Author Archives for Sierra

Five impossible things before tea.

Oh, hello. I’m back to make sure no one thinks I’m dead. I do worry about what would happen if I died and my family didn’t know my WordPress password or think to update my blog. Not that it would even matter to me at that point, but I wouldn’t want you to worry, blog.

So, because I’m still totally out of ideas to talk about, here’s some things about me, because Jes tagged me personally (she didn’t, but I like to feel important sometimes) in her post.

1. If I could do anything and money was no object, I’d open a bakery with a free bookstore. The idea is that people bring books they don’t want and others can take books that they do want. Returning after reading is ideal, but optional. All free. A nice little library with no return date. And I’d really like to get paid to bake all day, but I could never afford to be a full-time baker. Fixing former bad spending habits is hard.

2. I started the Zombies C25K program this week, and I’m a little in love with it. Particularly Sam Yao, one of the narrators of the app. Yowza. Somehow, I kept restarting my W1D2 training thing yesterday, so I ended up walking well over a 5k (7, to be precise!) and it felt amazing. I’m not ashamed that “Eye of the Tiger” and Eminem’s “Till I Collapse” are my power songs. And I may dance more than walk during the warmup because it’s all Shakira and Queen and my hips certainly don’t lie. Also I just learned that Sam Yao has a dedicated Tumblr following, like most good things. I really need a visual descriptor for him because right now I picture him like a tiny, Asian Jared Padalecki. It makes sense in my head. Also 2x, I realized I was over [name redacted] when Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” came on randomly during one of these half-runs and I kept going YES THAT’S SO TRUE. So, there’s that.

3. I’m trying to get my shit together and figure out what to do with my life. I know I don’t want to stay in the Pittsburgh area forever. I’m considering a few places to move to, including London, San Francisco, and Vancouver. I just need to figure out logistics and save money and find a job and yay. You can come with me, blog. It’ll be fun.

4. When I was in, like, 8th grade, around the same time as the “I’m related to Nsync!” thing, I was absolutely convinced I’d be a famous singer/actress one day. I’m basically tone deaf and my acting is definitely on the recurring soap opera guest star level, but I’m sure it’s going to happen one day.

5. Doctor Who has taught me so much about myself and life and I didn’t realize it until recently. In my journey away from being a mega bitch and just a regular one, I try to remember that everyone is important and treat them as such, even awful coworkers and yuppies who cut me off in the Chipotle parking lot. And sometimes I have to remember that I am, too, because it’s too easy to see light in others and completely ignore myself.  I could talk about Doctor Who all day long.

900years

And speaking of, new Doctor Who in five minutes, so toodles, blog.

Cake and cake and cake.

Hey, blog.

What’s up, Duff?

It’s been requested of me to write something, so here’s something.

Today I waited in line for about four hours in the bitter, bitter cold to meet Buddy Valastro, love of my life and beautifier of my captioning days. And to get cake. We’ve been home since about 3:30. It’s 8:30 now. I’m still a bit cold. It was that bad. I wish I would have had time to say more than DERP I CAPTION YOU, though. I have so many questions about baking I’d love to be able to ask him. Man. Maybe I should just try out for Next Great Baker already. I think I’m ready for it. One of my favorite local restaurants is hiring a full-time baker/part-time barista. They can’t afford me, but I’d consider applying for the job if I didn’t have a thousand bills. Hip-hop Baking is my passion. Barista-ing, too. If someone wants to buy me a couple of these 5″ cake pans so I can make a ton of tiny cute things and work on my decorating, I wouldn’t be upset about it.

Oh, he was also giving out 10,000 cakes. I got a chocolate one and wanted to eat the whole thing with my hands. Delicious. I’ve been on the news like 30 times today, standing in line like a champion. Try to find me. I’m huge and wearing an obnoxious orange scarf that I wear, like, every single day.

Next month marks three years for us, blog. Thanks for being my longest ever relationship. I know I can count on you not to play with my emotions and leave me for a toddler. Please don’t be offended that I have a crush on like every guy I know right now. It’s just a phase, I’m sure. We’ll grow old and cranky together, blog. I know it.

