When I had long hair, it always took curls well, but it never kept curls well. It would be beautiful for an hour or until I tried to do anything with it, and then the curls would all fall out.

My mom had an interesting phrase she liked to use when she’d catch me primping for dates. She’d say, “Debbie, stop brushing your hair. You’re birdcaging it.”

Her words come back to me now when I work too long at tweaking my posts.

I can say, “I tried to make it fit into a little box and be perfection, but in so doing, I tamed the heart of it, the wildness, the very thing that was beautiful about it to begin with.”

Or, I can simply say I birdcaged it. Either way, it means the same thing.

I was baptized Catholic soon after my mom brought my tiny diapered butt home from the hospital, but I was destined to become a heathen. How could I become anything else when what I always wanted more than anything was to find god?

I’m happy to say I finally did. I found my very own god. Not yours but mine, and nobody can touch my god.

Nobody can pollute my god with their twisted ideas of morality. Nobody can make my god say that she will smite anyone. My god has a real conscience, and my god believes there are consequences for hurting people, no matter who those people are or how different they may seem.

The best thing about my god is that I don’t have to despise you if you are from Iraq or Iran, or if you’re gay, because my god doesn’t hate your god. Even if your god wants to box, my god won’t play that game.

I don’t have to pretend to believe ludicrous things to impress her. My god knows exactly what I’m capable of believing, and she thinks Noah’s Ark is a sad and funny story. So, she doesn’t take it personally if I can’t always believe in her or myself or anything.

I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I did to find her. I walked through fire to get to her and all the while, I believed I was flawed and lacking.

I believed I was going to hell, because I wanted someone else’s god to say, “Come here my child. It’s alright. I love you the way you are.”

But, the only response I heard at the time was other people telling me that heaven is segregated and that god hates queers.

Because I couldn’t force myself to let the queer hating gods in, I thought I was going straight to hell.

But, I’m not. I had it wrong then, and I know that now.

I won’t jump on a bandwagon with the haters who speak of love and eternal life. No matter how good it would feel to fit in for a change.

I finally found god, and her voice is gentle and sounds like my own heartbeat. And she finally said the words I needed to hear.

“Come here, my child. I was right here all along.”

*If you feel the need to be offended by this, I can’t stop you. It is not meant as a dig at any particular religion or at religious people other than the ones I met on my own personal journey. If the shoe fits, wear it. If not, don’t.

I’m not physically sick. Just sick of hearing myself think.

I’ll be back when I’m no longer feeling existential.

Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing some chocolate ice cream and a chick flick won’t fix.

You won’t see this ad if you watch the Super Bowl today. Why? Because CBS is all about censorship.

Please join the One Minute Boycott. This is America, people. We don’t have to let them trample on free speech. Join me in saying to CBS, “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take it.”

You – Hey, Debbie.

Me – Hey.

You – How will you be an embarassment to your daughter in her teenage years?

Me – There are lots of ways, but first and foremost will be that I still listen to AC/DC.

You – Really?

Me – They only know three chords, but boy do they rock them out.

Fast Forward to 2010:

Some punk-faced kid – Hey, Charlotte is that your Mom in the living room, waggin’ her head to “You Shook Me”?

Charlotte (lying) – No, we’re just renting a room to her.