Woohoo. Blogging time. It's 9:32pm, and the hours are counting down too Thanksgiving day. Angel and I are waking up at 6:00am for the ziti and then 7:00am for the turkey. Which means Angel's probably going to be staying up between 6:00 and 7:00. I will be in bed sleeping thank you very much. Alright.. Probably not. Ill be in the kitchen with Angel.
So for the Pre-pre turkey day round up. The adventures I was talking about? Last night, when our brine turned colors, we made a new one. Thankfully that one kept it's pretty color until today. But.. while we were adding cold water to warm water, Angel decided it'd be a good thing to dump brine onto the floor and us twice. we had salt and sugar everywhere, and the kitchen still hasn't recovered. I'm going to go in there soon and do all the pre-cleaning. Sweeping, mopping, washing dishes, and maybe cleaning the oven. I should.. but I'm not sure if I should. We shall see.
In other news.. There's been something on my mind that I just haven't had time to blog about. I love, love, love, love the Monster High dolls. They are everything I wanted from my dolls growing up. I tried to goth, glam rock my dolls up. And then when I'm in my twenties.. Tada! Monster High dolls. Woohoo. I finally just got the vampire girl..
I can't explain to you how pissed off I am. I was in my world of happy, thinking about where I'd display her, and what to do with the little extras when I turned her around to check that her stand was in the right place... and I was faced with doll ass checks. Her "mini" is so mini that there is nothing there to cover her ass. Now.. I know.. It's a doll. But.. We're selling those to children? What is that teaching them? Not only should a doll's ass be covered.. As a gothrockertype girl.. Who happens to wear plaid skirts.. Why are we being showcased to wear our skirts so short? Yes, some girls do, but not all of us. I still can't believe it. I'm very seriously thinking about writing Mattel. I haven't whipped out the pen and paper yet.. but soon I might.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Oh the day that flew by
Oh me, oh my. Tonight was going to be my blog night since last night Angel had the honors. Yet, my dears, it's 4:00 in the morning and I'm about a pass out on the laptop. Brining was... Let's just say if we weren't smart, we might have ended up with a gray-blue turkey that no one would have touched with a ten foot pole. I wish I could even explain what happened to the brine we made last night but.. Angel and I have no clue. I pulled it out of the fridge and it wasn't the pretty clear pink it was after we made it. Oh well we said, and put another pot to boil.
I'll explain all the another kitchen adventures tomorrow. After shopping adventures.
Night!
xoxoxo
Punky
I'll explain all the another kitchen adventures tomorrow. After shopping adventures.
Night!
xoxoxo
Punky
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
It's that time of the year again!
It feels a little redundant to gripe about my holiday woes yet again, but if I can't vent it out here, then where do I go?
First, The Good. We've got our turkey defrosting. We picked him up last week at the Halt and Buy. 58 cents a pound isn't quite the awesome 10 cents a pound sale from last year, but that was still the best deal in the city. He's a lovely twenty-three pounds, and this year Punky has named him Spartacus. He's actually what prompted the blogging tonight. It's Brine night here at Casa ... us. Almost forgot the anonymity thing.
So, there's a giant pot of water getting up to a boil on the stove, Punky on dishes, and me at the computer. I don't know if I've talked about it in detail before but we've got one cursed ass house. Haunted like nobody's business, and topsy turvy in the strangest of ways. Now that it's winter, if we cook a meal it's cold by the time we plate it and take it down the hall to the bedroom. Like, barely edible cold. Of course, if I boil some water and wait for it to cool down, it'll take about three days for it to cool. Topsy turvy.
Soo.. that's why the early start on the brine, just so that it has time to cool down. Good lord though, it has no right to smell this good in the kitchen over just some onions chopped up and thrown in water. I love onions, even if they are a pain to dice. I can't imagine a life without them. I do get to talk to Punky about her life without them though. When we first met, Punky came with a nearly mile long list of things that she would not eat. Onions were, of course, on that list. Now.. she can't live without them.
My current theory on food is that if there's something you don't like, it's only because someone hasn't fixed it right yet. As I get older, this becomes truer and truer for me by the day. I used to be the kind of kid who couldn't tolerate two drops of hot sauce in a dish, and now I make my own curry. I've learned to appreciate spicy food. I've even become fond of sweet potatoes. Also a food I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole back in the day.
Annnnd.. I'm glad to report that Punky has also come a long way on this food journey. In some ways, she's come a lot further than I have, since her previous affairs with food were more like tepid friendships than the true romance that exists now. She eats onions, and tuna fish and even onions in her tuna fish.
Thanksgiving is a great holiday for appreciating our culinary discoveries. Each year I try something a little new with the turkey, a different blend of seasonings or some such change. So far, all hits, no misses.
Speaking of hits and misses, Bullseye totally had an awesome deal going on with games and we picked up Battleship. Punky had never played before and Lady Luck was totally with her. She kicked my butt and now I'm totally looking forward to playing with Bratexander the Great on his holiday break. I think it's a game he'll be able to enjoy. Picking those out really involve some hits and misses.
Is anyone else doing anything for Black Friday? Punky and I are debating the midnight sales. There's not exactly a lot that we're hurting for, and most of the presents we're giving out this year are already picked out and some of them are even stashed in the closet already. Still, a sale is a sale, it might be worth poking it.
In other news, I've come a long way financially from where I was last year. Around this time last year I was approved for my first credit card. A secured line with a small limit, but it was meant to help build my credit report. That it did. My score is looking healthy, and I've gotten a handful of store cards since then. All of them managed quite responsibly, if I do say so myself. No looming debt, no nerves about money. All is in order. I'm just that much closer to the decade dream of a house and car for my family. That much closer to a yard and a garden and all the warm feelings that come with those.
