regarding ultrasounds, most medical professionals will not perform an abortion without one. This is due to the fact that, not only do they need to date a pregnancy, but they also need to physically see the pregnancy so that they know what to look for in follow up ultrasounds to ensure that the abortion was complete. They also need to make sure that any pregnancy is not ectopic, hence another reason for needing to see it in the uterus. But the "ultrasound debate" should be about what a doctor is forced to show or say -- not the ultrasound itself, which is pretty much mandatory everywhere.)

Anyway, the nurse doing my ultrasound could not find the pregnancy, either topically or vaginally. She did blood work to confirm the pregnancy (and I'd already done two urine tests), so she told me that either the pregnancy was ectopic or it was simply too early to see the embryo that had embedded in my uterus. Only time would tell which it was. And either way, I would not be receiving an abortion on that day. I'd have to play the waiting game. She told me to make another appointment for a week out so we could try again.

I, however, was not in the mindset to make any future appointment. All I knew was that I was pregnant, I didn't want to be, and yet I would be forced to remain pregnant for another week until the embryo grew some more (or I started showing signs of an ectopic pregnancy). I felt completely out of control of my body and, by extension, my life. There is much discussion among pro-choice people about mandatory waiting periods (some states have enforced 24-hour, 48-hour, or, in extreme cases, 72-hour waiting periods before a woman can access an abortion so that she can "think about it"), and how much distress and undue burden this can put on some women. I was basically being put on a week-long waiting period (due to medical reasons, granted, rather than a desire to make me "think about" my decision), which, although rooted in legitimate medical science, caused me deep emotional distress. I left the clinic in tears, intent to take matters into my own hands.

My partner did his best to be supportive and keep me logical, but I was anything but logical throughout the rest of the weekend. I remember feeling numb and in a deep state of panic. I called every other abortion provider in my area, only to find out that, indeed, everyone requires positive evidence of a pregnancy through an ultrasound. I contacted some pro-choice Facebook friends to see if they knew ways around this, or else knew of providers who would perform abortions without the ultrasound. I even considered doing my own abortion through illegal means. I contacted my father (who lives in Canada) and asked him if there was any way he could obtain abortion pills and mail them to me (and he was very gentle and loving as he explained to me how much, of course, that would implicate him as well, and how dangerous that could be for me). I read online about herbs that were supposed to induce miscarriages. I thought about driving down to Mexico to get abortion pills over-the-counter. I even came close to ordering abortion pills online.

This, however, is when my partner really demanded that I start looking at things logically. I could, he explained, try something illegal and dangerous (and he wasn't going to challenge me or try to control my choices), which could mean potentially becoming ill, dying, or winding up jailed ... or I could just wait a week and still end my pregnancy safely and legally. As out-of-control and desperate as I was feeling, I'm usually pretty good at making myself see things from a logical perspective eventually, and I chose the latter. Thankfully.

I actually rescheduled the abortion for nearly two weeks later, as I had plans with a long-time friend from Utah, whom I hadn't seen in over a year, the following weekend. So I trudged my way through the final week of school, and through my getaway with my friend, feeling very ... pregnant. The extent of my fatigue made everyday activities, including carrying a conversation, acts of conscious will. I could barely keep food and drink down. I didn't feel like myself, and I know I certainly didn't act like myself around others.

But, finally, that following Thursday I returned to the clinic for my abortion (12 days after my initial attempt), feeling mildly concerned that there still might be an issue finding the pregnancy through an ultrasound. There were no such issues, though. The pregnancy was observable with a topical ultrasound, and the kind staff immediately set me up with an IV in my hand to await my procedure. And the overwhelming feeling that dominated my emotional state was relief that I was not being sent away again.

I'll add here that I decided that morning to have a surgical abortion rather than a medical one. This is because, after hearing my options, I learned that medical abortions don't always work (though they do the majority of the time), and they require follow-up appointments to be sure that everything was expelled. They can also, due to the fact that they induce a miscarriage, result in a long and painful abortion (though this isn't the case for every woman). The surgical procedure, I was told, could be confirmed as complete that very day, and I'd likely be on my feet and back to normal life by the following day. It sounded like the best option for me. I also chose to be sedated because, as the nurse told me, why be potentially uncomfortable during a procedure when you can make yourself more comfortable? (No, in case you haven't guessed this about me, I don't think that women should punish themselves, or be punished, with a painful abortion because of the nature of the process. The very idea is asinine.) I was told the procedure would feel like very, very intense menstrual cramps for about 5-10 minutes, which I thought I could handle well, but opted for sedation due to simple comfort.

The doctor gave me the sedation medication through the IV in my hand (once I was ready for the abortion), and I felt it immediately. I remember thinking about how strong it was, and then ... I was waking up. I actually fell asleep (which the nurse told me was a possible side effect of the sedation), and therefore remember nothing about the actual abortion procedure. I woke up, and everything was finished. The nurses helped me up and took me to a recovery room. The sedation did leave me feeling horribly nauseous (I threw up into a bag a few times, and twice again once I arrived home, even though I hadn't had anything to eat or drink that morning), but other than that the procedure and its aftermath were incredibly smooth and complication-free.

My partner drove me home, and I rested for most of the afternoon. Once I woke up again, though, I felt a hundred times better than I had in weeks. Even though the pregnancy hormone that likely causes fatigue and nausea probably remained in my body for a some time after the abortion, I felt physically like a new person. I had more energy, could hold conversations, had a desire to do things with friends and family, and actually wanted to eat. I continued to feel better as the day progressed, and as more days passed. My partner commented daily about how noticeable the change in me was. Physically, I was happy, healthy, and relieved.

