Hiatus?

You may have noticed that I haven't updated in a few months.

Or maybe you haven't.

I've been Tumbling and facebooking and tweeting, but not blogging. I'm not even really sure why, but I'm sure it can't last much longer.

I've been keeping a journal or blog in some fashion since I knew how to hold a pencil.


I think this particular blog may have reached a fizzle-out point, so I should be announcing a new blog address in the future.

One Generation Away

So, right now, one of my very best girl friends is deployed.

She could be here with me, going shopping, telling me what not to wear, using her uncanny skills to help me find earrings to match a particular dress... but she's not.

She'll be the first one to downplay her role, but even if her job is just pushing paper around an office on a base somewhere (which, considering she's in the Air Force is... likely) I am so, so proud of her.

And it makes a girl (at least a smart girl) stop and think.

If someone were to tick boxes on a checklist in order to create an overall snapshot of me, the end result would be pretty stereotypical. Feminine? Tick. Domestically capable? Big tick. Christian, Southern, owns a handgun, adores Michelle Malkin? Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Yep, I'm a conservative woman. And I love it. I'm in good company with amazing people.

My friends and heroes are strong, honorable women who hail from honest, hard working families. They were raised to understand history and tradition. They're what I think this country is all about. They don't make excuses for their failings and shortcomings: they rally. When attacked or provoked, they put on a dress and lipstick and they sally on.

Despite popular belief, conservative women hardly ever fit neatly into the box they are placed in. Some of us (not naming names) cry at the thought of shooting a gun or eating meat. Some of us (definitely not naming names) believe the polar bears are really, actually dying. Personally, I just so happen to drive a Prius, compost my eggshells and carrot peels, recycle my ample wine bottles (Anglican? Tick!), and listen to a little too much Bob Dylan.

Hint: You won't find any of those options on the checklist.

I always ask myself what is so appealing to liberals about looking down upon conservative women, and I think I've come to a conclusion.

We're easy targets - especially the public figures among us. We hold ourselves to a high standard against opponents who do not. Our ideals are outdated and backwards to a society of people who can no longer think for themselves.

When the left say they want to bring balance to a program, they find someone like Elisabeth Hasselbeck who has her heart in the right place but who couldn't make an articulate point to save her life. And who doesn't love to hate a skinny blonde?

Each public figure handles their attacks uniquely. Either they gracefully ignore the ridicule (Sarah Palin), stand up for themselves and receive further mockery (Carrie Prejean), or crack to pressure and bring fresh embarrassment to the people they represent... while perhaps clinging to some distorted semblance of the ideals they think they're supposed to hold (Meghan McCain).

The double standards are infuriating, but we're supposed to take it like ladies... and, with exceptions, we often do.

For example, Michelle Malkin was forced to uproot and relocate her family because of overwhelming harrassment. The hate mail she periodically posts on her blog frequently brings me to tears. Imagine if a liberal pundit (especially a minority) recieved such vitriolic, racist messages and harrassment. Olbermann could retire on it. Those sick, twisted, fundamental Republican extremists. That hateful Right Wing Christian Coalition. The victimhood machine is well-oiled and always ready to go... for them. The SPLC would be at their front door in a heart beat and NPR's political experts would helpfully explain what had happened using some creative, gentle synonyms for ignorance and hate.

Most of us aren't ever going to have to endure the level of scrutiny and attacks to which our prominent figures are subject... but it still leaves a personal sting on my cheek. The gross, outrageous lies and cheap shots make me glad my Prius is mostly soundproof so I can privately vent my frustration as I drive home from work (Talks to self? Tick).

These women, at any other time in history, would be praised endlessly and considered heroes. They should be praised now. Instead they are hated...

...but not really.

It's fun to watch the left come up with creative ways to explain away (or ignore) the fact that conservatives dominate best sellers lists like nobody else.

So I guess we have another reason to keep our chins up after all.

Lyndsey is Prompted; Delivers.

My phone started ringing around 4:30 a.m.

I sloshed a cold cup of tea against my hand as I fumbled around my nightstand to answer. My teeth were fuzzy, my eyes hardly open. I didn't even look to see who it was; I just knew it had to be an emergency.

Hello, this is Lyndsey.

Wake up. They are giving Obama a Nobel peace prize.

I looked at my phone. Of course.

And I'm supposed to... what?

Now, I ask myself this: what kind of friend wakes up a person to give them this type of depressing news at such an hour? Is the world coming to an end? Did they not give the same award to Carter? Most importantly: could this not wait?

