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6:00
a.m., Saturday, March, 2003
Considering
the fact that I love to sleep and need to
set up my bookstand in 2 hours, pulling an
all-nighter probably wasn’t one of my brighter
ideas, but oh so gratifying.
When I felt saturated enough to tear myself
away, I decided (like there was really a decision
to be made) to setup a profile of my own so that
some of those godly men out there could
find me.
Unsure
exactly what to put on my profile, I checked out
some pages by other female members.
Wow! There were some beautiful women on there!
I’m wondering why? Well, maybe like me, there are slim pickings in their
immediate surroundings, or maybe they’re just
plain picky? Anyhow, I’m still holding my own…even grading myself
harshly, on my worst day and in the spirit of
modesty, I’d give myself a seven.
I
then I looked for some Christian women pages.
How inspiring!
Scripture, poetry, testimonies, thought
provoking questions and answers, a list of
expectations and affirmations of self respect …screechhhhhhhhhhhhh…way
at the bottom of the page…there it is…in all
it’s hoochified glory, a picture with tatas
and/or hind parts hanging out all over the place.
My
fingers itched to send them a note about
misrepresenting the body of Christ.
Something to the effect that they were
sending conflicting and embarrassing messages to
the world at large and men in general.
As the youngest of eight, my level of
boldness has its limits, plus I handle being
cussed out very poorly.
So, minding my business, I began to fill
out my profile.
The
profile called for an alias (seemed kind of silly
to me but I did it anyhow).
In the style of the Old Testament when
parents chose names for their children based on
their character, I chose the name PrincessDian
(the e couldn’t fit. I wasn’t so much aiming for Caucasian, anorexic and
blonde…my emphasis was on the royalty, giving
nature, yet lonely aspect).
I’d hated my name all my life because
it’s pronounced Dee-Anne but spelled Diane.
Uncomfortable in an assertive role and
perhaps tired of correcting everyone I mostly let
it slide, while stewing inside. Right around the time that I discovered I had some serious
self-hate going on and affirmed to begin loving
me, I discovered that my name meant Divine.
What a breakthrough!
I realized that my hate and denial of the
name Diane paralleled my hate and denial of who I
really am, as a woman first and as a child of God.
Anyhow,
I put in my request for someone tall and muscular
this time around in the age range of 35-39.
No more short men or their mentality for
me. I
want someone who can give me a piggyback ride if I
ask. I
also stipulated a Christian.
Hopefully, if I mention the faith of Job,
I’ll be less likely to receive a response about
the fate of my job.
Educated?
Definitely.
I didn’t spend summers studying the
dictionary as a teenager to let words like
scintillating and proselytizing go to waste.
But since I’m not a snob, he doesn’t
have to have a formal degree, just a certain level
of intelligence.
What I particularly like about this medium
is that I don’t have to hurt someone’s
feelings face to face.
I can look at their specs (that’s
computer talk for qualities) and then politely
respond with a yay, nay or the male kiss of death
“let’s be friends”.
I
completed my page, added the makeup free headshot
from my Driver’s License then rounded up a good
book and sat there reading (if you could call,
holding a book in front of you with your eyes
darting back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball from
book to computer screen reading).
After sitting there expectantly for a bit,
loath to answer the call of nature, I nevertheless
did so. Upon
my return, there was an email message telling me
I’d received a note from tenrag at BP!
Results!
So quickly!
I
did a praise dance.
“Somebody likes me!
Somebody likes me!”
Mind you, it’s about 3:00 a.m. and the
entire household is asleep and there I was like a
slaphappy fool, celebrating like I’d won the
lottery. Heck,
you know I’ve been studying up a storm, fasting
and taking care of my temple (that’s Christian
talk for body) and all that good stuff.
Started mending family fences, volunteering
for babysitting duty.
Yes, me, drop it when it wets,
me…babysitting.
Now I’ve gotten to the point that if I
have to see another movie with another family
member and/or anyone under 17…there’ll be
consequences and repercussions…or is that
repercussions and consequences?
Oh who cares…you get my drift.
Time
to get a little shut-eye before I face the cold
and customers. |
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