My health, my body, and my life were no longer being interrupted by a parasitic relationship that I had no desire to maintain. My feelings about that were only positive -- again, I was happy and relieved. Not once did I cry over my abortion, nor did I feel a need to. Not once did I regret my decision. Not once did I think about what "might have been." The only grief I felt during the entire process, again, was being told I had to wait. Perhaps (as some will say) these are selfish feelings, but, lest we forget that this is my body and my life in question here (and, no, the embryo had no "right" to reside in and use my body if I didn't want it to), I don't think that "selfish" feelings and actions are always unjustified. After all, this is my life to live, my choices to make, and the aftermaths of those choices are mine to own in whatever ways I happen to own them.

No, this process was not fun (most medical procedures aren't), and I am therefore certainly not chomping at the bit to have another abortion. I have always been, and still am, an advocate of safe sex and preventative birth control. But the need for abortion will always exist, and it's important to remember that many women, every day, choose it without regret or remorse.

I am one of those women, and proud to be a voice of legitimacy for our shared experiences.

10 Responses to 10 (Very Refutable) Reasons God Exists

Not that this is anything new, really, but (somewhat) recently BJ Cope published an article called 10 Reasons God Exists in order to point to some of the more, in his opinion, plausible reasons why a god is likely to exist. To be fair, this was a 2-sided article in which 10 Reasons God Does Not Exist appeared alongside the first one. As an atheist, I appreciate these investigations into both sides of the issue. My reason for responding to the first, however, is simply because I find the arguments to be rather elementary in terms of theological reasoning, and worthy of refute. So let's do this.

1. EVERYTHING IS CREATED: "Everything is created. There is nothing that didn't have a beginning, and whatever is in motion was originally put into motion. Thus, there must be a thing that is perennial and doesn't need a creator - God."

We don't know that there is nothing that didn't have a "beginning." As human beings, we have a very rudimentary understanding of our universe and how it works, and to apply our limited knowledge to the vast expanse of it is presumptuous, at best. For all we know, there is plenty that exists which did not have a "beginning" as we define the term. The fact that we do not understand something, or cannot comprehend something, only means that we don't currently understand it. It does not mean that we should assume a god, or anything supernatural, as a default answer.

But beyond that, this argument really begs the question: If everything must have a beginning, then what was God's beginning? If everything must have been created, then who or what created God? And if the answer to these questions is that God alone doesn't have to have a beginning, then you are special pleading (a logical fallacy) for your own particular belief structure. Why is it acceptable that a god may have always existed, but not possible that the matter of the universe may have always existed?

2. THE ARGUMENT OF DESIRE: "C.S. Lewis revived interest in this one. The main premise is as follows: Everything a human desires has an object in this world. In other words, hunger has food, lust has sex, thirst has water and so on. We have another desire, for we know not what or for a creator, a deity, and thus its object must be God, whom in fact exists."

I don't think that it's fair to categorize the unknown facets of human want into a "want for God." There are different types of human needs and desires, and they include both physical needs (such as food, water, shelter, etc.) and emotional and mental needs (such as love, acceptance, belonging, etc.). Throughout the journey of the human experience, we go through times in which we feel fulfilled in most areas, and times in which we feel unfulfilled. Sometimes, we cannot place why we feel unfulfilled.

But all of this is a byproduct of the human experience. There is so much to see and do, and our daily human interactions leave us in constantly shifting states of fulfillment. None of this means that we're longing for any kind of deity. We may be longing for answers within our personal stories, or justifications and validations for ourselves and those around us, but an all-powerful deity does not have to figure into that mix. This is why atheists go through periods of extreme fulfillment and unfulfillment alike, and religious people (Christians, Muslims, Wiccans, etc.) all go through the same. Nobody is ever 100% fulfilled and happy simply because they are religious, and nobody is ever 100% unfulfilled and unhappy simply because they are nonreligious. We all have ups and downs and various coping strategies.

The idea of a creator that we're seeking after makes sense only if you don't think about it very deeply. After all, any god that is omnipresent, omnipotent, and all-powerful already has a plan in place, which would mean that we are no more than cogs in a machine. Either we truly have free will in this world to carve our own destines, or there is a god who has a plan that has been laid out since day 1. If the latter is true, then nothing we do matters very much ... everything is scripted, anyway. And while the idea of this kind of deity seems comforting on the surface, it's not a reality that I would at all desire.

3. THE ARGUMENT OF WATCHMAKER: "You find a watch washed up on the beach, on a deserted island. Though you know not by who or when, you know this watch has a creator, because it is not a naturally occurring object but rather one assembled deliberately with naturally occurring materials. We are watches, and God is the watchmaker."

This argument fails so heavily that I don't even know where to begin.

Yes, when we see a watch we know that it was created by a watchmaker. When we see a painting, we know that there was a painter. When we see a house, we know that there was a builder. And on, and on.

But why do we know that these things have a creator? It's not because of any special attributes that magically spell out "creator." It's because we have a basis through which to gauge things that are created: a comparison to that which is not created.

We know which things happen naturally and which things don't. Watches, paintings, and buildings all arise from parts of nature, which human beings put together to create something new. No watchmaker simply created watch parts. No painter simply snapped her fingers and created paints or canvases. And so on. They used tools which already existed in order to create something new, and thus I'm not sure why an analogy to a divine creator that magically snapped everything into existence holds any water. Perhaps this one goes back to my first refutation here.