Here’s a random story that I keep thinking I should write about:

In 8th grade, I told my entire class and this theater group I was a part of that I was related to Chris Kirkpatrick of Nsync. I thought it would be more believable if I chose on of the lesser members, and I even forged a bunch of notes that I supposedly had him and the other boys write for my friends and not-so-friends. I have no idea why I did this. I guess I just wanted people to think I was cool. I remember being so embarrassed like a week later and never wanted to think about it again, but now it’s really funny. I think if I had to choose someone to be fake-related to these days I’d choose Rupert Grint or David Tennant, mostly because I want to muss both of their hairs. Muss is a good word.

That’s all for now because it’s way too cold to keep my hands out of the blankets. One day, I will live somewhere that is not 30 degrees in April.

Good night, blog.

Obligatory other picture:

The Avett boys always know what I need to hear.

hello, march.

Hey, blog.

I didn’t want to let this be the first month where I’ve posted nothing in three years, so here I am.

What have I been doing these past weeks, you ask? So many things!

I got a promotion and a somewhat significant raise at the end of February. I’ve been trying to figure out how to quickly pay off my debts with this extra money, because I’ve seriously had enough. Of course, I ended up screwing up my first big paycheck by paying the wrong bills, and I’ve been living on $6 for the past week and will be until Friday. Times like this are when I’m not too mad about still living at home. I would not have the equivalent of the Chopped kitchen in my own apartment/house. My family are lifesavers.

I’ve also been trying to figure out what I want to do with my life as a career. My job isn’t all that bad, but I know that I don’t want to do it forever. I recently came across a quote by Frederick Buchner that defines vocation as “the peace where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” I just don’t know what my deep gladness is. I’ve been captioning a lot of Oprah lately, and this has been a recurring theme. I don’t know what would make me exceedingly happy. Being an adult is hard. I know I want to go back to school, but I want to go back to school for EVERYTHING. I’ve halfway applied to probably 20 different Master’s programs now.

My hypochondria has been on overdrive the past month, probably from my grief-related anxiety. Off the top of my head, I’ve had meningitis, stomach cancer, endometriosis, dysentery, several brain aneurysms, and TMJ, all on top of the daily multiple heart attacks and strokes, and the diabetes and hypothyroidism I usually think I have (I don’t and I know I don’t. I’m just nuts.) I probably should get back on medication until this all blows over, but the stuff they had me on when Brittani died made me feel like the world was made of jello. I don’t know which feeling is worse. The constant worrying or the constant heaviness. Blah.

Today I also went bowling and got a 77. With bumpers up.

Oh, and, had my insurance stayed the same, I would be getting gastric bypass tomorrow morning. Probably. We were shooting for St. Patrick’s Day. It’s weird to think about. I know that if I had it, I’d be constantly afraid of starving to death or getting a blood clot or dying on the table or dumping syndrome or every other bad thing that could happen. But, God, it would be nice not to be reduced to tears while trying to find a dress for a friend’s wedding because there are zero fat-size stores around here, and the places that do carry fat dresses just have a lot of horrible things. (I did well, though!) My sister had her first encounter with trying to find nice plus-size clothes. She’s always been able to find things on the higher end of the straight-size stores. It was sad to keep hearing her say how she just needs to lose a bunch of weight every time she tried something way too old for her on.  I kept telling her that the industry is the problem, not her body. I was reminding myself, too. There is absolutely no reason why there aren’t affordable, nice clothes for fat girls considering we make up a huge (yup) part of the market in Western society. That’s a rant for another time, though.

So, there we go. It was nice to see you today, blog. Maybe we’ll chat again soon. I’m trying to figure out what to do with you.

(Here’s a picture of a sloth because I love you. Have you ever watched a sloth poop? Here you go. You’re welcome. I captioned the version of this that was on Animal Planet and it’s the absolute highlight of my career so far.)

 

 

Danny Trejo is my co-pilot.

If Danny Trejo was my menacing best friend, I would have a lot less problems because I would make him stare at whatever until the problem was solved.

Supervisor freaking out because I’m taking three seconds to return a text at work because this is not 1994 and cellphones are a thing now?

Danny Trejo

My crush of the day not hearing my mental cries of LET ME LOVE YOU I AM THE GREATEST LETS GET CAKE?

Danny Trejo

Chinese restaurant blaring Fox News while I’m trying to enjoy my chicken in sugar sauce?

Danny Trejo

My crazy dog keeps carrying around her monkey toy and crying but not verbally telling me what’s wrong, leaving me to Google dog symptoms and wondering why there is no canine equivalent to WebMD?

Danny Trejo

Sad person pinning pictures of me on her pro-ana thinspo board?

