applespice: it is a sparkly fairy ([funny] kill zombies)
The end of the world - that's my shit. My fictional shit, anyway - my purely theoretical, gotta buy that new dystopian novel, sitting on the couch watching Children of Men on Netflix kind of shit. I'm not looking for meteors to come blazing out of the sky next Tuesday, marking the date of the zombie apocalypse in my day planner, or quietly crying in the bathtub about 2012 messing up the detailed plans I've made for my mid-twenties. It's just pretend, you know? I figure Gaea's got a few good spins left in her yet, so the end of the world isn't really on my radar.

Even so, I can't help thinking about it. Hypothetically. Usually on the treadmill, when I'm cranking up the pulse-pounding music that gets my Asics rockin'. Why think about the shopping list when I could be dodging imaginary monsters - terrifying human-nightmare hybrids created from the radiation of a nuclear blast? Or zombies (my personal favorite), creeping out of the urban sprawl and fought off with only a rusty machete and sheer, Xena-style badassery? Or wait, maybe the earth is already toast! Shit! Humanity has fled to outer space, where unknown creatures trawl the starry depths. Awesome, right? I could do this all day.

But you'd never know it, would you? Not if you saw me face-to-face. That intense look you see me sporting in the grocery store? You'd attribute that to weighing the pros and cons of chocolate versus vanilla cupcakes. Or maybe you'd think my mind was somewhere else entirely, perhaps on a newborn kitten or puppy in peril. I've just got that face - the face of innocence, vulnerability, and passion for all things cuddly. Who would suspect me of mentally massacring hordes of the undead in my free time?

Maybe you've even featured in my fantasies, oh fellow denizen of the cold cereal aisle! I may have fled your grasping fingers as you moaned after my brains on a moonlit city street. Perhaps I've swung an axe at you as you growled viciously at me from a darkened basement (you're not yourself, you see. It's the doomsday disease - it's made you a monster who hungers for human flesh). Maybe you're on my crew, an endearingly mismatched group of ragamuffins steadily clearing the moon of a hyperviolent alien race that has its sights set on invading Earth.

Either way, you should be ready. The end of the world is coming for you... this season in LJ Idol. Maybe not every week, but it's always lurking in the back of my mind - so be ready. If you're the religious type, feel free to call upon whatever deity you think is listening, but for goodness' sake don't fall behind.

You may not like what you become if you do.
applespice: it is a sparkly fairy ([funny] get one sin free)
My name is Allison and let's get real - this may or may not be the 915711713th of these introductions you have read. Respecting this, I will attempt to make this as interesting as I possibly can, and I hope you understand that if I fail, at least my heart was in the right place. Mom always said that's what mattered, after all (though admittedly Mom and I conflict on any number of Key Life Points so it's possible I'm just throwing her a bone with this one).

I am twenty-three years old, a high school English teacher, and impressively liberal despite being raised as a particularly vehement and particularly conservative breed of fundamentalist Christian. Those are the barest of bones when it comes to my life, but I thought I'd start out with the basics and expound from there, adding in all of the organs, muscle, and (let's face it) fatty tissue as we go along.

People say I'm young for what I do, and as far as I can tell they're right. Though I'd never describe myself as a go-getter, somehow I do manage to get things done and fast. Some people interpret this as high achievement, and I don't generally disabuse them of the notion even if I do think they're completely off the rails crazy for saying so. Mostly I think it's because I hate lingering over things; I'd rather just get it done and move along, preferably to doing a whole lot of nothing. I flew through undergrad at the University of Arkansas, and when I waded out into the murky waters of our present economic climate with naught but a BA in English to keep me afloat, I decided to go to graduate school to become a teacher. It was self-preservation, really, not some kind of noble calling. Somehow I made it through and was hired this year at a low-income school in a suburb of Dallas.

Teaching is insane. I feel like I'm insane just for doing it, especially at such a young age. I may be twenty-three, but I look about seventeen - something that both teachers and students delight in telling me. My students, by the way, are bugnuts crazy. All sixteen-year-olds are, in their own way, but somehow I'd forgotten that in the seven years I've spent apart from actually being sixteen. Mostly I just try to make it through the day without roundhouse kicking a child in the face. Mostly I succeed. Mostly I even like the kids, but that is generally when they're out of my vision and hearing.

I think we've covered my first two bones, so let's hit the third. I was born and raised Pentecostal, a fundamentalist Christian faith that involves dancing in the aisles, no pants for the ladies, tongue-talkin', and a fair amount of prophesy and exorcism for added flavor. My parents trained up this child in the way they thought she should go since birth, and I didn't even realize there was something distinctly rotten in the state of Denmark until I reached the age of sixteen. Suddenly the light came on and I began to see all of the religiosity as a kind of well-meaning brainwashing. My parents just think I got sick of wearing frumpy denim skirts, having ratty-ass hair down my back, and being unable to cover up my adolescent proliferation of acne with makeup, but it was much more than that. I started really paying attention to what people were saying, and how they used the Bible to justify all kinds of ridiculousness. All the isms reared their ugly heads and I found myself unimpressed with Pentecostalogic.