Again, if everything was created, we would have no basis in which to know what was created and what was not. But we do happen to understand the process of differentiating between created and non-created materials because we know, instinctively, what is not created, but occurs naturally.

And, again ... if everything was created, then where did God come from? Don't go special pleading on me.

4. NDE (Near Death Experiences): "Many people, whose brains are proven to be effectively dead - far more "off" than when you're passed out or asleep - claim they experience similar phenomenon, and often know things that transpired in other buildings or that they couldn't possibly have known beforehand. These are called NDEs or Near Death Experiences and many believe they prove God and Heaven's existence."

The brain is an interesting thing. As such, there have been a number of scientific explanations of near-death experiences, some of which are outlined here.

But beyond this, I'll also point out that scientists have tried to document studies of near death experiences and out of body experiences multiple times. But whenever anyone is placed within a controlled environment, nothing seems to happen. Evidence for near death experiences is dubious.

Further, people's claims about near-death experiences are not universal. We're used to hearing about the bright light and such, but around the world people's experiences tend to mimic what they've been socialized to believe about the afterlife. Here in the west, people claim to see loved ones who have passed, and some Christians claim to have visited heaven or hell. But in other parts of the world, near death experiences can include glimpses of past lives, or any number of other things. Again, experiences that take place in the brain tend to mimic what we've learned as individuals.

Not too long ago, I read Amy Silverstein's memoir about being a heart transplant recipient. In this book, she detailed a number of close calls and even one time when she literally died during a procedure and was brought back. According to current medical knowledge, she was dead for a very short time. And she claims to have experienced nothing. There was no consciousness during this time as her brain had shut down, and she experienced absolutely nothing. Why should her experience as someone who actually died be taken into less consideration than those who claim to have had a near death experience?

5. MIRACLES: "Obviously early history is riddled with miracles, and many detractors point to the lack thereof with the advent of photography and modern journalism however, it is worth noting some serious exceptions including Saint Padre Pio, who passed in the middle of the 20th century, and the miracle of the sun in 1917. Links to both are below: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miracle_of_the_Sun; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Padre_Pio"

I don't have much to say on this, except that no "miracle" has ever been documented.

How does one classify a miracle? Is it just something that's highly unlikely? If a person's cancer goes into remission, is that a miracle? If someone gets shot in the head and survives, is that a miracle? Or does it have to be something deemed scientifically and medically impossible? Does a person's lost limb need to grow back? Or, perhaps, does a permanently brain damaged person need to experience full recovery? Because nothing within the latter category has ever happened within documented history. All "miracles" that we know of have scientific explanations.

However, you'd think that if God did exist, there would be plenty s/he could do in terms of miracle workings in the lives of humanity. On close inspection, we don't see that happening.

Further, what does a "miracle" actually say about anything? A person recovering from terminal illness is no more proof of a god than someone dropping dead unexpectedly being proof of no god.

6. THE ARGUMENT OF HISTORY: "Jesus almost certainly existed, even atheist historians don't dispute this, but that's where similarities end. However, many believers rhetorically ask how a single man, killed in his early thirties, could rise from obscurity, preach a philosophy, and literally see that faith adopted by the entire known (at the time) Western world in the course of 100 years. Bear in mind, there was no internet, telegraph or even daily periodical. Obviously, something pretty fantastic happened. It would be akin to a no-one preaching a brand new outlook on life in the United States, being sentenced to death, and posthumously seeing his world view endorsed en masse only a few decades later."

Um ... the above account is probably the same reason why Muhammad is still being followed. And Buddha. And the multitude of other people worshiped and respected around the world, justifiably or not.

Also, it's pretty disputed whether Jesus existed, and certainly disputed whether Jesus-as-portrayed-in-the-Bible existed. Read up on this. There is a huge discrepancy between a man named Jesus having existed, and a man named Jesus who brought people back from the dead, walked on water, and healed blindness having existed. There is zero evidence for the latter (no, the Bible is not evidence, any more than the Koran is evidence that Muhammad disappeared into the heavens on a winged chariot).

It's worth pointing out that there are absolutely no contemporary documentations of Jesus Christ (no, Josephus was not a contemporary, and was likely a forgery). All writings about him were written years and years later, which is highly suspicious. If someone truly healed and cured people the way he did, fed and taught people the way he did, and rose from the damned dead into heaven the way he did, you'd think that there would be plenty of contemporary writings about him. We have found exactly none.

Richard Carrier has written multiple books on the historicity of Jesus, and I recommend them if you'd like to learn more. His extensive research has been based in ancient history, and he makes a compelling case that Jesus as a man may have never even existed.

7. THE ARGUMENT OF INTELLIGENCE: "While it's of course evolutionarily advantageous to be intelligent, our level of intelligence doesn't seem to necessarily make sense. In other words, how is it that humans so rapidly outstripped the other members of the animal kingdom, and is ours a level of smarts that actually has benefits? For instance, while knowing what is and isn't a predator, or how to sew shut your own wounds is helpful, does a brain with room for existential crises and daydreaming really assist your reproduction and survival? Why does capacity for this level of thought exist?"

Why do we even place such a heavy importance on intelligence?

