It turns out, I’m a bad gift-giver. This goes beyond getting people gifts they don’t like. Most of the time I forget to get them something at all. Don’t think of me as a terrible person. Most of the time I think of such a fantastic gift in advance, which leads me to think that I bought it already, which then leads to no gifts. But sure as heck, people better not forget to give me a present!

So when it’s Christmas and you have a boyfriend, you don’t forget.

Now, it seems that Matt and I may differ in what constitutes as a present. I love getting clothes. Matt needs new clothes (he denies this of course). Matt loves getting electronic and practical things. Like the ho bag in “Love Actually” I don’t want something I need, I want something I want. (Did you hear the seductive British accent?!) It’s a good thing he decided against buying me RAM last year. A very small percentage of the world of women would be elated at the sight of a slab of gizmoey bytes peeking through the tissue paper.

I have yet to decide the perfect gift for him this year. (Sorry to disappoint, Matt. There’s still time to drop very specific hints — think winks, nudges and pointing to things while saying “I want that.”) With this conundrum, I ask Christine what she’s getting her Ultimate Frisbee-playing boyfriend. “I dunno.”

Desperate for help, I go to Target. I click “Gifts for Him” and search by price. Scrolling down I see everything I know my man would want. A deluxe potting bench! A quick ‘n EZ bike trailor! Shoot it’s out of stock. A digital alcohol detector! A bird bath! A stainless steel high-performance hand vac! Gosh, now which to choose? Boy! This is going to be a great Christmas!

Someone please explain the “Gifts for” thing to me. Who comes up with these gift ideas? Whenever I’ve looked at the “For Her” gift ideas, I’ve never seen anything I’ve wanted. (But there sure as heck isn’t any RAM on those lists!) I’m pretty sure these lists are things they know they can’t sell.

Maybe I had something right when I forget to give gifts. I mean, I could print this out, shove it in a Christmas card and say, “Merry Christmas! These are the things I could have gotten you, but didn’t. You’re welcome.”

“Friends” is on. I didn’t turn it on. For the record, I have never turned on “Friends.” I wasn’t even watching it … well, casual and somewhat prolonged glances. One by one the housemates went back to their cages rooms. I don’t realize this until the last person says goodnight. I’ve watched about two episodes already. And it’s too interesting to turn off. Yet, I’m still convinced that I don’t get the housemates’ jokes, nor do I watch the show.

And now when I go to turn it off, it’s an episode I’ve never seen. My life is tragic.

I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted to hug an article. Not the author, but the words. Not only do I want to hug this article, but I want to have a good cry on its shoulder. It’s called “Learning How to Love Myself” by Sarah Hardy.

Here’s an exerpt for you:
But the Church never told me that I was worth being loved. When the Church said that God loved me, it was expressed in a way that made me believe that God was always frustrated and ready to give up on me because I just didn’t “get it.” I just couldn’t conquer my fears and doubts, and therefore God loved me because He had to, not because He always wanted to. And spending time learning how to love myself was out of the question; that was selfish and I needed to be out serving others. How ironic that hundreds of church services later, I just couldn’t love myself or even like who I was. After all, somehow that felt selfish.

She talks about feeling too good for grace. All of my life I’ve felt the same way. Though I would say that I’ve definitely had times when I thought God didn’t want to give me grace.

When I read Relevant Magazine, I’m reminded how beautifully simple and normal God made life to be. When life is confusing and not worth it, I’m missing the point.

My lovely and smart friend Lauren wants to know: What is the purpose of discouragement?

I’ve also been furious at various points throughout the last 48 hours, because I can’t figure out the purpose of discouragement. It seems like most of our feelings serve us in some way: pain tells me I’ve been hurt or lost something I cared about and makes life more rich, anger tells me I’ve been violated and makes life more rich, happiness or pleasure tells me I love something or someone and makes life more rich.

Almost all feelings motivate us to take action of some kind: action to keep something that makes us happy, to right something that makes us angry, to soothe some pain we have after loss. But discouragement is the un-motivator. … your efforts make no difference in the results - you ought to just stop trying.