I love New York, I do. It's always going to be my true home, but I can't wait to get out. I'm never going to be free of Satan as long as I stay.
What else is going on? Our new camera came in and I've got one less excuse not to blog. No new exciting pictures to share, but soon. In the meantime, we have some of last years photos still kicking about the computer.
Ta-da!
Brine is done, and I'm off to put my feet up for a bit. I'm kinda looking at a long day tomorrow.
-Angelwick
First, The Good. We've got our turkey defrosting. We picked him up last week at the Halt and Buy. 58 cents a pound isn't quite the awesome 10 cents a pound sale from last year, but that was still the best deal in the city. He's a lovely twenty-three pounds, and this year Punky has named him Spartacus. He's actually what prompted the blogging tonight. It's Brine night here at Casa ... us. Almost forgot the anonymity thing.
So, there's a giant pot of water getting up to a boil on the stove, Punky on dishes, and me at the computer. I don't know if I've talked about it in detail before but we've got one cursed ass house. Haunted like nobody's business, and topsy turvy in the strangest of ways. Now that it's winter, if we cook a meal it's cold by the time we plate it and take it down the hall to the bedroom. Like, barely edible cold. Of course, if I boil some water and wait for it to cool down, it'll take about three days for it to cool. Topsy turvy.
Soo.. that's why the early start on the brine, just so that it has time to cool down. Good lord though, it has no right to smell this good in the kitchen over just some onions chopped up and thrown in water. I love onions, even if they are a pain to dice. I can't imagine a life without them. I do get to talk to Punky about her life without them though. When we first met, Punky came with a nearly mile long list of things that she would not eat. Onions were, of course, on that list. Now.. she can't live without them.
My current theory on food is that if there's something you don't like, it's only because someone hasn't fixed it right yet. As I get older, this becomes truer and truer for me by the day. I used to be the kind of kid who couldn't tolerate two drops of hot sauce in a dish, and now I make my own curry. I've learned to appreciate spicy food. I've even become fond of sweet potatoes. Also a food I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole back in the day.
Annnnd.. I'm glad to report that Punky has also come a long way on this food journey. In some ways, she's come a lot further than I have, since her previous affairs with food were more like tepid friendships than the true romance that exists now. She eats onions, and tuna fish and even onions in her tuna fish.
Thanksgiving is a great holiday for appreciating our culinary discoveries. Each year I try something a little new with the turkey, a different blend of seasonings or some such change. So far, all hits, no misses.
Speaking of hits and misses, Bullseye totally had an awesome deal going on with games and we picked up Battleship. Punky had never played before and Lady Luck was totally with her. She kicked my butt and now I'm totally looking forward to playing with Bratexander the Great on his holiday break. I think it's a game he'll be able to enjoy. Picking those out really involve some hits and misses.
Is anyone else doing anything for Black Friday? Punky and I are debating the midnight sales. There's not exactly a lot that we're hurting for, and most of the presents we're giving out this year are already picked out and some of them are even stashed in the closet already. Still, a sale is a sale, it might be worth poking it.
In other news, I've come a long way financially from where I was last year. Around this time last year I was approved for my first credit card. A secured line with a small limit, but it was meant to help build my credit report. That it did. My score is looking healthy, and I've gotten a handful of store cards since then. All of them managed quite responsibly, if I do say so myself. No looming debt, no nerves about money. All is in order. I'm just that much closer to the decade dream of a house and car for my family. That much closer to a yard and a garden and all the warm feelings that come with those.
I love New York, I do. It's always going to be my true home, but I can't wait to get out. I'm never going to be free of Satan as long as I stay.
What else is going on? Our new camera came in and I've got one less excuse not to blog. No new exciting pictures to share, but soon. In the meantime, we have some of last years photos still kicking about the computer.
Ta-da!
Brine is done, and I'm off to put my feet up for a bit. I'm kinda looking at a long day tomorrow.
-Angelwick
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Halloween Weekend !
Woo... I'm still recuperating from all the fun of Halloween weekend, but I've recovered just enough to get back to blogging.
So.. the best of Halloween this year was that it was a full blown three day weekend. This year, instead of being the haunted house in our neighborhood, we decided it was time for Bratexander the Great's first Trick or Treating experience.
We kicked off the weekend at Central Park's Pumpkin Festival. Boy were we glad that this was a rain or shine event. It SNOWED. And good lord did all that snow look lovely in the park. Punky got a handful of pictures, but it was on a borrowed camera so we'll have to wait a while before we can post them up. We each got to pick out a small pumpkin for free, and got goody bags from Radio Disney. There were stickers, candy and lots of other goodies. We also met one of the park's rangers who talked all about the wildlife that could be seen there throughout the year. Best of all, the had a haunted house. This was of course Bratexander's first one ever. It was so good we did it twice... which then sort of became the norm for the weekend.
The next day we went to The Ghoul Pool right here in The Bronx. This was the pool house at Van Cortland Park which was transformed into an awesome haunted house. There were two separate sections so that families could choose to avoid the more scary part if they needed to. We all did the whole thing, and The Brat was a champ almost to the end. Instead of actors jumping out at him being the scary part, the scary part wound up being jello brains. They had that spooky guessing game where you blindly touch gross things. That seemed to be what messed with him the most. But, he got yet another goody bag and some candy, so all was well in the end.
On actual Halloween day we wound up trick or treating in TriBeCa, and Chelsea, before hitting up yet another haunted house and even a haunted forest.
The best part? All of the above adventures were free. Also.. Alex learned a thing or two about courage, lying, and facing his fears.
