Wow, so sorry I haven’t updated in ages! (Lawl, college finals.) But anyway, since it’s Christmas Eve (for exactly fifty more minutes, I thought I’d share an essay-like thing I wrote last year on this day.
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Mom, Sis, and I went to [Methodist church name] for their Christmas Eve service – they as Christians in want of a church and I as a mere scholarly observer. Not just theologically – the church is architecturally cool, and the pipe organ is quite impressive.
And I have to say, it totally wasn’t what I expected.
I thought at least one person was going to greet us Lutheran-style and say loudly, “Oh, and Merry Christmas to you all! Where you from? You new here?” And then we would reply (uncomfortably, in my case) that we’re Lutherans, we’re churchless at the moment, etc. (Believe me, outspoken I may be, but I know better than to proclaim my godlessness smack in the middle of a crowded church.)
It wasn’t like that at all. We were just part of the crowd. No one tried to make polite small talk. We sat on the edge of the balcony, and no one bothered us the whole time. The anonymity was quite refreshing.
The service, as well, was different. They moved things along very quickly. There were no meet-and-greets, no bread-breaking, no clapping after choir performances. Other than that, though, it was more similar to the Lutheran service than I’d imagined it would be.
For the entire service, I just watched. I didn’t say or sing a single word. I was just on the outside looking in. But I noticed, for the first time, that a church is more than just a place for people to chant and sing and continually worship their notion of God. It’s a community.
When everybody had lit their candles and started singing “Silent Night,” I admit I got a lump in my throat. For a moment, I saw what I had lost by being atheist. For a moment, I regretted losing that sense of community – well, I suppose I should say never having it, seeing as I’ve been atheist practically since I could talk.
Then Captain Obvious whacked me over the head with his mighty Obvious Bat, and I realized something important: Church isn’t the only type of community out there. There are more ways to belong, more places to belong. I, for example, am a proud part of my school’s marching band – and that’s just as much a community as your typical church. We do everything as a group. We know stuff about each other that isn’t Facebook-worthy. We’ve got each others’ backs, no matter what. If that isn’t a community, then I’ll be darned.
In conclusion, I don’t need church. I have my own communities, my own special places, and other people have theirs. We all have our own places in the world. I know mine, you know yours, he knows his, she knows hers. And that, I think, is the meaning of life – finding your place in the world, finding where you feel at home, finding where you belong.
So find your place. Let other people find theirs. When we all just focus on finding ourselves and not on finding other people, I think the world will be a much more peaceful place.
I posted this a bullet point at a time on Tumblr. Here’s the archive.
- Oh God. I was ASKED whether or not I wanted to go Black Friday shopping. And I’m still going. The things I endure for you guys, I swear. 🙂
- GUYS. I sipped from the Sprite Zero I started yesterday, and guess what Mom told me? “Finish it.” You guys don’t understand how great this is.
- Sister, y u no clean out hairbrush 😦
- Welp, I’m off to the mindless, soul-sucking, wallet-draining orgy of consumerism that is Black Friday. Wish me luck. I think I’ll need it.
- Also, my throat feels like I swallowed bran flakes dry and then choked on them for about two minutes.
- Since I’m in the backseat, I have officially been relegated to the role of Mom’s purse-hander.
- You know you’re in for a treat when you see a huge group of men carrying a bunch of bags.
- I feel so out of place here that it’s comical.
- We are literally just walking around. Wtf.
- Also. Guys in swimsuits at Hollister. The f*ck.
- We’re at Gap. I like this place. Why, then, do I feel so Scroogearific? BLACK FRIDAY WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME.
- Oh. Damn. Black Friday hoodies that say “Got gifts?” THAT, ladies and gents, is why I feel like such a Scrooge.
- …a guy in a Black Friday shirt. And shirts that say “Team Black Friday.” What is this shittery.
- Gap music: “I love you like a love song.” 1. That’s not really a good idea. 2. I get the damn idea. Stop repeating yourself.
- I found a sweater I liked. And it was shorter than Kim Kardashian’s marriage. Did I mention that I hate modern fashion?
- Gap music: Telephone by Lady Gaga. Because Thanksgiving wasn’t enough.
- Mom: “Don’t you want to look for something?” No, Mom, I’m busy being a misanthrope.
- Gap music: a country rendition of “Let It Snow.” PLEASE GOD MAKE IT STOP
- If this were a perfect world, every single store in this wretched mall would be playing Vince Guaraldi Christmas music.
- Get this. We bought my shirt (plain purple long-sleeved). We were leaving. Then Sis spotted another sale rack. OH GOD WHY
- Okay, what the hell does “Break Your Heart” by Taio Cruz have to do with Christmas? Also, who would want a first name that is 3/4 vowels?
- As of about two minutes ago, I am a professional fashion misanthrope. Heh. I kind of like the sound of that, actually.
- If snark were worth money, I’d be so rich I could pay for my own med school.
- A lady with a British accent just walked into the dressing room area. When I heard her talk, I was like DAY MADE.
- Sorry for the crappy formatting on all these text-message posts. I’ll fix it when I
return to the land of sanityget on my computer. - WHO THE HELL WROTE LAST CHRISTMAS, ANYWAY. IT DOESN’T EVEN RHYME. In case it wasn’t obvious, I REALLY HATE THIS SONG.
- Breaking news: I also hate the song “Magic.”
- The hell. “Magic” doesn’t rhyme either.
- Attention people with huge shopping bags: Just because you don’t bump into me doesn’t mean your gif*ckinormous bags won’t bump into me.
- Renditions of Last Christmas I’ve heard so far: 2 and counting. Fml.
