Let's talk about consent.

Brock Turner has served half of his six month sentence and his being released. He was convicted of sexual assault. He was guilty.
And he served three months for a "youthful indiscretion" that caused a lifetime of trauma.
Drunken sexual assault is not a "youthful indiscretion."

It's rape and it's destructive and it needs to stop.

So here are a few pieces of advice to anyone who's considering raping someone. There aren't original thoughts, but here they are in one place:

• Don't. If you need sex that badly, get help. Others would advise you to get a hooker, but there's clearly something deeper going on. You need help.
  
• You need an actual "yes." You need real consent. You need to be told that your advances (which should always start with genuine interest and not just a desire to have sex) are wanted and that your desires are reciprocated.
  
• Previous consent does not mean current consent
  
• Drunk consent is not consent.
  
• Previous rejection does not turn into consent under the influence of drugs and alcohol.
  
• Previous rejection should be respected and not challenged.
  
• Don't deal with rejection by going to a party and waiting for someone to be drunk enough to be convinced.
  
• If he or she has said "no," that's when you stop. It doesn't matter how close you are to finishing. Your pleasure doesn't matter once you've been told to stop.
  
• Your pleasure needs to stop being your first priority.
  
• Again, drunk consent is not consent. Even if it seems to be, it's not. Drunk sex is not good sex. Sex without consent is not good sex. It's rape.
  
• If you have to "have sex" with someone behind a dumpster, you're not doing it right. Unless you're both sober and think it's exciting. Even then, it's a dumpster. There's garbage juice on that ground. You're going to end up with a nasty infection and it won't have been worth it.
  
• You own your own body. Only your own. You have no rights to any one else's body unless they are offered freely.
  
• Don't wait for someone to be drunk in order to try to have sex with them. That's not how it works. And you need to stop using that excuse when you're accused.
  
• Just stop. You won't get in trouble for staying home with a bottle of lotion. (Although porn is a whole other layer of this.)
  
• Seriously. Unless you actually have a psychological disorder, you won't get any real pleasure from this. 

I know that a blog post by some rando won't do much, but if I can make one person think or make one more voice heard, I will be fine with my small influence.

Stop trying to take ownership of anyone's body or life other than your own. Stop making your urges the most important thing.

I think your "Always" tattoo is ridiculous.

This post contains opinions that I have been formulating for years. I know that it will offend some people and will possibly cause you to regret something that caused you pain and cost you money. For that, I apologize. If you are proud of your tattoo, be proud. I won't tell you to your face, but I want to point this out and maybe save someone the time and money.

Let me start by saying that I'm a huge Harry Potter fan.

Okay, I read the books often and own all of the movies and really want to go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I do not involve myself in Pottermore and I don't seek out new information that J.K. Rowling puts out about the universe. I don't need it. And I can't spend that much time on one thing.

But I am very serious about this one thing:


Severus Snape is an obsessive creep.


I know, that might be a controversial opinion and you're already preparing to fight with me. But please, hear me out.


1. Young Severus "watched" Lily Evans and observed her magical powers. He had already been indoctrinated with Pureblood supremacy ideology enough to mock Petunia for being a jealous Muggle.

2. He remained obsessed with Lily through the rest of his life, but his prejudices were so ingrained that he called her a "Mudblood" and refused her help when she tried to defend him against the Marauders. Yes, he apologized and tried to make things right, but that kind of slip of the tongue doesn't just happen. (Is this also evidence of self-loathing, since he is also not a Pureblood wizard?)

3. He called himself the "Half-Blood Prince." He thought so much of himself that he could give himself that title.

4. He joined Voldemort. He became a Death Eater. He made that choice and was probably somehow involved in the abuse and/or murder of Muggles or Muggle-borns.

5. He only came to Dumbledore in order to beg him to save Lily. Not James. Not her son. Just Lily, whom he likely hadn't seen in years and who was actively fighting the oppression that he was part of.

6. He was horrible to Harry. It makes a certain amount of sense, because he was staring at the face of the man who not only bullied him at school but won Lily's heart; and, in that face were the eyes of the woman he loved. And the existence of this child was the reason Lily was killed.

7. His Patronus became a doe at some point because he was so desperately in love with Lily. Lily's Patronus was a doe either because it changed to match James's stag or because it was some kind of sign that they were meant to be together.

For Snape to still be that much in love with a woman he had pushed away, who had married and had a child with someone else, is creepy. If we took this story out of the context of this world that we love so much and put it in real life, he would not be someone we would admire. We would not celebrate that kind of commitment from an actual person.