Danny Trejo

The internet not respecting the fact that I’m only halfway through the Harry Potter series and would appreciate to remain spoiler-free even though it’s been a lot of years since the books and movies came out, thanks?

Danny Trejo

Sallie Mae having the audacity to think my English degree is worth $60k?

Danny Trejo

Sending out my 500th résumé in a year and only hearing back from three places, getting an interview from two, and not being hired at either?

Danny Trejo

That guy texting me solely because his girlfriend is ignoring him?

Danny Trejo

Eye insurance no longer covering more than $100 of my contacts and needing $400 more than that?

Danny Trejo

Fat-shaming coworkers who are fat and I kind of feel bad about it because they don’t love themselves at all, but, still, shut up?

Danny Trejo

Feeling like a big fat grossy-pants annoying person with bad hair?

200th post: Valentine’s Day is the bee’s knees.

Hey, blog. Happy 200th post, bby. It took us about three years to get here, but this is my longest running relationship to date, so I’m not even mad. That being said:

I still really love Valentine’s Day. Really. I used to be one of those “IM SINGLE SO ITS SINGLES AWARENESS DAY GET IT IM SO WITTY” people, but I’ve come around in the last few years. Yes, it’s totally a made-up holiday. Yes, I constantly mix up St. Valentine and St. Patrick. No, I don’t mind at all. My usual Valentine’s Day shenanigans include running around giving out homemade cookies or cupcakes and lots of little dumb Valentine’s cards to my friend and random people on the street. Except I haven’t done that last part since college because I’m a bad person. bluthvalentine

I’ve had the lovely fortune of being struck with some sort of food poisoning/stomach flu thing the day of an important meeting that could determine a lot of things for me, then hit with a migraine today while at work, so I’ve spent most of my Valentine’s Day prep time in bed. I even missed Ash Wednesday service tonight, which I’m kind of bummed about. It’s one of my favorite things of the year. I came home with my migraine and woke up and my tiny town was transformed into Narnia. Not leaving the house. Nope.

I don’t have too much planned for tomorrow. I’m hoping to be running at at least 80%. Hoping. This being sick thing is not cool. I’m planning on taking myself on a date to my very favorite local antiques store, which is going out of business because someone bought the mall, apparently. If you’re in the south-of-Pittsburgh region and you get easily excited over pyrex, teapots, and/or old quilts, you’re more than welcome to tag along!

My gift for you, blog? This film. It’s a talkie with Charlie Chaplin AND William Frawley. I captioned it for TCM recently, and it’s on YouTube in its entirety (legal or not, I have no idea). It’s easily one of my new favorite movies. Set two hours aside, make a pot of chamomile, and watch it. Because I like you. Also, do something good for someone else. That can’t be done enough. Double also, this is a reminder that the Random Acts’ Annual Melee of Kindness is March 10th! Last year was fantastic. Sign up and do something good then, too. Actually, do something good every day, okay? Okay. Cool.

Halfway through February and I’m just now making a post. 2010 me would be disappointed, but 2013 me just wants to nap.

Have a fantastic day tomorrow, blog. You deserve it. I’ll come back when I’m done watching Les Mis over and over and over, mostly just for Sacha Baron Cohen’s brilliant Thénardier.

I miss MySpace.

Hey, blog.

I have a theory that if I sit here and talk to you, the post-cupcake-baking explosion in my kitchen will clean itself. I just have to not look at it for awhile. Like that time in high school I ignored my dog’s vomit on the floor and it was just magically gone like 20 minutes later. Just like that. (Rest in peace, Montel Williams. You were a good poodle.)

Meredith tagged me in some thing on Tumblr, but I don’t do any serious business blogging over there, so I’ll answer questions here because I have nothing else to talk about. I should have been in bed two hours ago. I think I’m supposed to tag other people, but I don’t have friends.

1. What was your first job? – I was a bagger at Giant Eagle. My very first day, a guy bought six cucumbers and wanted them each double-bagged separately. I distinctly remember that. And there was zero training. None. I came in, they handed me a smock and said, “Okay, go.” This is why your bags are packed shittily when baggers are present. Just do it yourself. Seriously.

I was upgraded to a cashier like two months later. I remember feeling like death because four hours is a ridiculously long shift and six hours should be illegal, but it went by so much quicker than bagging. One time, I asked to be off on Sundays for church and they demoted me to bagger again until I said FINE I’LL WORK SUNDAYS (but i’m calling off on every single one of them). Longest week of my life.