Bratexander the Great is a very sensitive child. So much so that once upon a time when he was a little younger, people couldn't laugh in his presence without him going into a tizzy thinking that they were laughing at him. Sooo.. parenting him is all about walking a very fine line. I believe that people should be allowed to be sensitive. I believe that boys should be able to cry without shaming. Yadda, yadda. On the other hand I also believe in making children strong, teaching them about having a backbone, etc. I don't think that the walks are mutually exclusive. So, yes he can be sensitive, and cry if his feelings are hurt, but he can also be a self secure boy, who knows how to let some things roll off his back.
The haunted houses turned out to be good teaching tools. At first he tried to lie about not being scared. When confronted about this, he got very upset, but then he grew a pair and decided he wanted to go through the haunted house again. So we did, and he was very brave about it and this time, he could honestly say that he wasn't scared. I hope that it's a lesson that stays with him.
Annnnnndd.... Now..Satan and his family are on the phone, so my thoughts are lost. Till the next blogging episode!
-Angelwick
So.. the best of Halloween this year was that it was a full blown three day weekend. This year, instead of being the haunted house in our neighborhood, we decided it was time for Bratexander the Great's first Trick or Treating experience.
We kicked off the weekend at Central Park's Pumpkin Festival. Boy were we glad that this was a rain or shine event. It SNOWED. And good lord did all that snow look lovely in the park. Punky got a handful of pictures, but it was on a borrowed camera so we'll have to wait a while before we can post them up. We each got to pick out a small pumpkin for free, and got goody bags from Radio Disney. There were stickers, candy and lots of other goodies. We also met one of the park's rangers who talked all about the wildlife that could be seen there throughout the year. Best of all, the had a haunted house. This was of course Bratexander's first one ever. It was so good we did it twice... which then sort of became the norm for the weekend.
The next day we went to The Ghoul Pool right here in The Bronx. This was the pool house at Van Cortland Park which was transformed into an awesome haunted house. There were two separate sections so that families could choose to avoid the more scary part if they needed to. We all did the whole thing, and The Brat was a champ almost to the end. Instead of actors jumping out at him being the scary part, the scary part wound up being jello brains. They had that spooky guessing game where you blindly touch gross things. That seemed to be what messed with him the most. But, he got yet another goody bag and some candy, so all was well in the end.
On actual Halloween day we wound up trick or treating in TriBeCa, and Chelsea, before hitting up yet another haunted house and even a haunted forest.
The best part? All of the above adventures were free. Also.. Alex learned a thing or two about courage, lying, and facing his fears.
Bratexander the Great is a very sensitive child. So much so that once upon a time when he was a little younger, people couldn't laugh in his presence without him going into a tizzy thinking that they were laughing at him. Sooo.. parenting him is all about walking a very fine line. I believe that people should be allowed to be sensitive. I believe that boys should be able to cry without shaming. Yadda, yadda. On the other hand I also believe in making children strong, teaching them about having a backbone, etc. I don't think that the walks are mutually exclusive. So, yes he can be sensitive, and cry if his feelings are hurt, but he can also be a self secure boy, who knows how to let some things roll off his back.
The haunted houses turned out to be good teaching tools. At first he tried to lie about not being scared. When confronted about this, he got very upset, but then he grew a pair and decided he wanted to go through the haunted house again. So we did, and he was very brave about it and this time, he could honestly say that he wasn't scared. I hope that it's a lesson that stays with him.
Annnnnndd.... Now..Satan and his family are on the phone, so my thoughts are lost. Till the next blogging episode!
-Angelwick
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Cheeseburger Path
Eeeuugghh... Today is just one of those days. Bright and beautiful with a side of pounding headache. However.. I shall persevere. I'm actually sitting out on my fire escape to do my morning blogging.
So.. I've had in mind many personal feelings about a witch's path lately. Punky and I were sort of discussing them a day or so ago but the conversation crashed and burned. I'm going to try and put down my thoughts and feelings and musings here.. so this is probably going to be ridiculously long winded. I apologize in advance.
I think I'd be a very good witch. Up to my standards of course and not the standards or practices of any tv personality or other famous person. Even though I do not currently practice, I do have an idea in my head about what it should be like to be a witch and walk that path. When I think about that, that's when I get the feeling that I'd be very good at it.
Good at it, of course, might not be the best term to use. That just makes it sounds like I'll be pulling bunnies out of my hat and going Ta-Da. I'm good. Which is not what I mean at all. What I actually mean is that 1. I'd be happy doing it. 2. I think I'd have a certain knack for it. 3. And that it in general I feel that it would have/give very positive results for me and mine.
Which.. I look up at and re-read and still comes off rude and cocky. Like .. Muahaha.. I can do this in my sleep. Fail. I'll move on for now since I can't seem to fix my wording up there.
The biggest obstacle between me and the path ( which I refuse to call the craft, because I did that a couple of days ago aloud and felt stupid like I was talking about the movie. ) is that I was brought up Christian. Pentecostal to be specific.
Let me start off by saying that I had some very very good experiences while in the church. I enjoyed a lot of my time there. I was a prodigy at a very young age, and therefore was treated very well. Plus, I can't lie, I like a lot of the lessons they taught. I was one of the only children ever to complete three years of the Biblical Institute here in NYC. I preached often at my church and was often an ambassador to other churches. All very fun for a kid ages 6-12.
Now. There are two very important things I keep in mind about my time in the church. One is that I went to church with a good number of people who were illiterate or very close to it. These people were intelligent in many other ways, but had come from countries/families were education had not been readily available to them. The other is.. that I went to church with a whole bunch of stupid people. These people could read and write and dressed very nicely and so on and so forth but they were just plain old idiots. They had an understanding of nothing and a belief that they knew everything. Stupid.
So.. here comes six year old me with a high school level reading comprehension and a wicked sharp memory. Duh I was a prodigy. I could read the bible, understand it, and speak about what I'd read. In the real world, this a genius does not make. I was only special because I was actually interested in the goings on of the church. Meanwhile the other six year olds were peeling paint off the walls, bored, and wanting to go home. They had been made to come by force, where as I had been given a choice about it and happily went along.