Yes, teenage James Potter was a jerk. He and Sirius preyed on Severus because he was studious and greasy and poor. Remus didn't stop him. Peter was just a mess and ultimately ruined the lives of so many people.

Yes, Snape pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore, even to the end. He ultimately gave Harry the key to the whole thing. He was a kind of hero and as a layered and complex character, he was brilliantly written. However, this thing that is quoted and permanently inked onto people's bodies and used as wedding decorations is awful. Don't celebrate this creepy love.

And yes, I did give seven reasons. No, it was not intentional. (Can you find the eighth reason I never intended to create?)

I got married and then...Mrs. Smith

We've been married for almost ten months.

I know, you haven't received the thank you notes that I promised you four months ago. Chill, please. It'll happen. I'm sorry.

I've been training for a new job, worrying about where we're going to live in a few months, and sleeping through headaches for several Saturdays in a row.

But it's been five months since I wrote a post and I have something to write about right now, because I've been working for ten months to change my stupid name. (I love my name, but it's been quite the process, and I still have work to do.)

About a week after our wedding, I drove to the other side of town to the Social Security office to apply for a name change and a new card. It was a simple process, changing "Swanson" to a middle name and making "Smith" my last name. I was given a receipt, but I didn't look closely at it.

After a couple week, my card hadn't arrived. I checked the receipt and the mailing address was incorrect. Now, before you worry that my card was sent to a stranger who would steal my identity, the address it was sent to did not exist. It would be returned to the Social Security Administration as "Undeliverable." When I realized this, I called the local office and explained the situation. I was told that the name change had been successful, that I didn't really need a card for my everyday life, and that I could either go on without worrying about it or come back to the office and apply for a new card.

Because I was only getting paid for the hours I worked, I didn't want to take time off to take care of it. I didn't need my card for anything, and I knew my name was officially correct.

Once I was hired full time and had vacation days, I took a half day. I drove across town again. I sat for over an hour waiting for my number to be called. I explained my issue again to the woman at the window. She asked me what my name was supposed to be. "Hope Elizabeth Swanson Smith" She gave me a receipt. The address was correct, the name wasn't quite right, but the last time I went I was told that there weren't enough available characters but that the card would be printed correctly.

A few days later, I opened the mailbox and found the envelope from the SSA. "Yes! She got the address right!"

I opened the envelope, pulled out the card, and found myself in a blind rage. "Hope Elizabeth Swans Smith." SWANS! Swans. That is not my name. That is not what I said, and she didn't give me the opportunity to review the information. It also doesn't make much sense, since she had our marriage license with "Swanson" on it. Isn't it logical to assume that that's the name I wanted?

Also, it was the same woman who got the address wrong, even though she was looking at our marriage license with the correct address.

I spent the next week annoyed that my options were to either deal with it and finally get my swan tattoo or take more time off. The hours at our local office don't allow for me to go after work or on the weekend, which I can almost understand. It also adds an item to the list of reasons why the government is the worst. (It's not, and I've written about it, but it's frustrating and inconvenient.)

I woke up a week ago and was sick enough to stay home from work. I was pretty miserable, but I decided to take advantage of the day and make the trek across town AGAIN to explain the situation AGAIN. I took Dan with me this time.

Congratulations to the office for getting a new check-in computer in the last month!

I got to work with a different woman, who was much more helpful and understanding. She let me check and confirm the information and the name that would be printed on my new card. She gave back my first card, even after taking a Sharpie to it and voiding it (I'm too sentimental for my own good and started crying when I realized that this card that I've had forever would be destroyed). She was very sweet and I am so thankful for her.

And yesterday I opened the mailbox and found Saturday's mail. Behold, an envelope from the Social Security Administration. Behold, inside that envelope, my new Social Security card.

Behold, Hope Elizabeth Swanson Smith. My name. My real, official, preferred name. After ten months, three visits, plenty of tears and frustration, I have my new name. It's done.

I still have to get a new driver's license and passport in the next couple of months, so stay tuned.

I got married and then...Thank You Notes.

We've been married for five months. It's been really difficult. Like, really. I have cried a lot. We've argued about really stupid things. We've hurt each other (not physically. Well, not intentionally. With malicious intent.)

I've had to reexamine my goals and my purpose. I've had to seriously think about why I wanted to get married and why I wanted to marry Dan. Sometimes I don't have those answers in the moment.