So I started asking questions. Let me tell you, people, fundamentalist Christians don't like questions. They follow the circular logic that "the Bible is true because it says in the Bible that the Bible is true," and they don't really peer any further than those pages, or even into them most of the time. When I asked people to justify the things they said, they'd always refer me back to the Bible. Sadly, I needed a little more than that.

I made my formal break with Pentecost when I was in college. A few relatives tried to plan some religious interventions for me, and I have no doubt that many a tear was shed over my heathen ways, but I haven't backed down yet and I don't plan to. As much as I respect the fact that the Pentecostal church inspires quite a bit of joy and even a feeling of redemption in people, I don't and can't agree with their policies or beliefs.

Nowadays I'm a free agent religiously. I'm figuring things out in my own time, but there's plenty about my past that makes me hesitant to explore organized religion. My main focus is on being a decent person (remember, I'm really trying not to kick those kids in the face) and living my life in a way that makes me happy. I do an okay job. I'm in the middle of the best relationship of my life, I've got a steady paycheck and a place of my own, and I get to cut loose and live debaucherously every once in awhile. It'll do, pig. It'll do.
applespice: it is a sparkly fairy ([funny] get one sin free)
My name is Allison and let's get real - this may or may not be the 915711713th of these introductions you have read. Respecting this, I will attempt to make this as interesting as I possibly can, and I hope you understand that if I fail, at least my heart was in the right place. Mom always said that's what mattered, after all (though admittedly Mom and I conflict on any number of Key Life Points so it's possible I'm just throwing her a bone with this one).

I am twenty-three years old, a high school English teacher, and impressively liberal despite being raised as a particularly vehement and particularly conservative breed of fundamentalist Christian. Those are the barest of bones when it comes to my life, but I thought I'd start out with the basics and expound from there, adding in all of the organs, muscle, and (let's face it) fatty tissue as we go along.

People say I'm young for what I do, and as far as I can tell they're right. Though I'd never describe myself as a go-getter, somehow I do manage to get things done and fast. Some people interpret this as high achievement, and I don't generally disabuse them of the notion even if I do think they're completely off the rails crazy for saying so. Mostly I think it's because I hate lingering over things; I'd rather just get it done and move along, preferably to doing a whole lot of nothing. I flew through undergrad at the University of Arkansas, and when I waded out into the murky waters of our present economic climate with naught but a BA in English to keep me afloat, I decided to go to graduate school to become a teacher. It was self-preservation, really, not some kind of noble calling. Somehow I made it through and was hired this year at a low-income school in a suburb of Dallas.

Teaching is insane. I feel like I'm insane just for doing it, especially at such a young age. I may be twenty-three, but I look about seventeen - something that both teachers and students delight in telling me. My students, by the way, are bugnuts crazy. All sixteen-year-olds are, in their own way, but somehow I'd forgotten that in the seven years I've spent apart from actually being sixteen. Mostly I just try to make it through the day without roundhouse kicking a child in the face. Mostly I succeed. Mostly I even like the kids, but that is generally when they're out of my vision and hearing.

I think we've covered my first two bones, so let's hit the third. I was born and raised Pentecostal, a fundamentalist Christian faith that involves dancing in the aisles, no pants for the ladies, tongue-talkin', and a fair amount of prophesy and exorcism for added flavor. My parents trained up this child in the way they thought she should go since birth, and I didn't even realize there was something distinctly rotten in the state of Denmark until I reached the age of sixteen. Suddenly the light came on and I began to see all of the religiosity as a kind of well-meaning brainwashing. My parents just think I got sick of wearing frumpy denim skirts, having ratty-ass hair down my back, and being unable to cover up my adolescent proliferation of acne with makeup, but it was much more than that. I started really paying attention to what people were saying, and how they used the Bible to justify all kinds of ridiculousness. All the isms reared their ugly heads and I found myself unimpressed with Pentecostalogic.

So I started asking questions. Let me tell you, people, fundamentalist Christians don't like questions. They follow the circular logic that "the Bible is true because it says in the Bible that the Bible is true," and they don't really peer any further than those pages, or even into them most of the time. When I asked people to justify the things they said, they'd always refer me back to the Bible. Sadly, I needed a little more than that.

I made my formal break with Pentecost when I was in college. A few relatives tried to plan some religious interventions for me, and I have no doubt that many a tear was shed over my heathen ways, but I haven't backed down yet and I don't plan to. As much as I respect the fact that the Pentecostal church inspires quite a bit of joy and even a feeling of redemption in people, I don't and can't agree with their policies or beliefs.

Nowadays I'm a free agent religiously. I'm figuring things out in my own time, but there's plenty about my past that makes me hesitant to explore organized religion. My main focus is on being a decent person (remember, I'm really trying not to kick those kids in the face) and living my life in a way that makes me happy. I do an okay job. I'm in the middle of the best relationship of my life, I've got a steady paycheck and a place of my own, and I get to cut loose and live debaucherously every once in awhile. It'll do, pig. It'll do.

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