If we were to gauge all the animals on the planet on speed, we'd lose. If we were to gauge on the ability to fly, climb trees, or burrow, we'd lose. If we were to gauge the ability to swim, we'd lose. If we were to gauge the ability to hunt as a predator using only our natural abilities, we'd lose. Head to head against a bear, we'd lose. There are a great many talents and abilities that the animals on this planet claim, and we happen to claim a high level of intelligence. So what?

The writer above commented that our intelligence doesn't seem to have a natural purpose in this world. This writer seems to be under the misunderstanding that evolution has a cause, or an end-game. It doesn't. It doesn't even necessarily serve us well. Evolution happens to cater to whatever genes survive against others. It doesn't matter if this writer cannot see any "natural" benefits to our intelligence; it happens to be a part of our species. I fail to see any proof of god in that.

8. THE ARGUMENT OF TIME AND CONTINGENCY: "Things exist, then they cease to exist. We observe this in nature all day long. However, nothing can come from nothing. Thus, there must be something that has and always will exist. This is God."

This seems to be a rehashing of argument #1. Yes, everything has a natural lifespan. That's not proof of god.

Again, how do we know that "nothing can come from nothing?" We have scientific studies that demonstrate life springing from non-life, albeit simple forms of life. And, once again, you cannot just claim that "nothing can come from nothing," but then plead a special case that god did just that. If you think there is no reasonable justification for the universe to have always existed, then you need to come up with a damn good reason why God could always have existed, and it needs to extend beyond magic.

9. ULTIMATELY, BAD THINGS GET WHAT'S COMING TO THEM: "Gandhi hit on this one, when he said (and I paraphrase) "Whenever I despair, I remember that good ultimately wins out." It's true, while bad things happen every day and very horrible things happen every so often, the perpetrators (ultimately) are brought to justice or see their wrongs for what they are. It may take one or one hundred years, but this observation is proven correct time and time again."

Um, no. This is simply not true. We live in a world in which bad things happen to good people, and bad people get away with murder and beyond. We live in a world in which young children are raped and tortured and killed, and sometimes the perpetrators never face a consequence. We live in a world in which the rich and powerful gain at the expense of the poor and weak, and never have to answer for it. People die every day without justification, and are sometimes never remembered let alone avenged. We live in a world where lives are cut short -- at times, severely short -- because of disease or other elements from the world around us. The idea that there is some kind of natural balance in which everything works out in the end is a pipe dream, and a slightly offensive one.

But that's part of what makes religion so popular -- the idea that the bad will pay, and the good will be rewarded. Never mind the fact that things considered "good" by some are considered "bad" by others. What I'll stick to here is a common Christian belief that throws #9 on its head.

Many Christians, see, believe that all you need is belief in Jesus and you will be rewarded. That is, you'll go to heaven. This means that it doesn't matter what you do or don't do in life. If you're a rapist and murderer who kills themselves -- but believes in the grace of Jesus -- then you're good to go for heaven. If you've lived a good life and helped others, but die without believing in Jesus ... well, you're doomed for hell. This is based on a presumption that the most basic "sins" (as they call these slices of humanity) such as lying and lust are the exact same level of evil as murder, rape, and torture. So it doesn't matter what you do -- all that matters is whether you believe.

For these Christians, at least, #9 is meaningless. The game has nothing to do with whether you are "good" or "bad." It's all about making yourself accept a claim as true.

10. DEATH: "Death is a necessity, and the editing mechanism of Natural Selection, but that refers to possibility of death - not it's inevitability. So is it a God-created denouement to our lives? It seems that humans are programmed to die after no more than, at very most, about 120 years of life. However, by the laws of nature, a species is most fit when it has the best chance of survival and thus reproduction. One would think, after such a rapid intelligence explosion among humans, that we would also extend our lifespans equally as fast. After all, the longer we live, the more children we can have (well, at least in the case of men procreating) and thus the more environmentally "fit" we become. Yet, this doesn't appear to be happening. Is death a God - devised expiration date, forcing us to live as we will before being judged as He/She/It will? Or, is it just a natural phenomenon?"

This premise makes as much sense as asking why we cannot keep produce from rotting, or why we cannot keep bread from growing mold. Our human bodies, like the above examples, are organic and begin to wither away and expire with age.

We have certainly come a long way in terms of food preservation, just as we have also come a long way in terms of extending human lives. Our lifespans are longer now than at many points throughout history. We have a better understanding as to how to take care of ourselves. We can cure or treat diseases that, in years past, were death sentences (I know -- I live with one such disease). We've used our intelligence to preserve multiple things, humans included.

But everything organic does die eventually. The fact that we haven't been able to use our intelligence to grant ourselves immortality is certainly not evidence of any gods.

In conclusion, many arguments for god's existence rely on application of our own limited understanding of the world (and the universe) to everything. Many people believe that because we don't understand something, the supernatural must be a default answer. Because a specific person cannot think of "anything coming from nothing," the idea of a supernatural creator must, therefore, be plausible. But keep in mind that humans have thought this way since the beginning of documented time. Throughout the years, we have begun to understand more of the world around us, and the need for god explanations has begun to wither. Even though there is still much we don't understand, is it so illogical to assume that there are perfectly natural answers out there to satisfy our deepest questions, just as we've been experiencing with ancient questions in recent years? My consensus is that this premise is far less illogical than a reliance on the supernatural.

"A Fool's Paradise" ... On Being the Focus of Another's Self-Deception

Life, in all its wonder, has the capacity to amaze us humans on a daily basis. Sometimes we find ourselves in the midst of wondrous joy and excitement as we successfully work our way toward the finer things in life. Sometimes we experience crushing defeat that leaves us, bewildered, back at the beginning of the race. And sometimes we find ourselves thrown under the proverbial bus, into a shit-filled gutter, by those we love.