We don't have great jobs. We don't have our own health insurance. We don't have a lot of money to spend on frivolous things. Our schedules don't typically allow for regular meals together. We don't cook normal meals anyway. Dan will cook a big batch of something that will give us leftovers for a few days. I eat a lot of dry cereal and make a lot of pasta. We're not very good at being fully-functioning adults. But we're learning.

It has also been really good. We're committed to being a team and facing all of these things together. We know that the way things are now is not the way things will always be, and we know that we get to decide some of the ways things will change.

And here's something we've (I've) been struggling with since before we got married.

We still have not written all of our "thank you" notes from our wedding. We've done a few, and I spent some time creating hand-stamped notes, but these things are probably the worst thing about having had a wedding. Seriously. I was fine with standing in heels for a few hours. I loved the feeling of my dress. It wasn't great that we didn't greet everyone and there are definitely people who we wished could have been there. But the process of writing these stupid notes is weighing on me more heavily than any research paper deadline or conversation I've been avoiding. I want to sound sincere and share how we've used each gift and say how important each person has been to us. But I only have so much sincerity to go around, and Dan isn't any better.

So here's the plan:
We're not going to write them. WE'RE NOT GOING TO WRITE HANDWRITTEN, PERSONAL "THANK YOU" NOTES TO EVERYONE WHO GAVE US A WEDDING GIFT. Instead, we will write a "here's what has happened in our first six months of marriage" letter, kinda like a Christmas letter (also something we're not going to do often), and write a brief personalized note at the end when we physically sign our names.

If this bothers you, I'm very sorry. We're a new generation. We're changing the way things are done because that's what Millennials are supposed to do. I understand the importance of etiquette, and I know that Emily Post would shoot me dead if she could. But she's dead. And you're getting a real update on what has been going on in the life of the Smiths, instead of a slightly vague, very late, disappointingly cliched note that you might not even be able to read (my handwriting isn't great). We are thankful to have had such great support and encouragement on our wedding day and in the months before and after.

We'll be drafting this letter soon and sending them out in the next month. We love our friends and family, and we want you to know about the adventures of our marriage to this point.

And that's what happened after I got married. I should probably get back to work.


By the way, this will be a new blog series that I might turn into a book someday.
I'll be writing about

• living in a tiny apartment
• sharing a bed (almost) every night
• division of labor
• family events
• crisis moments

and probably some more situations that we've faced. Get ready for some real life and some humor (that won't translate well into text).

My Responsibility

My heart hurts.

As I scroll through my Facebook and Twitter feeds, I see too many headlines filled with hatred, prejudice, and opinions based on fear. I consider the success of Donald Trump's campaign thus far and can only pray that his statements will open up a better conversation about refugees, freedom, diversity. I pray for a better option. I pray for Donald Trump. And I wait for next summer when the conventions present us with our options for November. Indiana isn't given the option of choosing a candidate, so I have to trust the states who have that power.

I work with Muslim immigrants. I volunteer with an organization in Fort Wayne, IN called International House. We offer ESL tutoring, sewing classes, assistance in finding jobs, support for refugee and immigrant families, fellowship, homework help, and whatever else we can do to make the transition easier and to provide a safe place to struggle. Most of the people who come to us are African Muslims. Many of them waited in refugee camps for months or years. They come from Somalia, Sudan, Kenya. They have seen horrific things. They have had their humanity compromised. They have suffered.

We're a Christian organization, but we don't put pressure on the people who come to us to accept Jesus. We know that showing them love and support is more important and more effective. Of course we want them to come to know Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. We want that for everyone. We know what our faith has given us: hope, comfort, joy, a belief that God is good in all circumstances. But we don't get to scream at these people. We choose to be their friends. We choose to live out our faith in front of them and we give them opportunities to talk to us. More than anything, we want them to know that they are loved and that they are welcome.

I do not often take to the Internet regarding controversial issues. I hate being lost in the cacophony of debate. I write so moderately, and I think there are people who want that, but I'm only one person with a quiet little blog, trying to share my thoughts.

I stand opposed to Donald Trump's statements regarding a ban on Muslims entering the United States. I don't deny the existence of terrorism. I don't pretend that radial Islam is a small or fleeting threat. I don't claim that Islam is a religion of peace, but I reject the proposition that all of its adherents are on their way to violent radicalism. Acts of terrorism are not exclusively performed in the name of Allah, by immigrants, or even rooted in religious conflict.

For weeks I wanted to believe that Trump was kept in the conversation and campaign because people wanted to be entertained and to mock his bigotry. I figured he'd eventually say something so ridiculous that he'd be laughed/shouted/pushed off the stage and the GOP would move on to the next option.