I'm just a gal with a blog and a dream; I'm nobody. I imagine 40 people will read this, if I tweet about it, and maybe three will comment. Big whoop.

I rolled over and opened my macbook, which seemed to be just as sleepy and grumpy and confused as I was. My fuzzy logic was that I might as well stay awake since my alarm was set for 5:00 a.m.

I logged on to facebook (you're lying if you say it's not the first move in your morning internet routine, too). Sure enough, the first five or six status updates all expressed horror about the award - and not just from conservative friends, either. Obama supporters and critics alike see this as a bad move.

I tweeted and facebooked a HuffPo article written by an Obama supporter, published an hour after the news broke (there's the type of writer you wake up to create opinion pieces) expressing contempt for this ridiculous move. On the drive in to the office, NPR talking heads couldn't believe it, explaining that he had only been in office for two weeks when the nomination paperwork was filed. I find it interesting that the normal voices of support aren't being so supportive.

Me? I just wish I'd gotten an extra 30 minutes of sleep.

___________________________

In a related note, when I arrived at work this morning I had no plans of discussing this matter with ANYONE. In my office I keep my mouth shut on the matter of politics and always have. I was mocked endlessly for the McCain/Palin sticker on my Prius. When they gush about how beautiful the Obama family is, I smile and say "yes, they are a pretty family." I do not comment, do not interject, do not rise to their almost constant mockery. It's just not worth it.

But this morning, since I woke up early anyway, I arrived about 20 minutes early when nobody was around except for two graphic designers with cubes a few spaces over from mine. I heard something muffled and whispered from one to the other, who reacted by saying "THANK YOU, I was hoping someone would say it! He hasn't actually done anything!"

I took that as my cue to finally, in this rare, unprecedented moment, say something about Obama at work. I smiled and sarcastically said, "Well, of course, but it's for his efforts and the promise that one day, he will do something amazing." We all got a good chuckle... until I realized that another coworker was settling into her desk behind me.

Crap.

She mumbled, "who cares? I don't care, I don't have time for that this morning."

She didn't say anything to me (in fact, at this writing, she's giving me the silent treatment), but she immediately got on the phone with a friend and started talking about how horrible we all were and how hard it was going to be for her to keep from "getting crunk" on us. I am not making this up. I usually get along with her - we work three feet apart from one another.

Hence why I usually keep my mouth shut.

After 20 minutes of silence, I said "come on, let's be friends." (Silence.)

I then offered her whoppers... and chocolate is the food that bonds women. Still nothing.

Lesson learned.

Lyndsey Gets Sick.

This past week has been something of a Loritab-addled haze.

Health scares are something with which I have little to no experience. I'm pretty healthy overall, so when I started having severe chest pain and other totally bizarre symptoms, it scared the hell out of me and I went straight to the doctor...

...after waiting two days to make sure my body wouldn't heal itself.

What can I say? I'm a genius.

Let me tell you, if you ever want to skip ahead of everyone in a waiting room: complain of severe chest pains. I didn't even have time to adequately fill out my forms.

After being a total baby during an EKG, x-ray, and random tests, they figured out that I had what my doctor seriously described to me as "a touch of pneumonia" on my right lung.

A touch? That's like having a touch of pregnancy. I wanted to jump up and down and explain to him that it was freaking pneumonia, not a side order of coleslaw, but I couldn't move around so well at that point in the process so I just said thank-you and sallied up for a shot in the rear.

That was when the real theatrics began, but I'll spare you the details.

After that horrible experience was over, I headed on down to my local, friendly CVS. I wandered around the store, deeply contemplating each of the thirteen new types of Venus razor blades while waiting for my prescriptions. Thinking hurt. Breathing hurt. Sitting hurt. Standing and reading the banal labels of needless beauty products was somehow the only thing my simple mind could fathom.

My doctor had told me to go straight home and sleep. My mother and friends who had called me all said the same thing.

Nein. Lyndsey needed drugs; sleep could wait.

At this point it was mid-morning and I was supposed to be at work around 1:30. I decided I could not go to work and figured that the shaving-stuff aisle of CVS was as good a location as any to call my boss and tell her so.

I should explain here that it was a Saturday and that I'm literally the only person in my department who comes in to work on Saturdays.

After briefly explaining my plight, she paused a moment and said "no."

I am not making this up.

I had to stop and think. I hadn't asked her a yes or no question, had I? I was standing in CVS, still suffering from nearly-unbearable chest pain, waiting for a blessed Loritab savior to take me away (move over, Calgon), whimpering to my boss about my pain and suffering, even mentioning my convenient little doctor's excuse and she said no.