Sappy (who I don’t happen to know. Hello, Sappy.) says that discouragement stops false hope, with an example of a hopeless male pining over a disinterested female. And honestly, I was so pleased with my comment, that I couldn’t help but re-post it:

But aren’t there cute movies/Christian dating books to tell us that discouragement, in the romantic setting, is just another hurdle to go over? You always hear those stories:

She says: He asked me out 150 times and I said no 149 times. I just felt so bad for him, and hoped the asking would stop if I just went out with him once.

He says: Everytime she rejected me, I went home, prayed and wrote in a journal. And when the journal was filled up with “she said no, but I’m going to keep trying because it is God’s will that I follow His calling to make missionary babies with her” entries, I put a bow around it and presented it to her on our first date. She read it, drank some potion wine, looked deeply into the swinging medallion my eyes, and she said she would be mine.

She Zombie says: It was meant to be.

Man, my mom (and probably my housemates) don’t understand why I can’t keep my room clean. But they don’t understand the train wreck that is my iTunes. There’s stuff back from the Audiogalaxy days! Back when I thought downloading Disneyland and Simpsons clips was cool. But hey, Abigail enjoyed the Electrical Light Parade in French.

Okay, back to cleaning my iTunes room. Living at home may be free, but keeping my room clean under the eyes of my parents is worse than paying rent.

Usually I stay away from writing about religion. If you are stalker enough, you would know that I attend a Christian university. I have believed in God for as long as I remember. But there is a difference between knowing God is true and knowing that he loves you. I don’t want to get into any debate, because frankly I’m too tired. But not writing about God would be denying part of myself, which is what I’m here to portray.

Everyday I struggle to remind myself that I am not a failure or a mistake, but that God loves the whole me. Kinda like how Mark Darcy loves Bridget Jones (I just watched that tonight — definitely not on my to-do list). Jesus’ death and resurrection are important to me, but what gets me through the day is knowing that I am me for a special reason.

Today Nancy Pearcey, a teacher from WJI, wrote me two nice emails. One of them was about a personality test, I am an ENTJ — rare for anyone, but especially women. She said that I might find it hard to fit in and I might feel overwhelmingly different. And though I assume everyone feels like this, I feel like I have to change.

But then, as I wrote in Laruen’s blog, I just want to sit and think a while about how much God loves the ordinary, the failures and the people who just can’t seem to get it right.

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Check out the WJI photo blog and take the Myers-Briggs personality test for yourself!

Last night I watched “The Recruit” and “Zoolander.” This morning I watched “What Women Want.” All the while, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn sits on my nightstand unread. Okay, so it’s flopped on the floor. The point is, half of it is unread.

Also on the floor next to a dirty sock is the letter from my online English Literature instructor. The blue piece of paper said that my analysis shows thorough reading, but has not cited evidence.

Movies and books, both stories. Both offer a form of escapism. The difference? Movies do all the work for you!

Without any work, I can be someone else for an hour and a half. I am no longer a student, overwhelmed by a never-ending to-do list. I am a CIA agent enduring a brutal mind game. I’m sweating in my seat watching Hansel go down the runway, knowing I have to be better. And Mel, dear Mel, I sit there wishing I were that hatstand he tirls about in that sumptuous bachelor loft.

Instead, the end of the credits brings me back to the menu, which then brings me to my messy room. I mean, there’s just so much brown in here. Not even cute, Hollister brown.

And I still want breakfast.

When I am by myself/in transition I call people. Like today on my way to work, I called Matt. He told me one of his ex-girlfriends was having a bridal shower. I asked him what he felt about that. He said he felt like he should be getting married. At this point in the conversation I reach the office, sweaty, overwhelmed and no longer alone.

“Um, well. Uh. Wow. That’s crazy. But I gotta go now. Sorry babe.”

I guess you can say that marriage still scares me. It’s because I freak out when I have to make decisions. You should have seen me trying to pick syrup at the grocery store yesterday. Talk about a nightmare.

I can only find one black shoe that would match this outfit. The horrendous ensemble that fits the “church attire” standard.

But you should go.

I would just be sitting there for hours wishing I could leave.

But you really should go.

I am already late and don’t have any makeup on.

A lot of people are late, just go.

I have so many things to do.

This is one of them. Go.

But no one even knows me there. They can never remember my name. Besides, I don’t think my friends are going.

Fine, it’s up to you. Do what you want.

OK! OK! BUT I’M WEARING JEANS! AND BEING LATE.

Good morning, all.

For a sure-fire way to sleep in the doghouse, be like this guy.