2. On a scale of 1-10, how much do you hate Nickelback? There isn’t a number to describe the hatred.

3. Dumbledore gives you a cloak of invisibility. Where do you go with it? – Yesterday, I was so tired at work that I was dozing off while typing, and I thought, “Damn, I wish I had an invisibility cloak.” The answer is “under my desk for a nap.”

4. Who are your celebrity crushes? – Oh, please. I’m fan girl extraordinaire. I have a crush on everyone. Shortlist: John Goodman as Dan Conner, the guys who play Dante Falconeri and Johnny Zacchara on General Hospital, Rainn Wilson, Russell Brand, Donald Glover, Jared Padalecki (as Sam, not Dean), Misha Collins, sometimes Jensen Ackles, Christopher Eccleston, David Tennant, Arthur Darvil, Benedict Cumberbatch, Darren Criss, and Adam Driver. So much Adam Driver.

Bonus girl crushes: Beth Ditto and Lena Dunham. I want to make them cakes.

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Also Martin Freeman.

5. Would you rather be the top scientist in your field or get mad cow disease? – It’s dependent on the field, but probably mad cow disease. Science hurts my tiny little female brain.

6. Zero ramifications: who do you wish you could punch in the face? – Rick Santorum or the elder Duggar child. Same person, really.

7. How do you prefer your coffee? – You know, I used to be like BLACK OKAY I’M DRINKING IT BLACK BECAUSE THAT’S HOW IT’S MEANT TO BE but ever since I’ve embraced my supertasting abilities, I’m okay with dumping half a ton of cream in it. If the coffee is even, like, an hour stale, I can taste it and it ruins everything for me. My usual go-to is two packets of splenda and however much cream it takes to get it to be not yet white, but not totally a shade of brown. I can’t explain it. I’d be glad to show you sometime.

8. Have any books inspired your spirituality recently? – Ooh, boy. Out of the myriad of things I’m reading right now, I’d say A Grief Observed by CS Lewis and Still by Lauren Winner would be the biggest two, particularly the first.

“Knock and it shall be opened.’ But does knocking mean hammering and kicking the door like a maniac?” describes exactly how I’m feeling right now. I just baked cupcakes, and while I was putting them away, I started to pull out a Ziploc container to stick one in for Aunt Doll. It’s been three months as of yesterday. I’m still not used to this.

9. What color light saber would you chose in a battle with Jar Jar Binks? – Fun fact: I’ve never seen Star Wars and I only understand the light saber part. I think. That’s the shiny sword thing, right? I’ll say green. I hope that doesn’t mean I’m a loser.

10. Are you original? Are you the only one? Are you sexual? – No, yes, TURN IT DOWN BEFORE MY MOTHER HEARS THAT’S SO EMBARRASSING.

11. YOU BETTER ROCK YO BODY NOW (EVERYBODY, YEEEAH)

My kitchen is still a mess. Damn it.

Bye, blog.

A year of no dieting.

Hey, blog.

I was planning on not doing any sort of ~resolution~ or goal or whatever for the new year, but I decided against it after spending New Year’s Eve watching at least 10 Weight Watchers commercials every break during Not-Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve party thing with my (absolutely fantastic) family.

2013 goal: No dieting. None. Zip. No keto, no Weight Watchers relapse, no Carbohydrate Addicts’ Diet, nada.

Of course, after I made this decision public (in my house, at least), I was met with a bunch of shaming and snark, with a little “But you did so good on your diet!” thrown in. No. No, I did not “do so good.” I starved myself all day long, then came home and ate all of the food until I passed out at like 8:00, woke up at 5:00, and did it all over again. The entire time I was on my diet for gastric bypass, I felt like total shit. My skin went crazy, I was constantly tired, and I had no desire to do anything or see anyone.  I just wanted to eat, watch a little Breaking Bad, then go straight to bed. Image

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, for most people who have been down this path), I haven’t totally gorged myself full of crappy stuff for the past five days. This has probably been the healthiest I’ve eaten in the past year, including when I was on Weight Watchers. Knowing foods aren’t omg so bad or that I’m going over my points or calories or whatever kind of makes me not care if I’m eating them or not. On Weight Watchers, almost every day consisted of eating practically nothing (or exactly nothing) for breakfast, four points or so for lunch, then getting home, looking around the kitchen, and deciding, “40 points of cake for Ravenclaw!” Not making any food off limits or “bad” has left me just eating until I’m satisfied, knowing I can go ahead eat 37 cookies if I really feel like it, but one or two is really all I need, and they’ll still be there after I eat some real food and I’m still hungry. It’s kind of neat. I recommend it to everyone.