I never spoke in tongues or fainted from the holy spirit or any of that. I was just a well behaved, well spoken child. You wouldn't think it to read my writing now.. especially if you were to hear me stutter as an adult.. but I was.
Am I bitter and jaded against the church? Yes, a bit, in touches here and there. But to me the church was the church and God is God and the two are not the same. The church was a building with four walls and some people inside it. It isn't everlasting. There's nothing secure about it. It has all the same politics and gossip and drama as the rest of the world. It wasn't a perfect place. It was just a place.
My Christian beliefs however, have stuck with me throughout my life. A short one so far as it may be, there they are. But my Christian ways are very solitary, which if you were to ask the average Christian, makes me a very bad one. I don't go to church. The bible says I should, I am often told, but the bible also says a man can just grab a woman and have sex with her, and all is well if he just pays her father a bride price later. Comprehension. Tons of people don't have it.
Anywho.. Getting back to the original point.. There's the pesky little bit about Hell. Now, I have conflicting beliefs about Hell all by myself, but it's still a place I don't want to end up.
Hence... The Cheeseburger Path. For me.. making a decision about a witch's path and departing from my Christian ways is a little bit like being out to eat somewhere and seeing the person next to me have an awesome looking cheeseburger.
It looks really good. It smells great and the other person looks like they're having a great time. But I'm lactose intolerant and the cheeseburger will hurt later if I order one. What to do? If it were Punky she'd eat it and curl up in the fetal position all night later. I've seen her do this for the sake of pizza, lasagna and baked ziti. When I see her in stomach pain, it doesn't seem like the food was worth it, but she swears it was.
I'm a pansy bitch, and I'd have to think about it. I don't know that the cheeseburger will be worth The Runs of ETERNITY.
There's a small caveat though.. the witch's path is all around me. That's because it's a little bit similar to Christianity. It's just there, in the blue of the sky and the nip in the air and so on.
Take my mother for example ( No really, take her. Hahaha.. I kill me. ) She is the most Christian Christian I know. No, she can't quote the bible cover to cover, but she has studied it for years and studies it still. She knows where to turn in Proverbs for advice, and when she talks to God, he answers back.
Ok.. so you sort of have to believe in him to know how cool that is, but it is totally cool. She gets psychic dreams about the state of my house, and bodily warnings when I'm about to really sick. She is borderline creepy.
Months ago, my mother rolls into the house. This was a planned visit, so she was expected. Anyway.. Punky had been having eye issues. One of them started getting puffy, then her lid turned pink, and finally it got so bad she almost couldn't open it all the way. As my mom is bustling through the house like a hurricane on crack, she stops to notice it. Since I see her looking at Punky's eye, I start to explain that we don't know what it is, but we're thinking of taking her to the doctor soon if it doesn't go away.
She just goes " Hmmmmm... You looked at something you weren't meant to see. " The she continues bustling through the house like a hurricane on crack. She doesn't mention it again until she's at the door leaving. She's laughing and she can't stop, but she manages to wheeze out some advice.
" Listen to me.. Do what I say. I know how to fix your eye. But you have to do it. You can't just say you will and not do it. "
Punky agrees cause she wants to stop looking like Quasimodo and then this is what my mom let's loose with.
" Go into the bathroom later and ( omg I can't believe I'm going to type this ) run the tip of your finger around the ring of your asshole. Don't do anything before that, don't bathe or clean yourself. Do it just as you are, then wipe your finger on your eye. It'll clear up. "
Needless to say we were mortified, and though Punky nodded along, she totally did not do this. EW. We thought my mom was on crack. However.. the next day Punky woke up with her eye almost completely healed. Like.. 95 percent all better.
Of course, I called my mom to tell her she was a crackpot, and that her nasty advice was nasty and the eye fixed itself all on its own. Naturally, she starts laughing again. She says.. Punky was never supposed to take the advice. She was just supposed to think about it, which she did, and the thought of something so dirty is what scared the thing away. Also to tell her to stop looking at things she's not meant to see.
Now. What is that if not some Peruvian voodoo? I told my mother that later and she did not look amused. She thinks I'm nuts. She's the nutty one. She's told me a million stories about witch-y things that are part of our culture. I was raised believing that to know whether it was going to be a good year for crops or a bad year we had to open a bottle of wine and throw the wine at the side of the house to be read. We didn't have a house or crops. What use was this lesson to me except to tell me about another way of life outside of what the bible says? I told her she needed to be free of the white man's shackles and ignore what he said about our Incan ways being unholy and evil.
Now.. I've read about some people who claim to be Christian witches. They manage to combine both their religions. The thought is tempting of course, but it isn't one I can personally follow. My god said it's better to be hot, or cold, than to be lukewarm. So.. Maybe I'd be better off a hot Christian or a cold witch, but not somewhere in the middle.
That's what's been on my mind.
So.. I've had in mind many personal feelings about a witch's path lately. Punky and I were sort of discussing them a day or so ago but the conversation crashed and burned. I'm going to try and put down my thoughts and feelings and musings here.. so this is probably going to be ridiculously long winded. I apologize in advance.
I think I'd be a very good witch. Up to my standards of course and not the standards or practices of any tv personality or other famous person. Even though I do not currently practice, I do have an idea in my head about what it should be like to be a witch and walk that path. When I think about that, that's when I get the feeling that I'd be very good at it.
Good at it, of course, might not be the best term to use. That just makes it sounds like I'll be pulling bunnies out of my hat and going Ta-Da. I'm good. Which is not what I mean at all. What I actually mean is that 1. I'd be happy doing it. 2. I think I'd have a certain knack for it. 3. And that it in general I feel that it would have/give very positive results for me and mine.
