Slap a pair of ovaries on my Tiara. If I ever look like this with my betrothed... I ask you-- Nay, I beg you, drag me out into the street and shoot me.

Examine. They are wearing collared shirts. Matching Blazers. Standing outside of some historic home. Or maybe it is their home. Who knows? What I do know is that the thought of living my life in a Southern Living Magazine makes me nauseous.

The definition of 'Live'- To pursue a positive, satisfying existence.

Positive and satisfying is different for everyone. I know. And this is a close, personal friend of mine. Needless to say, she does not have my blog address. At least I don't think she does. I really am happy for her- because this is the path that makes her happy.

Maybe this makes me so nauseated because this is the close, personal friend of mine that (I shit you not) handed me a bible when I told her that my marriage was over with the statement of 'Maybe you can find your marriage AND God in here.'

Or maybe this makes me so nauseous because I have learned that anything that looks placid and serene from the top is bound to have one hell of an undertow.

Or maybe it is because I am so blissfully happy with my life right now, even though there are obvious cracks on the exterior.

I am reading a feminist revolution book currently, and there is a whole rant upon our species feeling that if they can make the exterior look perfect, then the interior is bound to line up. Those of us who have lived life just a touch will know that this is not how it works. Moreover, exteriors do lie. Think Bree Van De Camp on Desperate Housewives.

I suppose what I am getting at is this: I don't care what my life looks like on the outside, so long as I am happy on the inside.  ¶ 3:37 PM