I was talking with my ever-dieting sister about how I’m trying to accept my body and be healthy without making weight loss a priority. She seemed pretty supportive and actually listened to me while I was talking, but then later announced to the whole family how I was being stupid and lying about trying to love my fat self since I was all about having gastric bypass like a month ago. It hurt my feelings, but I can see her point. I feel like a giant (pun!) hypocrite about it. I really don’t know what I was thinking. I do not need to purposefully maim and mangle my body, literally starve myself, and possibly shorten my life in order to fit into society’s idea of “healthy.” Deep down, I was looking for a reason not to have it done. I’m kind of glad it happened.

And I might as well throw this in here because I’m on a blogging roll and God knows when I’ll update this again:

I think I’m a bit depressed right now, too, because of my aunt passing (and this whole feeling of my life going absolutely nowhere, but that’s a different story). I haven’t had any of the major panic attacks that completely ruined my life for over a year when Brittani died, so I guess that’s good. I just don’t want to do much of anything or talk to anyone. I feel like I have some kind of church PTSD/social anxiety thing going on, too, if that’s a thing. My old church really messed me up (if you haven’t been able to tell this at all) and I get this really sickening feeling that the people at my new church probably really can’t stand me. Totally blaming the not-so-secret “Sierra is a fat ugly bitch but HEY SIERRA WE LOVE YOU but no really we don’t why won’t you just leave already” club that went on at the cult for years and apparently still goes on there today. I never realized how much that whole experience warped my self-confidence until recently. Like, I’m basically a kicked puppy when it comes to people liking me. I just assume they really don’t. They’re just humoring me. I’m certain that’s not really the case in my current situation, but after dealing with it for so long, it’s hard to get away from feeling that way.

(And I’m not fishing for any “BUT WE DO LOVE YOU” stuff, for the record. I’m just thinking aloud, except I’m really typing. I’ve been thinking this for about two months now, and I just need to get it out somewhere.)

tl;dr: I’m not dieting every again and it’s made me more of a healthy person already, I’m full of feels about everything, I acknowledge that I’m insane, but I’m determined to get out of this funk, even if it means sucking it up and going to a therapist.

I need a tea and a nap. I haven’t written this much in the longest time.

I love you, blog. Let’s stay together forever.

xoxo,

Gossip Girl Lonely Boy (I KNOW, RIGHT?)

Starting over.

I’ve been working through my thoughts and feels about the whole gastric bypass situation and the thing I keep coming back to is trying to find the exact point when I decided I was no longer good enough (and good enough for what, even?) and I needed to mutilate my body to conform to someone’s idea of health/beauty/whatever.

Screw it. I’m sorry I even thought about it. I’m learning to love and accept myself again after months of beating myself up for not losing enough weight for my psycho doctor and letting myself get caught up in the weight loss craziness.

Let’s start over, blog.

Hi. I’m Sierra. I deserve better than self-loathing over weights and inches and percentages and calories and points. I can do anything good. I do not need surgery or Weight Watchers or anything to accomplish what I want for my life. Lather, rinse, repeat.

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I’m not having gastric bypass.

My employer decided to switch our insurance from Highmark to some company I’ve never heard of in February, one month before I was (probably) having my surgery. Guess what they don’t cover? I’m livid. I just got off the phone with the new insurance company just to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. Nope. I’m not.

I don’t even know what to do with this. I rejoined Weight Watchers (I KNOW.) a few weeks ago at the suggestion of my new doctor so I’d keep my weight in check to prepare for surgery and for insurance approval. Guess I don’t really need it anymore. I’m giving it another chance, though. At least for a month. I lost exactly one pound on my first week, and nearly walked out after hearing too much “But I tried to be good this week!” nonsense from other members. I can’t stand people equating food with morality. It’s frustrating. This whole everything is frustrating.

That’s really all I have to say right now.

This is basically how I feel right now.

This is basically how I feel right now. Give me that sandwich.

Cult stories: My pastor called me fat.

I’m working on some new cult stories to try to process the crazy. Here’s one of my favorite stories for you.