Which.. I look up at and re-read and still comes off rude and cocky. Like .. Muahaha.. I can do this in my sleep. Fail. I'll move on for now since I can't seem to fix my wording up there.
The biggest obstacle between me and the path ( which I refuse to call the craft, because I did that a couple of days ago aloud and felt stupid like I was talking about the movie. ) is that I was brought up Christian. Pentecostal to be specific.
Let me start off by saying that I had some very very good experiences while in the church. I enjoyed a lot of my time there. I was a prodigy at a very young age, and therefore was treated very well. Plus, I can't lie, I like a lot of the lessons they taught. I was one of the only children ever to complete three years of the Biblical Institute here in NYC. I preached often at my church and was often an ambassador to other churches. All very fun for a kid ages 6-12.
Now. There are two very important things I keep in mind about my time in the church. One is that I went to church with a good number of people who were illiterate or very close to it. These people were intelligent in many other ways, but had come from countries/families were education had not been readily available to them. The other is.. that I went to church with a whole bunch of stupid people. These people could read and write and dressed very nicely and so on and so forth but they were just plain old idiots. They had an understanding of nothing and a belief that they knew everything. Stupid.
So.. here comes six year old me with a high school level reading comprehension and a wicked sharp memory. Duh I was a prodigy. I could read the bible, understand it, and speak about what I'd read. In the real world, this a genius does not make. I was only special because I was actually interested in the goings on of the church. Meanwhile the other six year olds were peeling paint off the walls, bored, and wanting to go home. They had been made to come by force, where as I had been given a choice about it and happily went along.
I never spoke in tongues or fainted from the holy spirit or any of that. I was just a well behaved, well spoken child. You wouldn't think it to read my writing now.. especially if you were to hear me stutter as an adult.. but I was.
Am I bitter and jaded against the church? Yes, a bit, in touches here and there. But to me the church was the church and God is God and the two are not the same. The church was a building with four walls and some people inside it. It isn't everlasting. There's nothing secure about it. It has all the same politics and gossip and drama as the rest of the world. It wasn't a perfect place. It was just a place.
My Christian beliefs however, have stuck with me throughout my life. A short one so far as it may be, there they are. But my Christian ways are very solitary, which if you were to ask the average Christian, makes me a very bad one. I don't go to church. The bible says I should, I am often told, but the bible also says a man can just grab a woman and have sex with her, and all is well if he just pays her father a bride price later. Comprehension. Tons of people don't have it.
Anywho.. Getting back to the original point.. There's the pesky little bit about Hell. Now, I have conflicting beliefs about Hell all by myself, but it's still a place I don't want to end up.
Hence... The Cheeseburger Path. For me.. making a decision about a witch's path and departing from my Christian ways is a little bit like being out to eat somewhere and seeing the person next to me have an awesome looking cheeseburger.
It looks really good. It smells great and the other person looks like they're having a great time. But I'm lactose intolerant and the cheeseburger will hurt later if I order one. What to do? If it were Punky she'd eat it and curl up in the fetal position all night later. I've seen her do this for the sake of pizza, lasagna and baked ziti. When I see her in stomach pain, it doesn't seem like the food was worth it, but she swears it was.
I'm a pansy bitch, and I'd have to think about it. I don't know that the cheeseburger will be worth The Runs of ETERNITY.
There's a small caveat though.. the witch's path is all around me. That's because it's a little bit similar to Christianity. It's just there, in the blue of the sky and the nip in the air and so on.
Take my mother for example ( No really, take her. Hahaha.. I kill me. ) She is the most Christian Christian I know. No, she can't quote the bible cover to cover, but she has studied it for years and studies it still. She knows where to turn in Proverbs for advice, and when she talks to God, he answers back.
Ok.. so you sort of have to believe in him to know how cool that is, but it is totally cool. She gets psychic dreams about the state of my house, and bodily warnings when I'm about to really sick. She is borderline creepy.
Months ago, my mother rolls into the house. This was a planned visit, so she was expected. Anyway.. Punky had been having eye issues. One of them started getting puffy, then her lid turned pink, and finally it got so bad she almost couldn't open it all the way. As my mom is bustling through the house like a hurricane on crack, she stops to notice it. Since I see her looking at Punky's eye, I start to explain that we don't know what it is, but we're thinking of taking her to the doctor soon if it doesn't go away.
She just goes " Hmmmmm... You looked at something you weren't meant to see. " The she continues bustling through the house like a hurricane on crack. She doesn't mention it again until she's at the door leaving. She's laughing and she can't stop, but she manages to wheeze out some advice.
" Listen to me.. Do what I say. I know how to fix your eye. But you have to do it. You can't just say you will and not do it. "
Punky agrees cause she wants to stop looking like Quasimodo and then this is what my mom let's loose with.
" Go into the bathroom later and ( omg I can't believe I'm going to type this ) run the tip of your finger around the ring of your asshole. Don't do anything before that, don't bathe or clean yourself. Do it just as you are, then wipe your finger on your eye. It'll clear up. "
Needless to say we were mortified, and though Punky nodded along, she totally did not do this. EW. We thought my mom was on crack. However.. the next day Punky woke up with her eye almost completely healed. Like.. 95 percent all better.
Of course, I called my mom to tell her she was a crackpot, and that her nasty advice was nasty and the eye fixed itself all on its own. Naturally, she starts laughing again. She says.. Punky was never supposed to take the advice. She was just supposed to think about it, which she did, and the thought of something so dirty is what scared the thing away. Also to tell her to stop looking at things she's not meant to see.