Yes, if you haven't guessed, the point of this post is to explain how I found myself in said shit-filled gutter.

I will not send mass emails to everyone I know defending myself against nonsense. I will not post my issues all over social media to get my "side" out there. I will not pull anyone into this gutter who doesn't want to go there. In fact, I have not and will not post anything on Facebook or elsewhere discussing this matter. What I will do, however, here and here alone, is shed some light on this shit storm that I did not ask for, but found myself dragged into nonetheless. For those who want to know ... here it is.

I don't know any other way to recount this than a simple play-by-play. So I'll start with the fact that my sister and brother-in-law moved here to Las Vegas back in February. I was happy that this happened, as I had been close with them ... they had supported me through my divorce years ago, and I, also, supported them in various things. I taught her book in my college-level classes. I read her work and offered feedback. I drove them places and offered myself when I could. And ... you know. On and on. We, I thought, had a good relationship.

I became aware of the fact that my sister was not happy with me the day before my son's birthday. I invited the entire family over to watch movies, play video games, and eat birthday cake in celebration of my child. She chose not to attend this event because, as I learned later on, she was convinced that I had a crush on her husband, and that he was falling in love with me, too. So she stayed home because ... she was too upset, I guess, or else wanted to punish me or my son. Or maybe make the evening about her. I'm still not sure.

During the party, she called my other sister over to talk with her about her woes, so my brother-in-law filled me in on what was happening -- that she had been feeling bad about herself and drinking heavily, and that she had become convinced that mutual flirtation had been happening between the two of us. I'm still not sure what she considered to be flirting from my end. My brother-in-law, however, revealed to me at that point that he had actually told her that he was falling for me. I'm sure this didn't help her state of mind.

I'll throw in at this point that I am currently, and have been for the past few years, actively dating men (there is one in particular that I am presently fond of, but my dating pool is certainly not lacking). At risk of sounding pompous, these men, without exception, are attractive men who enjoy traveling the world, and have plenty going for them. They are not only educated and intelligent, but hard-working in their careers. I honestly don't mean to sound pretentious here, but my point is that I definitely have a "type" ... and, while he had been a good friend, my brother-in-law is not, and never has been, that "type."

That aside, I have a lot going for me, and I really enjoy my life. When I already have a vast dating pool of men that fit my desires, I really don't see how risking much of it to sabotage my sister's relationship in order to be with my brother-in-law makes any sense ... but I digress. I'll return to what happened.

I drove my other sister home from the party that night (she lives in Summerlin and I in Henderson, so this was a round-trip excursion of an hour), and my brother-in-law stayed behind with my son while this happened. The sister that I drove home has three children (her husband was at work), so the four of them plus myself filled my car. My brother-in-law offered to stay with my son until I got back. When I did get back he told me that my sister (the one who stayed home) had become convinced that we were having sex. I didn't think too much about it at that point -- I honestly thought he'd put her fears to rest and we'd move on. Well, I'm not sure exactly what he told her when I wasn't around (my own ex-husband used to use other women's "attraction" to him to make me feel uncertain in myself and lucky to be with him, so maybe it was some form of that), but no such thing happened.

The next day was my son't actual birthday, so I took him to the Adventuredome. On our way there, my sister called me and left a voicemail message to apologize for missing my son's party. I thought things were going to be okay. A few hours later, however, she sent me the following text message: "Btw, thanks for destroying my marriage." I didn't respond. After all, it was my son's birthday and there was fun to be had, and I was not going to let any drama spoil it. I was, however, a bit taken aback that she was still blaming me for whatever marital woes she was experiencing.

On our way out of the Adventuredome, my brother-in-law called to let me know that my sister had attempted suicide and was now hospitalized. The story, as he told it, is as follows:

Apparently, my sister had attempted to overdose the previous night (when she thought her husband was having sex with me at my son's freaking birthday party), but he had missed the suicide note and didn't realize it (he later found it and, according to him, it featured such eloquence as to hope that I was a "better fuck" than she was). When he came home, he said, she was asleep and he didn't know anything was amiss. Despite an apparent overdose, however, she woke up the next day and proceeded to walk around threatening a new combination of pills and tequila. My brother-in-law told me that he basically forced her to call and "apologize" to me over missing my son's birthday (as taking her issues out on my son was not warranted), which she did. Things, however, escalated and her second attempt at overdosing led to him taking her to the hospital. At first, she'd hidden the phones, according to him, but when he threatened to call from the apartment office and reveal everything that was happening to the managers (and whoever else happened to be around), she agreed to go with him.

He told me about some things she was saying about me behind closed doors. That I'd also slept with another brother-in-law (not true). That I plagued men with STDs (not true). You know ... anything to paint me as nasty homewrecker. I really had nothing to say to her, and so when he told me that she'd written me an apology note from the hospital, I told him I wasn't ready to read it. Especially, you know, after her last "apology" turned out to be coerced and insincere.

My sister was in the hospital for a week, during which time I hung out with my brother-in-law so that we could help each other through the accusations that were being thrown our way. I thought we were on the same page. But during the course of that week, a few things happened which revealed we were not.