- Newsflash: Trying to recall exact details of my college wardrobe isn’t easy at 7:50 AM.
- Dear Express… Turn down your gorram bass. Thanks, Yank and her eardrums.
- Also: lyrics to one Express song were, and I quote, “It’s a super-hot guy.” Yes, I’m serious. I don’t think my eardrums were that crippled. I don’t want to live in this country any more.
- In Forever 21. How does half the crap in this store exist?
- TECHNO VERSION OF THE SUGAR PLUM FAIRY. OH MY GOD JUST STOP. YOU ARE DESECRATING MY CHILDHOOD. Ugh. just sdjewedujws
- Sequined masks. …why. Halloween was in October, sweetie. Just stop.
- Can I just fall asleep on the Forever 21 scarf display?
- I just jumped about three feet to get a sweater for my sister. And I got it. Why is this so hilarious to me right now?
- Dear Forever 21… Really, what is with these center knobs on your dressing room doors? Honestly confused here. Sincerely, Yank.
- Oh God, why did I only have potato bread and coffee for breakfast?
- Mom: “C’mon, let’s go stand in line.” Because standing in line is so much fun. Oh well, at least we’re closer to getting out of here.
- $3 for a ring. …why.
- Every Forever 21 employee is wearing something yellow. Either they’re out to cheer people up, or they’re all Hufflepuffs.
- Mom: “I want to go home.” But I’m not done being snarky yet!
- I need food. Actual food, food that doesn’t have a crapton of starches in it.
- Oh my God, someone’s playing jazz. Dave Brubeck, if I’m not mistaken. I love humanity again.
- I wonder how many posts I’ve made so far today.
- Pretty sure I’m still kind of half in my obligatory turkey coma. Which is funny because I ate a scrap and a half of turkey.
- Okay, I don’t know what the hell was in that sample I had just now, but there’s no way that was chicken.
- Yank’s faith in humanity: eradicated, one grammar error at a time. UPDATE: More like one grammar error or horny teenager at a time.
- I just realized… REASOR’S (without the apostrophe) is an anagram for SORE ARS, which is almost SORE ARSE. Why do I think about this stuff?
- Ugh. I really, really hate the smell of Morning Fresh Germ-X or whatever it’s called. I don’t know what’s in it, but it smells terrible.
- …wtf. A group of joggers ran past me. And I’m sitting in a parking lot in the busiest part of the city. My brain can’t take this anymore.
- When I die and my body is donated to science, those poor scientists are going to have one hell of a time with my brain.
- Okay, guys, I’m all snarked out. I’m going to take a nap now. Nighty night.
I always spend at least half of my allotted getting-ready-for-school time snoring.
Just this morning, actually, I was supposed to be getting dressed, because my mom and I were going to go to the library (she volunteers at the library on Wednesdays, and sometimes I tag along). Instead of getting dressed, I slept. Till about 8:50. Then Mom yelled, “Are you ready?” I jolted out of my snooze, yelled back, “No, not quite,” and got dressed faster than I ever have. (Go me.)
And then at the library, I thought I was going to work on my NaNo novel and get lots done on it. I ended up putting two chairs together and sleeping with my backpack in my lap the entire time (which was about two hours).
My circadian rhythms are so screwed up. (I swear, from now on, I’m only having one late-night TV marathon per weekend.)
I have… something. I don’t know quite what it is. I think it’s either a delayed reaction to the flu mist I got two weekends ago, or a heavy chest cold. Either way, it’s nasty. On Monday, I just felt plain miserable – achy, headaches, sniffly, lethargic, the whole nine yards. (Two words got me out of bed that day: “Rhodes Scholarship.” I’m friggin’ dedicated.) Yesterday, my main problem (aside from those pesky sinus problems) was that every time I sat up, stood up, sat down, laid down, or did anything that required me to change the orientation of my head in some way, my head started throbbing worse than a subwoofer playing dubstep at top volume. Today, I’ve partly lost my voice. Fun.
Anyway, here are some gems, straight from my alternately sickness- and Nyquil-addled brain.
- “Why is that so funny to me right now?” (about something completely ordinary and pointless)
- *SNORT* (when my mom complained about my sniffling – goodness, I’m sassy)
- (trying to work up the wherewithal to take Nyquil) “Oh God. Um…” Sister: “Just get it over with. Pretend it’s a shot.” Me: “THAT DOESN’T HELP.”
- “Uuuuuuugh…” (for every single throbbing headache)
- “OH MY GOD, CARSON KRESSLEY.”
- “Between Carson and Chaz, I think I’m just going to die in a puddle of-” (makes inarticulate mouth noises)
- A thought that genuinely popped into my head last night as I was drifting off to sleep: “I hate it when my Internet gets taken away. Also, my farts taste like rainbows.”
- (For the record, I have never tested the latter statement, and I never want to.)
- And my favorite… “I just stay in my room, like an awkward… non-sports-loving… college turtle.”
I just knocked my Diet Coke over on my bed and tried to open it, and it got all excited and foamy and exploded on me. What the heck.
I’m Miss Yankovic. A few of you may have seen me around on Tumblr. For those of you who have no idea who I am, I’m just this kid who writes stuff and wants to share it with people. So I’ll be posting stories, essays, crappy poems, and other random stuff like that.
A quick note about my name, if you haven’t read my about already: Miss Yankovic is not my real name. It’s a pen name. However, I’m not going to divulge my real name (or any other personal data) on here; I’m going to hide firmly behind this pen name. I have very definite reasons for doing so.
Not Your Sister's Twilight 