Now. What is that if not some Peruvian voodoo? I told my mother that later and she did not look amused. She thinks I'm nuts. She's the nutty one. She's told me a million stories about witch-y things that are part of our culture. I was raised believing that to know whether it was going to be a good year for crops or a bad year we had to open a bottle of wine and throw the wine at the side of the house to be read. We didn't have a house or crops. What use was this lesson to me except to tell me about another way of life outside of what the bible says? I told her she needed to be free of the white man's shackles and ignore what he said about our Incan ways being unholy and evil.
Now.. I've read about some people who claim to be Christian witches. They manage to combine both their religions. The thought is tempting of course, but it isn't one I can personally follow. My god said it's better to be hot, or cold, than to be lukewarm. So.. Maybe I'd be better off a hot Christian or a cold witch, but not somewhere in the middle.
That's what's been on my mind.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Annnnnnd.... It worked!
Let's try that again. A while ago I tried to post a blog but the internet ate it. Apparently it was a yummy entry. It's nearing a month since big things have happened, and it's about time to put them that. I don't know where to start though, it's a little be random but oh well, Angel has been talking about random stuff. I should be able to too.
I started working! It's nothing huge, but the hours have picked up a little bit only the last few weeks but it really does depend. My boss is a little loopy but she's nice. I like working for her. The hours are perfect for me. Everyone who reads this blog knows that I have bad panic attacks if I'm away from the house for too long, and that that creates problems with working. So far, I haven't had one, and everything has been going well. I've already got my first pay check and used it responsibly. I helped make payments to our shared cards of doom. My next check comes to us on Friday and we're off to Blood Manor. I'm so excited. I like having money, I like being able to take care of us, even a little.
In other news. We have got to decorate for Halloween. It's almost here and we haven't put up anything because we're bummed about it. But we still have to! For ourselves and the Brat. Speaking of the Brat. He's taking a shower because he's covered in purple marker.. I don't even know how that happened. Just that about 30 minutes ago he came and asked if he could take a bubble bath. I told him he had to wait.. It was odd, but now I know why he wanted to take one.
Today we're headed Angel's mama's house, and I need to get ready. I have to look for the laundry card to wash some clothes, and get everyone dressed and ready. Also.. Coloring book, crayons and other things to amuse the Brat with. Off I go.
PS. Could someone remind me I have to sew a foot back on? Thank you.
-- Punky
I started working! It's nothing huge, but the hours have picked up a little bit only the last few weeks but it really does depend. My boss is a little loopy but she's nice. I like working for her. The hours are perfect for me. Everyone who reads this blog knows that I have bad panic attacks if I'm away from the house for too long, and that that creates problems with working. So far, I haven't had one, and everything has been going well. I've already got my first pay check and used it responsibly. I helped make payments to our shared cards of doom. My next check comes to us on Friday and we're off to Blood Manor. I'm so excited. I like having money, I like being able to take care of us, even a little.
In other news. We have got to decorate for Halloween. It's almost here and we haven't put up anything because we're bummed about it. But we still have to! For ourselves and the Brat. Speaking of the Brat. He's taking a shower because he's covered in purple marker.. I don't even know how that happened. Just that about 30 minutes ago he came and asked if he could take a bubble bath. I told him he had to wait.. It was odd, but now I know why he wanted to take one.
Today we're headed Angel's mama's house, and I need to get ready. I have to look for the laundry card to wash some clothes, and get everyone dressed and ready. Also.. Coloring book, crayons and other things to amuse the Brat with. Off I go.
PS. Could someone remind me I have to sew a foot back on? Thank you.
-- Punky
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Tramalolololololol
Sorry. I've been doing that in my head for about a week. Maybe now that I've put it down somewhere it'll go away.
Tramadol is the magic little wonder drug that my current physician has prescribed for pain. It is indeed a wonder drug. It lets me walk again. I've been on cloud nine about that for a while. Punky and I can now peacefully stroll through Target and look at EVERYTHING, versus having to grab the necessities before something hurts so bad that we have to go home in a rush.
Hence the poking about Thrift shops and such. WALKING. It's a wonderful thing to someone who hasn't been able to do it comfortably for years.
Of course.. I'm a little paranoid. I'm not taking it everyday so that I don't build up a pesky resistance. That tends to be my luck with drugs for pain. I'd be in for some deep depression if the Tramadol stops working. So for now I only take it on days that we have errands to run.
It's a kind of funny little pill. I took it once near to bed time because my hips were killing me. The thought process was that I'd lay down and they'd kick in and sleep would be had. Yeeaaah... I got stuck in a loop of dreams so bad that I didn't trust reality when I woke up. I kept hearing voices and tripping out in general. Bedtime Tramadol has not happened again since.
Now I call it my Get Up and Go drug. It seems to work best if I take it in the morning with some breakfast and get out of the house.
In other news... Totally made it to the post office yesterday. Wink wink. You know who you are. Also.. back to the thrift store. Punky and I were shopping for Aine. Sadly.. there were no items that called out " I'm meeaaannt fooor Aiiinnneee ". There was a close call pumpkin but Punky said I was wrong and that it did not seem like an Aine thing. Aine things are tricky I fear.
We did manage to make some new friends though !
Mr Boo Bucket O'Love ! That's Frank posing with him. He's not from the thrift store, he's just a ham for the camera. Can't blame him, the fire escape is very slimming.
Black kitty candle! Punky insta-fell in love with it. Doesn't he look like he's scheming with Frank?
Of course.. we can't leave out Miss Alice. She's currently waiting for an operation from Dr. Punky MD.
And... Last but not least...
My magic five dollar crystal ball.
Muahahahaha.
-Angelwick
Tramadol is the magic little wonder drug that my current physician has prescribed for pain. It is indeed a wonder drug. It lets me walk again. I've been on cloud nine about that for a while. Punky and I can now peacefully stroll through Target and look at EVERYTHING, versus having to grab the necessities before something hurts so bad that we have to go home in a rush.