First, he began a long tirade against my sister. There was plenty of shit said about her that weekend -- yes, I had frustrations as well that I voiced, and I won't deny that -- but the serious "shit talking" came from my brother-in-law himself. He told me that he had been miserable for about eight years (they've been married for nine). He said things started going downhill when she became obsessed with the notion that she had Lyme disease (which he claims now she never had). He told me that she was a hypochondriac who searched for doctors who would diagnose her with whatever she wanted to have.

He told me she was an out-of-control alcoholic.

He told me she treated him like shit.

He told me that he believed my sister needed him, but did not love him.

He told me he was tired of living in a bubble -- of never going anywhere, of not having friends, of having to call her every five minutes when he was out.

He told me he was going to leave her. That one came up continuously -- "You know I'm not going to stay with your sister, right?"

He also told me other things, such as how, when I was in the midst of moving from the Bay Area to Las Vegas, he wanted to come help me with my move. I had been looking for someone to help me drive my moving truck so that I wouldn't have to resort to hiring expensive movers, and he told me that he'd wanted to help. But you know, my sister was so afraid we were going to have sex that she wouldn't let him (so, apparently, her issues regarding me and her fears about the two of us extend much farther back than when she arrived here and supposedly saw us "flirting").

There was so much said from his end. And he started talking about how much he really did like me, and how he was falling in love with me. He started to ask if I'd ever liked him, and if he had met me first, if I'd have gone out with him. He started asking my other sister and brother-in-law similar questions -- what would the family think, he'd ask, if he left one sister for another? Did they think I had feelings for him? The more the days pressed on, the more he refused to change the subject on this matter despite the fact that I was clear about not returning these feelings. I am a nice person (much to my detriment sometimes), but I in no way led him to believe that he had a chance with me at all. Still, he persisted. It became uncomfortable.

I finally reminded him that I am seeing someone whom I really like. He proclaimed to be jealous of this person and, when I was out that Saturday evening spending time with this guy, my brother-in-law sent me the following text:

"If I possessed the eloquence of those greatest masters whose words move the mightiest of souls, I would yet utter no word that might capture your singular beauty."

On Sunday, he went to visit my sister in the hospital. When he returned (my other sister and brother-in-law were over for beers, so the brother-in-law in question joined us), he claimed that he had done his best to push my sister's buttons to cause a fight. He said it had worked, and that she'd blown up at him and had to be removed from the hospital's cafeteria, and that this was a good thing because it meant she wouldn't be released the following day, as planned.

He said that he didn't know how he was going to leave her. We told her that if he was going to leave her, he should do it while she was in the hospital, where she'd be safe.

He proclaimed that night that he was aware I didn't return his feelings ... for, he said, if I did, he wouldn't be struggling with how to leave my sister. He would have done it already.

I became somewhat uncomfortable (a common theme during this time), and, against my better judgment, started discussing details about the great sex I'd had recently with the man I'm particularly fond of. My brother-in-law left after that, angry. He opened the door and walked out, not even turning around to close the door behind him.

The following day was Monday, so I went to work (as a teacher, I have a pretty nice M-F work schedule). Throughout that day, I was informed that my brother-in-law had deactivated his social network accounts, and that his phones were off. My other sisters tried to get in touch with my sister at the hospital she was supposedly at, but could not find her. They, along with my father, were concerned for mine and my sister's well-being, and asked me to call the cops. I did, and they showed up at my sister and brother-in-law's apartment to check on her, and to tell him to cease and desist advances on me (I had nothing at all to do with the police at this point, mind you, so I don't even know what was said to them; I'd been at work all day). It turned out my sister had gotten out of the hospital that day after all, and things seemed okay.

At this point, I wanted nothing more than to mind my own business. But things continued to escalate, as family dramas do. My sister contacted my other sister and brother-in-law (the ones who had witnessed the advances on me) for details about what had happened. They told her everything they knew, and then my sister contacted me for "proof." I sent her the text message that my brother-in-law had sent me, and left it at that.

I'm not sure what he was telling her from his side, but, whatever it was, she chose to believe it all. And I realize that she had to, in order to keep her world from crashing in on itself. However, she didn't leave it at that ... the shit storm truly began when she insisted on spreading lies about me and the situation to everyone she could, rather than try to work things out (or at least keep our problems between us).

So the accusations flew. Apparently I was trying to destroy her marriage for no good reason (because I'm an evil comic book-like villain or something). Apparently, I'd done this before with another brother-in-law (because I'm an awful, sex-crazed homewrecker or something). And apparently I spread disease wherever I go, and so my brother-in-law would never even think about wanting to be intimate with me. It was all me, and he the innocent victim of my dastardly ways. Apparently.

She became so obsessed with the notion that I'd done this before that, according to my other sister, she contacted this ex-brother-in-law (whom I'd supposedly seduced and slept with). She wanted to know how I seduced him. She wanted to know what we did together. She wanted to know how I convinced him to be unfaithful.

I don't know exactly what was said during this exchange. But, according to this ex-brother-in-law, he told her that such a thing never happened (surprise, surprise ... what I've been saying all along). But I'm sure that she'd only take him at his word if his story aligned with what she wanted to hear and believe, anyway.

Again, I don't know what my brother-in-law has been saying to her. At this point, it doesn't even matter because I know she's going to believe whatever she wants to believe, regardless of anything else. I know that my brother-in-law and I could take side-by-side polygraph tests, and he would fail and I would pass, and she'd still find some way to work around it in her mind. I know this. I get it. She needs his story to be true.