I'm still waiting.

I stand opposed to Jerry Falwell, Jr. and Liberty University's decision to allow, and even to encourage, students to bring guns into the dorms.

I stand opposed to the man who killed three people at a Planned Parenthood clinic. While I value life and I oppose abortion, I know that I can't force my values and my morality on anyone. This man does not represent the Pro-Life movement. His actions and his lack of regret or shame are reprehensible.

I stand opposed to hatred, bigotry, fear-mongering, radical Christianity.

I am tired of my religion being identified with those who have the loudest voices and the largest audiences. It's not my job to scream at non-believers. I can only do so much to change the minds of the people around me. I'm not going to shout rhetoric at you. I'm going to demonstrate love as well as I can. I will condemn acts of hatred. I will love and serve the students I spend time with each week, showing them that I value who they are as people.

We can't repeat the acts of the mid-twentieth century. We can't let the acts of a few determine how we treat the whole. We must be wise, discerning, careful. We must learn from our past and create a better future. It's not enough to believe that things will get better. Prayer can change our hearts, leading us to perform acts of love that can change our communities, our country, and our world. Make small changes in your own life. Listen to people's stories. Be open to change. Be gracious with those who do not agree with you.

My heart hurts.

What I Do At Work

I'm writing this from my work laptop.
I think that might mean that the company owns the text of this post.

But I have a work laptop. I have a cubicle and an email address and an extension that people can call.

People keep asking me what I do at work. I figured it was time for me to answer everyone at once.

Title: Food Services Assistant/Temporary Administrative Support/Kitchen Girl

Department: IT: Office Services

Desk Location: Somewhere between the mailroom and Policy Issue

I work Monday-Friday, 8-4:30. I was hired on a temporary basis while they work to approve a more permanent position. There's some shuffling going on, and an assistant was needed right away. I'll probably be here until the end of the year.

I spend most of my day on my feet. I sit down and check my email and The Hub (the company intranet) when I get to the office in the morning. I drop my big bag containing my glasses, Bible, journal, and various pens and pads of sticky notes. My small purse comes with me to the kitchen area.

At 8:00, or a little after, I head down to my actual work space. I unlock the pantry if I'm the first one there. I set down my purse in my little cubby hole, plug in my headphones, find a podcast I want to listen to (TED talks, TED Radio Hour, StoryCorps, and Here's The Thing are the current subscriptions), and start the day.

My first task is usually making sure the breads are stocked. We have six different kinds of bagels, four kinds of sliced bread, plus English muffins, buns, and SandwichThins. I also stock the butter, peanut butter, and cream cheese.
I then move to the packaged breakfast items (donuts, muffins, oatmeal).
Then come the shelves of snacks. We have granola bars, candy bars, Little Debbie snacks, a rolling rack of bagged chips, and individually wrapped Dove bites. Among other items.
We have canned fruits and vegetables, frozen meals, drinks, cereal, cheese, stuff to make sandwiches (breakfast, burgers, and deli). If your diet is "typical American," we have something for you. If you're looking for something a little more exotic, I apologize. We stock what gets eaten.

We spend the first hour making sure everything is stocked.
Then we start getting everything ready for the salad bar. A few things need to be chopped. We take the items out of Ziploc containers and put them into black food service containers.

We set up, keep it stocked, eat lunch, break it down, and spend the afternoon stocking and doing dishes and cleaning.

I drink coffee and water through the day. I sit down when I can. I take breaks sometimes.

At 4:30, I'm officially done and head back to my desk to check email and The Hub and Facebook and my personal email before heading home.

I'm sitting at my desk at the end of the first day of Agent School week. Agents come from all over the country to watch presentations, take classes, and make sure they're up-to-date on various issues relating to insurance.

I helped today by cutting veggies for their break and helping set up lunch. I'll spend my week doing whatever I can to make it easier for those who are in charge of organizing the week.

I also helped decorate the top of the salad bar for the season.

I've put leftover wedding flowers in vases to put on the tables in the eating area.

I'm helping to plan the Thanksgiving luncheon.

I'm accommodating employees' needs as well as I can and with as much cheer and joy and grace as is possible. It's not difficult.

This is behind-the-scenes work. I'm not and obvious part of the operations of the business. We stay in the kitchen area and make sure we do good work. It's rarely boring, even if it can be mundane. My feet often start hurting around 2:00. My hands will dry out as the weather changes. I rarely wear my glasses to work, because I have blasts of steam in my face about fifty times a day. My hair responds to those blasts of steam, so I try to keep it managed.