Hence the poking about Thrift shops and such. WALKING. It's a wonderful thing to someone who hasn't been able to do it comfortably for years.
Of course.. I'm a little paranoid. I'm not taking it everyday so that I don't build up a pesky resistance. That tends to be my luck with drugs for pain. I'd be in for some deep depression if the Tramadol stops working. So for now I only take it on days that we have errands to run.
It's a kind of funny little pill. I took it once near to bed time because my hips were killing me. The thought process was that I'd lay down and they'd kick in and sleep would be had. Yeeaaah... I got stuck in a loop of dreams so bad that I didn't trust reality when I woke up. I kept hearing voices and tripping out in general. Bedtime Tramadol has not happened again since.
Now I call it my Get Up and Go drug. It seems to work best if I take it in the morning with some breakfast and get out of the house.
In other news... Totally made it to the post office yesterday. Wink wink. You know who you are. Also.. back to the thrift store. Punky and I were shopping for Aine. Sadly.. there were no items that called out " I'm meeaaannt fooor Aiiinnneee ". There was a close call pumpkin but Punky said I was wrong and that it did not seem like an Aine thing. Aine things are tricky I fear.
We did manage to make some new friends though !
Black kitty candle! Punky insta-fell in love with it. Doesn't he look like he's scheming with Frank?
And... Last but not least...
Muahahahaha.
-Angelwick
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Halloween thrifting..
So.. yesterday, Punky and I put our fabulous sunglasses on and went off to the thrift store right outside the fenceway center. Last year that was where we picked up the porcelain dolls that we spookified and used in the hallway.
We were hoping for more ideas and inspiration for Halloween. After all the day is nearly upon us and we have practically nothing done. This year I've just been feeling very Blah. I'm even sort of dreading the holidays. I don't feel as confident or as prepared as I did last year. I think that getting a late start on things really throws me off.
There's also the bit about none of my stuff matching. I'm fussy like that. I need things to look a certain way, to have a flow to them. Even my disorder has to have some order to it. Sooo... even though we cleaned up nicely at some clearance sales last year, we have a lot of decorative things that just don't go together.
Unfortunately, the thrift store didn't help much. They either got cleaned out before we got there, or they just didn't have as much stuff as usual. We still had a ball poking about though, and I came across a beautiful glass ball that I'd like to go back for as soon as I have five dollars to spare.
This week we're living on an extra super tight budget because we had to do some spending for a dear friends birthday party. That'll be out of the way by tomorrow though, and we can start figuring out the rest of out spooky halloween plans.
For example, this will be the first year that Bratexander the Great shall be trick or treating. And as Jeff Dunham's puppet Peanut would say, our geek is showing. He shall be prancing about the streets of the city as Mr. Spock from my beloved-... wait.. do I even need to explain who he is? I'm pretty sure he's universal.
We might also be checking out a local haunted house called Blood Manor. We were supposed to go back to Sleepy Hollow for their event, but it's in the air. It just might be too much to spend when we've got so many other things on our plate.
Annnnd... Last but definitely not least... We found a friend at the thrift store that immediately brought Jeanne to mind. So we picked him up just for her. Ta - da !
We were hoping for more ideas and inspiration for Halloween. After all the day is nearly upon us and we have practically nothing done. This year I've just been feeling very Blah. I'm even sort of dreading the holidays. I don't feel as confident or as prepared as I did last year. I think that getting a late start on things really throws me off.
There's also the bit about none of my stuff matching. I'm fussy like that. I need things to look a certain way, to have a flow to them. Even my disorder has to have some order to it. Sooo... even though we cleaned up nicely at some clearance sales last year, we have a lot of decorative things that just don't go together.
Unfortunately, the thrift store didn't help much. They either got cleaned out before we got there, or they just didn't have as much stuff as usual. We still had a ball poking about though, and I came across a beautiful glass ball that I'd like to go back for as soon as I have five dollars to spare.
This week we're living on an extra super tight budget because we had to do some spending for a dear friends birthday party. That'll be out of the way by tomorrow though, and we can start figuring out the rest of out spooky halloween plans.
For example, this will be the first year that Bratexander the Great shall be trick or treating. And as Jeff Dunham's puppet Peanut would say, our geek is showing. He shall be prancing about the streets of the city as Mr. Spock from my beloved-... wait.. do I even need to explain who he is? I'm pretty sure he's universal.
We might also be checking out a local haunted house called Blood Manor. We were supposed to go back to Sleepy Hollow for their event, but it's in the air. It just might be too much to spend when we've got so many other things on our plate.
Annnnd... Last but definitely not least... We found a friend at the thrift store that immediately brought Jeanne to mind. So we picked him up just for her. Ta - da !
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Bratexander The Greats first sunrise !
So.. I could make with the excuses, or I could get to the good stuff. I choose the good stuff.
So it turns out that as the days, weeks, and months fly by.. they actually do fly by. Birthdays come and go, school starts and teeth fall out then drop back in..
And well.. The Brat has been The Brat since the day he was born. The name was instituted when all the electronic appliances in the house flickered whenever he would cry as a newborn. He's grown up quite a bit since then, and the appliances and he have forgiven each other. He's still a lovable Brat though, in many a way. It's just that he's an older Brat now. For a while I've been pondering what his nickname would graduate or morph into as he grows.
Let us not forget that I'm a spic and therefore consider him a little Prince.
I considered The Brat Prince, but that was too Lestat-y and the kid is neither cool nor fang-y enough. The punchline of course is given away up there in the subject line. Bratexander the Great. Bratty AND Prince-y with none of the ruffles and fangs.