I had no energy with which to argue so I agreed and said "you're right, it's just a touch of pneumonia, I'll be fine." She said "are you sure?" and I said, "yeah, I'm sure, I'm fine, I'll be fine" she said, "no, I know you're fine, I am asking if you're really going to go in."

Charming!

It gets better.

A few minutes later, as I was checking out, the lady behind the register at CVS asked me if I had someone there to drive me home. I didn't know why she would ask such a silly question, but I told her no, that I was fine to drive... and then I looked down at the receipt that I'd just signed.

I could make this up, but I promise that I'm not:

4 boxes of Lindt White Chocolate Balls (I am rather fond of those)
1 box of Raeffelo Coconut Covered Chocolate (I hate coconut)
1 box of red hair dye (I don't dye my hair)
1 Health magazine (okay, I kept that)
2 8 packs of Venus razor blades (I use Quatro)

My signature looked like modern art. I smiled (in retrospect, she probably thought it was a grimace) and said "can we try this again?"

She asked again about my ride. I said "I'm fine."

She asked if I wanted to keep the chocolates and I told her no, that I would probably eat them if I did that. After revising my purchase, I sauntered out to my Prius and didn't even take the time to turn it on before popping my first Loritab.

Praise Jesus for Loritabs. I read the bottle carefully to make sure it didn't say anything about not being able to operate a vehicle while taking them. It didn't.

I then considered what would happen if I was pulled over by a police officer for any reason whatsoever. My front passenger seat was littered with doctors papers, prescription bottles, and chocolate (fine, you caught me, I kept some), but I also look adorable when I'm sick. I checked the mirror to be sure. Yep, I was precious.

Against my own better judgment (which was apparently impaired anyway) and that of my health care provider, mother, and trusted friends, I headed for my office...

... and I made it!

... and that's really all I know about that.

The next day when I woke up, I scrambled outside to fetch the paper, horrified at what I might find. I had no memory of coming home or going to bed, let alone working. I opened it up and scanned it right there on the front porch and found not one single error. Praise!

When I came in to work on Tuesday I was bright eyed and bushy tailed (can I keep preaching the gospel of Loritabs or is it starting to get creepy?) and I twittered around the office like a kid in a candy store. I don't know why, I was just happier than normal and having the best day ever...

...well, okay, his name is Sam, but that's another story for another blog.

Then my boss arrived, walked by my cube and said, "I need your doctor's note and I need to see you in my office."

Ruh roh.

This is never good. I just so happened to have all of my paperwork with me so I made a copy of the note and went in to her office.

This is where it gets petty and ridiculous. I know, I know, I thought it had gotten petty and ridiculous on aisle 5 at CVS, but I was wrong.

She proceeded to explain to me that she knew I had left the office an hour earlier than I was scheduled to because she had called my phone repeatedly after 4:00 p.m. with no answer. I balked. I said, "are you sure?" I thought, hard. It was a haze. I said, "I know I was a space cadet and I'm honestly just happy there weren't any errors in my section."

What? I'm honest.

She gave me the eye. You'd have to know her to understand the eye, but it's not a fun look. She said "I'm taking an hour."

Considering that in a right and normal universe I should have taken an entire day off, I accepted that. Heck, it's just an hour and I really didn't even think of this as an integrity issue worth arguing over—coming in to work at all should have gotten me a gold star or a red balloon.

But then I started thinking about it.

One thing I failed to mention as a down side to Loritabs is that they make me extremely nauseated (chest pains or nausea? I choose nausea). By doing some simple math and finally putting the pieces together, I figured out that my boss was wrong. Not just empathetically wrong, but actually incorrect about me leaving early. At some point after I sent my section off, I was busy being sick in the ladies room, which would have been when she was calling me.

Oh but I'm not going to push it. Aside from it being mentally exhausting trying to argue with my boss, if HR viewed surveillance of my coming and going, they might have found footage of me spinning around in my chair like a lunatic or something. I do strange things when I'm all alone... give me a break, I was home schooled.

Considering that I was standing there, four days later, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, I decided to lick my wounds and get back to it. The end.

So what's the point of all this? The moral of the story?

Don't get pneumonia if your boss is a cold, hard woman.

This situation got me to thinking about all of my past experiences with women who hold positions of power.

I had female professors in college who I felt were unnecessarily harsh and strict with respect to the level of the courses and maturity of the students.

Maybe women feel like they have something to prove, like if they let their guard down for a moment that some sniveling little liar is going to take advantage of their emotions. It's bizarre.