But I don't think that her needing to believe warrants the meanness that has come out of this situation. I have not contacted her, have not said anything horrible about her. I have not bombarded people's inboxes or phones, demanding to be heard. I have not spewed my two cents all over Facebook. I have not been shown the same consideration, despite her only "needing to believe."

For those on the outside, there really is no "side" to take in this matter. The bottom line is that I've been accused of things that are not true, and my name and reputation have been dragged through that shit-filled gutter over it. I know that the people who truly matter to me don't buy into it at all, but my point here is that there reaches a point where enough is enough.

It takes more than one person to fight, and I refuse to fight or engage in any of this -- I really don't have room in my life for this level of bullshit. I love my family and always will, but I will not welcome people into my life who treat me this way. Family is family, yes, and I, too, wish we could reach a point where this kind of bullshit isn't happening anymore. But I have been turned into a villain after doing nothing but support this sister for years. I have had enough. My self-respect is too high to deal with these kinds of accusations from anybody, be they family or not.

I don't expect anything from anyone. But if you're honestly asking yourself whether this absurd story is true, please consider the following: If you know me, think about the person I am. For all of my faults and mistakes as a teenager and young adult, I am a good person. I am a responsible person. I am a successful, reasonable person. Does it really make sense that, for no reason, I would try to destroy my sister's marriage? Does it make sense that out of all of my options in terms of men, I would choose this brother-in-law? Does it really make sense that my scruples are so low that I would do such a thing even if I did like him?

Or does it make more sense that he desired me, tested the waters, and is now back-peddling as quickly as he can because it didn't work out? And that back-peddling includes lying to the point of isolating her from the people who have the guts to tell her the truth? And that, to avoid having to recognize, own, and deal with the truth of the situation -- that there are issues to be dealt with in her own marriage -- she's turned me into the proverbial scapegoat so that she can carry on without having to admit that there were ever any issues between her and her husband?

I suppose it doesn't matter. People are going to believe what they want. And my life will continue to move forward in all of the wonderful ways that it has been, regardless. I won't engage further on this issue. But it really is important that the truth of the matter is out there. Do with it what you will.

On Atheism and Death

Throughout the last year of my life, I have experienced a few heartbreaking losses: my mother passed away last June, and I lost a beloved cat last Sunday evening. Both of them died rather young, my mother being 57 and Nero, my kitty, being only 2. Both deaths were sudden and shocking sacks of bricks that knocked me unexpectedly into the icy cold pool that is the reality of the biological life cycle.

So, naturally, both deaths created in me a pensive contemplation about the very idea of death.

As an atheist, you see, death is a permanent experience, which invites some not-so-subtle indications. Namely, being an atheist makes it impossible to ignore the "big" question: how do you cope with death?

After my mom died, my aunt asked me where I thought my mom was now. My answer, of course, is that I don't think my mom "is" anywhere. I think that she died, and, like other biological organisms who die, no longer exists. This thought is incomprehensible to many people -- how could I believe that my mom is really gone forever? How do I cope without the belief that I'll see her again someday in a glorified version of her former self? I understand that dealing with death is difficult no matter what you happen to believe in ... but I also realize that one coping mechanism among the religious is the notion that a person is not really gone forever.

It's not that I don't understand these sentiments. I get it, on some level. After my son found out that Nero wasn't going to make it last Sunday, he curled into a ball on the floor and called out our cat's name again and again. And after we'd said goodbye to our kitty and stepped out of the room, he collapsed again and cried out, "Why, why?" Again and again. There was a part of me that wanted to tell him that Nero was going to a better place. That he'd be free of pain and happy again, playing with other spirit kitties for the rest of eternity. A part of me wanted to tell him that he'd see Nero again. Someday.

But the simple fact of the matter is that I don't believe any of that. I don't believe that Nero's spirit is happy and free and waiting for us in heaven. I believe that Nero's body stopped working and that he died, and that he therefore no longer exists outside of our wonderful memories of him. And the same thing goes for my mom.

Let me explain something about my atheism. There are some interesting hypotheses that the religious have developed about us atheists as to why we embrace the worldviews that we do. But let me set the record straight by saying that I am not an atheist because it's hip. I'm not an atheist because I hate god. I'm not an atheist because I want to "sin" all the time and not be held accountable. I'm not an atheist because I'm closed-minded.

I am an atheist because I have explored and studied the idea of deities and religion, and all claims that I've come across do not stand up to scrutiny and evidence any more than other fantastical claims, such as Bigfoot or garden fairies, do. I happen to care very much about whether what I believe is true (and I care very much that my son grows up to be a critical thinker, whatever he winds up believing in a religious sense), and I therefore hold extraordinary claims up to an extraordinary burden of proof. I don't believe in gods for the same reason that I don't believe in garden fairies. There simply isn't enough evidence to justify it. (If you disagree, then good for you -- I'm not trying to demean you, but am simply explaining my feelings through my own experience.)

So, when I was sitting in that veterinary clinic with Brendan, I pondered what was truly important: the truths I hold about the world, or the easiest way to comfort my son. And I held, as I always do, that the former is more important. I did not tell Brendan that Nero was in a better place, or that we'd play with him again someday. Instead, I hugged him very tightly and told him to cry as much as he needed to. I told him that I knew how much it hurt, and that he needed to feel and acknowledge that hurt until, eventually, the flow of time would dull it.

I did very much the same thing when my mom, his "Nana," died last summer. But the question remains for many people, both theists and atheists alike -- how do you get over a death?

