Marriage (or wedlock) is a social union or legal contract between people that creates kinship. It is an institution in which interpersonal relationships, usually intimate and sexual, are acknowledged in a variety of ways, depending on the culture or subculture in which it is found. Such a union, often formalized via a wedding ceremony, may also be called matrimony. (source: Wikipedia)

A legal contact.  That’s what we’re talking about here.

I am a citizen of the United States.  I along with several million more Americans are being denied access to a legal contract.

That’s wrong.  Period.

I’m not asking any church who has a different definition of the social contract to acknowledge my legal contract.  (Although it would be nice for all churches to see that all love is a good thing and making a commitment to honor and cherish another is very good thing.)

What I find so confusing about those that argue that this injustice should continue is that nearly half of them (see: Wikipedia:Divorce) know full well about how much of a legal contract it is because they spent (and continue to spend) countless millions on lawyers and fees in their attempts to get out of the legal contract that was almost effortless for them to enter into.

Again:  Legal contract.  American citizen.  Denied.  Wrong.

End of discussion.   (Except that it’s not.)

At most I’ve admitted that I like things a certain way. And I won’t stop until they are. That’s anal, right? *shrug*

Mostly about cords. I like a certain order to cords. Power cords, USB cables, whatever. But they’re hard to manage, especially if you’re dealing with things that might ever have to be disconnected, reconnected. I like zip ties. They keep things exactly where you want them forever. But nothing these days is forever. Digitally – electronically speaking, anyway. That extra hard drive that I just zip-tied its cord to the leg of my desk where it makes its way to the back of my computer? I’ll replace it sooner than later. And then what? Then if I get a new desk??

Ok. Cords and bedsheets.

Even. Even. Always even. Always tucked – tight.

There’s no room in my world for a blanket that doesn’t reach as far up as the sheet. Or vice versa. An over-reaching blanket. During the summer, everything has to reach just above my chin, so I can tuck it under. In the winter, I can allow for another inch. Maybe two. The winter is harder – more blankets.

Sheet, comforter.
Sheet, blanket, comforter.
Sheet, blanket, blanket, comforter.
Sheet, electric blanket, comforter.

It’s even harder if you share a bed with someone who doesn’t care about the sheets. Actually prefers them untucked.

What??

Never.

Something will bite my feet. Can’t have that.

Permalink

| Leave a comment

]]>