Of course not all women do this. My female boss at NewSouth was trusting and understanding and so too were the women I worked with in coffee shops while I was in college. I also had a small handful of wonderful female professors who were moderately airy-fairy about attendance policies and didn't give a hoot if a student needed an extra day before turning in an assignment. As a result, very few people abused the system; most, upon being treated as grown ups, acted as such.

Shocking.

So why do they do it? Why are some women so afraid of being kind to their subordinates? Will I, one day when I'm in such a position, do the same? Am I missing something fundamental here?

I would say that my boss is actually (normally) very understanding of how life sometimes impacts work in crazy and unexpected ways. I've had illnesses and random emergencies, and those have always been handled with grace... but this particular situation just rubbed me the wrong way. What was different?

Brinkley & Lyndsey go to Washington

This is Brinkley laying down like a sad-faced darling in front of my bed in my house in Old Cloverdale. He is the love of my life.

If I move to DC later this year or early next year, Brinkley is coming, too.

My Prius, my Golden, and I will all have to learn how to move around in the snow. None of us are excited about this.

I'm pretty sure we'll make it.

Just thought I'd update.

On Being a Conservative... in Public

Photographic evidence: Lyndsey kissing her favorite liberal friend, Betsi

A friend recently came to Montgomery from Arizona; his wife is currently in OTS and he made the arduous journey across country by car just to visit with her for a few days in billeting since she wasn't allowed off the complex. The things we do for love.

During some of the times when his wife wasn't able to hang out, my friend and I would have lunch and yammer on. We had noted in the past that we have political differences, which is something I've learned to take very well in stride from many of my friends. Despite what most people will tell you, I try to navigate around the issue with a sense of politeness and grace and with the distinct purpose of not losing all of my liberal friends. Why? Because I like them. More on that later.

Anyway, during one conversation, my friend made a common liberal remark - "you can't legislate morality" and I firmly replied, "I agree; you also can't legislate compassion." And there it was. The conversation mostly fizzled to something else from there, but he told me a few days ago that the comment had been on his mind since his visit and that it was reshaping his political outlook.

I find that refreshing. While there is something to be said for someone who is steadfast and resolved, I have deep respect for someone who can have a polite, thoughtful conversation about politics and actually walk away thinking about what the other person has said. Typically, and we are all guilty of this, we are merely waiting for our turn to speak and don't remotely absorb what the other person is saying because we already know we don't agree with them. We listen merely as a device to counter their points; we store tidbits of their comments in our short-term memory in order to bring up how they contradict other, later points. We do not really listen.

The general rule of thumb when at most social events is to abstain from talking about politics altogether. Why? Because it's unfair to just about everyone.

It isn't unusual for me to be the only conservative present at a party and I know too well the prickles that come to my cheeks when I suck down a glass of pinot and bite my tongue as nitwits mock Sarah Palin's Alaskan accent and say "oh yeah, these stupid Republicans think we want to kill grandma in health care reform." I always, without fail, refuse to respond or counter their remarks. Not because I'm shy, but because it's absolutely pointless and only makes other people uncomfortable.

We don't do it to them; why do they do it to us?

When my conservative friends and I sit down and talk, there is frequently at least one rare creature: a liberal with conservative values. Yes, they exist. My friends and I, being ladies, do not take the opportunity to play Smear the Liberal, make fun of Joe Biden, talk about Michelle Obama's shorts, or in any way denigrate her political ideology. Why? Because we have class like that.

I once dated a liberal who inexplicably relished in mocking my political beliefs. He had no comprehensive understanding of his own political ideology, had only been watching "the news" for a few years (he adored Rachel Maddow for crying out loud), and lacked a fundamental understanding of political process and history. Needless to say, it didn't last very long between us.

As a side note, while I can keep liberal friends without issue, my new rule is firm: I will not, ever again, date a liberal. I just can't do it.

Nobody can deny that being a young conservative is often quite unpopular. Compassionate, understanding, free-thinking liberals are often the first ones to throw stones, call names, and use ridicule as a means to shut their opponents down. If this is to be my lot in life, I'll gladly take it.

Because, at the end of the day, the right... is right.

Next topic: Why very few young conservative women exhibit conservative values... and how the consequences ruin things for the rest of us.

How Soon is Now?

Don't ever let anyone else tell you what you're capable of.

Everything is about to change... now the wait bit in the cliche "hurry up and wait" is really, really drving me crazy. I'm waiting...

...and I'm pumped.