I've spent a great deal of time thinking about this very question. I've come to the conclusion that we don't ever "get over it." We move on, but there are parts of us that are forever marked by the deaths of loved ones. We are changed, both positively and negatively, by those who touch our lives and then leave us forever. All of us mourn the passing of others from our lives ... but atheists do not have the luxury of dulling that pain by telling ourselves that we'll see those people again. For us, death is a very permanent part of life. With this, we are also faced with the unsettling reality of our own nonexistence sometime in the not-so-distant future. I know. These thoughts, at first, seem unbearable. I know.

And for a while, it is unbearable. I'm not going to deny that. The reality of never seeing someone again is hard. At first, memories sting with pain because all they do is remind you that those good times, along with that unique person you loved so much for all their uniqueness, are gone forever. If you happened to be on bad terms with a loved one when they died, you are faced with the paralyzing reality that you will never, ever, have a chance to make it right again. You begin to notice TV shows that you'll never watch with that person again, songs you'll never listen to with that person again, and inside jokes that will never be shared between you again. Not now, not in heaven. Not ever. Believe me, at first this can be absolutely devastating.

But here's what it comes down to: although accepting the finality of death can be excruciatingly painful, it also makes the recognition of life exceedingly beautiful. No, we atheists do not comfort ourselves with thoughts of seeing our loved ones after we die, but through this we realize the importance of being with our loved ones before any of us dies. We recognize that we don't get a second chance with anybody. And when you don't have eternity to "get it right," the urgency for love, fulfillment, and connection in this life becomes very real. The importance of not letting minutes, hours, days, or even years slip by because of petty differences, because we cannot make anything right after death, is very real. And when we do lose those we love, we are forced to put this worldview that much more into perspective.

So, no, I do not believe that my mom is looking down on me from heaven. I don't think that Nero is happy up in kitty heaven. And I'm okay with that. Because I know that they both had such a profound impact on me and how I will forever view my future relationships, I can let go of them while still holding onto their memories.

It isn't easy. But life isn't easy. It is, however, profound and amazing ... particularly for me once I realized that the sometimes numbing sentiments of permanent loss eventually serve to illuminate the joys of life while we do have them.

This post is, of course, dedicated to Mom and Nero, and all of the ways in which they both touched my life.

Urban Exploring

I don't think I've ever actually considered doing something illegal simply for the sake of travel, art, and the wonder of the human experience. However, I have recently added an illegal activity to my proverbial bucket list for precisely those reasons: urban exploring, particularly in the area of abandoned theme parks.

I didn't know these actually existed until quite recently. But there are apparently quite a few theme parks in the world that still stand, but have been abandoned to the elements. They haven't been torn down or relocated ... they simply exist in a haunting shadow of former glory, slowly being reclaimed by nature. Nara Dreamland in Japan is one such theme park; a Disneyland ripoff, it closed in 2006 but has not been demolished. Six Flags New Orleans is another one; after Hurricane Katrina, this Six Flags was damaged beyond repair, but its skeletal remains still grace Louisiana. These places seriously exist all over the world. And I have decided that I must visit them because they are haunting and beautiful and the sheer epitome of the human realization that, as time moves forward, all things are left behind -- even us and our wonderful creations.

I am honestly excited about this. I want to wander and take photographs and sit and think and write and experience. But here's the problem: stepping foot into one of these places is considered trespassing, and is highly illegal. People have gotten arrested for participating in urban exploring, and so I'm not quite sure how I'm going to pull this off. Much research and preparation will be necessary, I'm sure. But before I leap too far into that aspect of my proposed journey, let me share more details about these places I want so badly to visit, courtesy of images from explorers who have already ventured out.

The first place I want to go is Six Flags New Orleans. I mean, honestly, do we really need much of a reason to visit New Orleans? It's jazz and the bayou; it's amazing food and drink; it's vampire culture and voodoo folklore; it's the historical South at its absolute best and worst. And it has an abandoned theme park.

Like I said before, Hurricane Katrina destroyed this place years ago. It was covered in water, and when said water retreated everything was left in rusty disrepair. The photographs already taken of this place are truly some of the most haunting images I've seen of an abandoned theme park. The cost of fixing everything up would have been too much for Six Flags ... but, the thing is, it was also going to cost them too much to take everything down (due to the lease they had on the land). So their cheapest, most viable option was to leave it alone. This is my first choice of abandoned places to visit, by far. It has so much potential.

I also previously mentioned Nara Dreamland. Again, it was a Disneyland ripoff built in Japan in 1961 as a response to Walt Disney's success in California. It has all of the token visual representations of Disneyland, including the pink fairy tale castle and the Matterhorn mountain. But, unlike Disneyland, it did not experience immense success, and ultimately closed its doors in 2006. Much like what happened with Six Flags in New Orleans, those who owned the park didn't think that the time and money it would take to remove the park was worth investing in, and so it was simply abandoned.

Photos reveal that you can still climb the hills of the roller coaster, and the queue areas are completely overgrown with moss and plant life. The once-beautiful fountains are now exposed and decrepit, and its "Main Street" looks like a scene right out of the next zombie film to hit theaters.

I'm not opposed to traveling to Japan to see it, though, obviously, that will be farther in the future than New Orleans.

Honestly, I'd like to try my hand at urban exploring at various places around the world ... Who knows, I may even be crazy enough to venture into Chernobyl one day. Not that I necessarily want to make a habit out of illegally entering premises, but I do think that abandoned places, like ghost towns, carry so much potential for human reflection and discovery. It could be fun. So ... who's game? :)