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Showing posts from February, 2017

regarding welfare.

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Disclaimer: this is a political post. It's also word vomit. I welcome comments and opinions, so long as they are civil.






I almost cried at work today when a young man in an American History class started shouting about how poor people are poor because of bad decisions they make. The discussion topic was economics, and every voice was a conservative one--which is fine! I am selectively conservative myself, on issues such as abortion and . . . well that's the only one I can really think of. But I grew up in a conservative home and associate with mostly conservative people. They are lovely, as are liberals. It's all dependent on how civil the company.

As for me, I think I'm a socialist. And a lot of people tell me that I'm entitled, or even equate me to the anti-Christ (true story. that happened). But I don't see it that way. To me, socialism makes complete sense. And although the majority of my religious cohorts are highly conservative, I see no conflict between the…

word vomit.

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"Word Vomit" is a term that comes from the 2004 cult classic Mean Girls. Cady uses the term when she spills secrets without meaning to--the words just spill out like the unsavory half-digested contents of vomit. I use the term a little differently. You see, I just like to write things. It's cathartic to me. However, I don't deem myself to be a "good" writer. I just sit down at the typewriter and bleed. Word Vomit is what I call the half-digested (read: unedited) contents of my brain. This blog will have lots and lots of word vomit, and sometimes some well thought out and edited essays. But mostly the former.

So let's get started. 

I've never understood the concept of Retail Therapy. I have never particularly enjoyed shopping. Even as a teen, I hated wrestling horny, peacocking adolescents for overpriced, poor quality garments made by East Asian children. "Netflix in the bath therapy" or "pizza therapy," now that I could get behind.…

we are never ever ever getting back together

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"If it makes you sad that you don't sing anymore, then sing. You have control over this situation."

Except I don't. I really don't.

Music is like an ex-lover after a nasty breakup.  I loved it.  I still love it.  I'll never get over my love for it, but I don't think I will ever have the strength to go back.

I spend most of my time ignoring that part of my life.  Forgetting it ever happened, or trying to, at least.  There was a period of time I couldn't listen to any music at all without bursting into tears.  Slowly it trickled back in.  The first was punk--the opposite of my area of study.  I eventually got to a place where I could actually go through the motions of a normal day without wanting to die.

But there are still times when I'll hear an aria in a kid's movie, or run into someone I used to study with, and the feelings come back.

They are happy at first.  I think of my successes in the craft, the praise I received and how much passion I h…

meet the bishops.

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Hello! My name is Emilee Bishop. At least, that's what it is on Facebook. Legally, my name is still Keele, and it probably will be forever--not out of feminist protest but sheer laziness. Because that's just who I am.




I watch too much Netflix, eat way too much pizza, and bake far too many cookies. My house is rarely tidy, and my decorative style is best described as "eclectic." My favorite self descriptor is "champion of mediocrity."

I have two prominent nicknames: Hobo Pete and Granny Em. The former was bestowed upon me my freshman year of college when I did not purchase my own groceries even one time--I literally lived on Taco Bell leftovers and expired spaghetti. I got food poisoning a lot.

The latter comes from my crafty demeanor and all-around old soul. I took up crochet during a particularly bad bout of mono and it has been a passion ever since. I've considered selling my creations, but I've found that crafts are way more fun when I have someone …