I stick to a business casual to business professional dress code, as well as I can to be comfortable. My shoes have memory foam insoles, but they're cute flats. My nail polish doesn't survive very long.

I read Blue Like Jazz during my lunch break sometimes. I listen to scientists and entertainers and writers talk about their passions.

I'm a food service employee, a florist, a decorator, an event planner, and a stock boy.

I like my job. It might not be what I thought I'd be doing or what I want to be doing for the rest of my working life. But that could change. It's where I am. I work at an excellent company with incredible people. I will make the most of this time.

That's what I do at work.

The New Mrs. Smith

I'd call myself "The Newest Mrs. Smith," but I'm quite sure that's not true.

For a long time, I thought I'd stay a Swanson, then I thought I'd hyphenate. A few weeks ago, I had to make the decision.

Dan wanted me to become a Smith. He wanted to have a name that I'd be proud to take. Over the past 16 months he has proven to me that it's true. I love being Mrs. Smith, because I am proud to be Dan's wife.

I am Hope Elizabeth Swanson Smith. Two middle names, just like my husband. The second one won't be used much, but it's nice to know it's there. I'm still a Swanson.

Our wedding day was almost perfect.

I woke up early and drove myself to Starbucks. I needed a few minutes alone, unmarried, before jumping into a long day of hugs, dancing, crying, and being surrounded by people. I'm an introvert. We need things like that.

Horror of horrors, it was raining when I woke up. By the time I got home with my Coconut Mocha, the rain had stopped.

My bridesmaids stayed at my house the night before the wedding, so we packed up, loaded the cars, and drove to the church. The sunrise was beautiful after a night of rain. I could tell it was going to be a beautiful day.

We got everything put together, the hair stylists showed up (a gift from one of my maids of honor), and I got to sit down for an hour while Bre made my hair look better than it ever has or ever will again.

I put on my makeup, the photographers arrived, we all got ready. My mom zipped and unzipped my dress a dozen times, which made for some laughs and good pictures. My maids of honor put on my shoes, which was generally hilarious. I'm too independent for such things, but we did it anyway.

Then I got to see my husband and get the first dirt on my dress. It speaks to the excitement of the day that I just didn't care. I was standing in front of the man I was about to marry.

Then I changed back out of my dress, into another white dress to go greet our guests for brunch. I can't wait to wear that dress again. It is an incredible dress. I'll probably make my husband take me out to a nice dinner (huzzah for wedding money).

After about twenty minutes, I went and got back into my dress and we went and took pictures.

And then it was time to walk down the aisle. (Yes, a-i-s-l-e. Please.)

Original lyrics written for us to the tune of a James Taylor song.
A prayer read by our friend Andrew.
A short wedding sermon.
Personal vows.
Wedding rings.
Unity PB&J ceremony.
Selfie.
Mr. and Mrs. Dan and Hope Smith.
Kiss.
"You're My Best Friend"
Walk out.
Bubbles.

Then we got back and took some more pictures.
Then my mom got stuck in an elevator. (Her first chance to be alone and take a break.)

She told us to go ahead and go to the park for the Apps'n Serts Reception. (This was a smaller gathering for family and closer friends.)

So we went. It was mostly a typical reception with toasts, eating, dancing, pictures, not talking to everybody because we didn't walk around to each table.

The biggest exception was the Father-Daughter Dance.

My dad doesn't dance. So we had a car ride. It's something we came up with a while ago, but he modified it and surprised me a bit. It started as the two of us in chairs, Dad with a Wii steering wheel.

He told me what was going to happen.

My brother grabbed another two chairs and brought my mom over.
Then he grabbed two more chairs for himself and his wife.

Then my dad found my new husband, handed over the steering wheel, and sat down behind us, next to my mom.

The song? "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything."

More dancing, pictures, food, hugs, sweat.

And then we went home. To OUR home. Where I sit, right now.

Being married is great. It's difficult and strange and new and fun.

Dan going back to work after a week off together has been less fun. but I'll admit that it hasn't been all bad. I get to spend time working on putting stuff away, which we've been neglecting too much for the past month. Seriously, we've been moving in for a month.

I've officially been Mrs. Smith (pending receiving my new Social Security card) for less than a day, but it's been eleven days since our wedding, and it has been a wonderful new adventure. I'm glad I don't have to wait for it anymore. I like being married.

And now I need to go empty a box of stuff and find places to put it.