One of the first things I can think of that really should have been a red flag about the cult was the day the pastor (Did I ever give him a code name? Code name Ralph for this entry.)  was taking those of us who had just graduated from high school out to dinner for a graduation present. We were sitting outside waiting for the youth pastor to get there, and somehow the conversation turned to Drew Barrymore. Ralph said something like, “She’s a fat pig and shouldn’t be in anything. I hate looking at her.”

Now, here I am, weighing probably 285 pounds, sitting in a group of three 18-year-old guys and my 40-year-old pastor, all of whom I considered friends and looked up to. I remember turning red and trying to change the subject when the guys all agreed with Ralph. The only thing I could think of all night is what they really thought of me.

A few other iffy things happened that night. Like some mafia-looking man sitting at the end of our table at the hibachi restaurant gave us money when he found out what we were celebrating. None of us ever saw that money, so I assume it went to Ralph’s truck payment or whatever. Oh, and Ralph throwing a mini-tantrum in the foyer of the movie theater because he decided on a whim we were going to see some movie I didn’t want to see at the last minute, but didn’t check the showtimes and didn’t want to wait however long until the next showing.

A few years later, I was a youth leader. We had three groups in our youth group, and I don’t even remember exactly how it was set up, but they were (from youngest to oldest) yellow, blue, and red teams. I was the leader of the red team, which was 11th-12th grade. In the summer, each team had a turn hosting the monthly big event. The youngest team decided on a pool party. My kids didn’t want to go, and I don’t really blame them for it. What 17- or 18-year-old wants to hang out in their bathing suit with 12-year-olds? I told the youth pastor’s wife about it, and she said she understood and it was fine. I was still planning to be there, but I ended up having really bad cramps, so I didn’t go. My sister, did, though. She was on that team, anyway. She was one of the 12-year-olds.

Ralph was absolutely furious when neither my team nor I showed up to the pool party, regardless of the fact that the youth pastor and his wife knew we wouldn’t be there. He bellowed at my sister (because that’s the only way he knows how to speak), “WHERE IS SIERRA? IS SHE AFRAID EVERYONE IS GOING TO LOOK AT HER FAT?”

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I had to dig through my MySpace to find something this fantastic. I invented not looking at the camera, okay? This is from roughly the same time as the pool party crazy.

Melina told me about it when she got home. I had never been so mad at him. Actually, I don’t think I had ever been mad at him at that point. I wasn’t even pissed that he called me fat. I was pissed that he basically told my sister I was fat.

The next week before youth group, someone had mentioned that Ralph was coming to have a meeting with the leaders because of the pool party attendance. I called the youth pastor’s wife, who was on her way to the church. She said this was the first she heard of it, and I could hear her rolling her eyes. Ralph is known for overreacting to everything.

The meeting’s overall message was about how some leaders aren’t pulling weight, and some leaders should think about stepping down, and some leaders should reconsider if they’re supposed to be in ministry, and some leaders need to get down on their knees and apologize/beg for forgiveness to the youth pastor, his wife, and Ralph for not forcing their kids to go to the pool party. All while never taking his eyes off of me.

This was the first time I ever had a panic attack. I was 20. I looked up to Ralph and the youth pastor/wife and other leaders so much. I just wanted them to accept me, and this crushed me, even though I knew how wrong he was. Remembering how loud and hard my heart was beating and how red my face was getting pisses me off, even almost eight years removed. I wish I would have walked out that night, but I obviously didn’t.

I think I had about two or three years until I actually left, and I left mostly because Ralph told me I was a “miserable old man” because I wasn’t rolling around on the floor speaking in tongues a handful of days after my best friend died, but that’s a different story.

The last few years I spent at that church, lots of people told me how ridiculous Ralph was for how he always treated me and talked about me to everyone there, but no one ever really stood up for me. Not that I know of, at least. I truly felt that God wanted me there, regardless. Or that’s what I told everyone, anyway. In reality, I didn’t know where else I would go. I had no friends and no real life outside of the realm of King Ralph — Excuse me. The Reverend Apostle Ralph. Eventually this was one of the deciding factors for going to college in Georgia, where I should have had a four-year scholarship for attending the First Church of Crazy, because the school and CoC were the same denominations. I only had it for my senior year because Ralphy wouldn’t fill out the paperwork, which was basically just an email saying, “Hey, Sierra goes to this church.” The year he finally did, when I came home on break, he told me (jokingnotjoking) that I owed him/the church 10% of my $5k scholarship. Right. That was one of my last Sundays there.