Annnndd... he just saw his first sunrise out on our fire escape. It was awesome. I hope, rather vainly I fear, that it's something he'll hold with him forever. He and I are sun worshipers by birth, just like our people before us. We're summer babies, Leos, and Incan. It's a triple whammy. His personal obsession with the sunrise though started about two weeks ago when we were discussing the colors of the sky and I mentioned that it could be pink and even orange in the morning when the sun was coming up. I promised to show him this, since he tends not to believe the things I say unless I prove them. So last night I put him in bed early, and promised him an early wake up call with hot chocolate involved. So when that first band of pink cracked at the night sky I shuffled him out on the fire escape and we just sorta stared in awe. Though.. that sun couldn't come up fast enough for his liking. All the while the sky was slowly lightening, he was complaining that the sun was taking foreeeevvveeeerrr..
In other news.. I can't type up what I was actually going to say, because it'd probably give away too much about his non-super hero identity and yes I'm still quite paranoid. But there are instruments o' music involved. Soo.. I'm trying to teach him to sing Jingle Bell Rock. The holidays are practically upon us after all.
-Angelwick
So it turns out that as the days, weeks, and months fly by.. they actually do fly by. Birthdays come and go, school starts and teeth fall out then drop back in..
And well.. The Brat has been The Brat since the day he was born. The name was instituted when all the electronic appliances in the house flickered whenever he would cry as a newborn. He's grown up quite a bit since then, and the appliances and he have forgiven each other. He's still a lovable Brat though, in many a way. It's just that he's an older Brat now. For a while I've been pondering what his nickname would graduate or morph into as he grows.
Let us not forget that I'm a spic and therefore consider him a little Prince.
I considered The Brat Prince, but that was too Lestat-y and the kid is neither cool nor fang-y enough. The punchline of course is given away up there in the subject line. Bratexander the Great. Bratty AND Prince-y with none of the ruffles and fangs.
Annnndd... he just saw his first sunrise out on our fire escape. It was awesome. I hope, rather vainly I fear, that it's something he'll hold with him forever. He and I are sun worshipers by birth, just like our people before us. We're summer babies, Leos, and Incan. It's a triple whammy. His personal obsession with the sunrise though started about two weeks ago when we were discussing the colors of the sky and I mentioned that it could be pink and even orange in the morning when the sun was coming up. I promised to show him this, since he tends not to believe the things I say unless I prove them. So last night I put him in bed early, and promised him an early wake up call with hot chocolate involved. So when that first band of pink cracked at the night sky I shuffled him out on the fire escape and we just sorta stared in awe. Though.. that sun couldn't come up fast enough for his liking. All the while the sky was slowly lightening, he was complaining that the sun was taking foreeeevvveeeerrr..
In other news.. I can't type up what I was actually going to say, because it'd probably give away too much about his non-super hero identity and yes I'm still quite paranoid. But there are instruments o' music involved. Soo.. I'm trying to teach him to sing Jingle Bell Rock. The holidays are practically upon us after all.
-Angelwick
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Disney princess make it look easy
Last week I cleaned the house mostly from top to bottom. I've been making sure to tidy up a bit each day and o far I'm doing well. Everything is mostly clean again, and I've only been working for about an hour and a half. The worse part is sweeping and mopping. I have to save up a little money for a new broom and mop. The mop is on it's last leg, and I have no idea how old my broom is, it was here before I was.
I'm only taking a break to let the kitchen and the hall way floors dry. I sort of left my paper towels and my cleaner in the hall, and I'm not able to walk on my floor. I'd have to kill myself. I'd kill anyone else that stepped a toe on them.
Alight, so this is going to be a random change in topic but Angel's at his appointment and it's the first time since I moved here I haven't been with him. It makes me feel all the more useless and like I'm going to be replaced. I hate those feelings, but it's hard not to feel that way a little. I do everything around the house, I cook, I clean, I take care of the brat, and I try to keep my school work up to date. I'm failing to do that because I'm stuck on math, but that's beside the point. I feel like if Angel gets better, there will be no need for me. What else can I offer? I'm a house wife. It's what I do. I don't know if I do it well, but I do do it. I'm pretty good at cleaning, I'm okay at cooking, and I do an okay job with the Brat.
I don't want to be replaced, and no longer needed.
Last night I finally told him this, but I'm not sure he understands. That's okay I guess, but it's a little rough. To feel this way, and to worry about him at his appointment. I want him to get better. I do. I want him to stand by my side in everything that we want for ourselves. So am I allowed to be fearful? I don't have the answer to that.
I'm finally done with all the cleaning. I had to go take out trash and beat the cats up for trying to tear the bag open. Well. I'm tired and sweaty. I think I might take a shower.
- Punky
I'm only taking a break to let the kitchen and the hall way floors dry. I sort of left my paper towels and my cleaner in the hall, and I'm not able to walk on my floor. I'd have to kill myself. I'd kill anyone else that stepped a toe on them.
Alight, so this is going to be a random change in topic but Angel's at his appointment and it's the first time since I moved here I haven't been with him. It makes me feel all the more useless and like I'm going to be replaced. I hate those feelings, but it's hard not to feel that way a little. I do everything around the house, I cook, I clean, I take care of the brat, and I try to keep my school work up to date. I'm failing to do that because I'm stuck on math, but that's beside the point. I feel like if Angel gets better, there will be no need for me. What else can I offer? I'm a house wife. It's what I do. I don't know if I do it well, but I do do it. I'm pretty good at cleaning, I'm okay at cooking, and I do an okay job with the Brat.
I don't want to be replaced, and no longer needed.
Last night I finally told him this, but I'm not sure he understands. That's okay I guess, but it's a little rough. To feel this way, and to worry about him at his appointment. I want him to get better. I do. I want him to stand by my side in everything that we want for ourselves. So am I allowed to be fearful? I don't have the answer to that.
I'm finally done with all the cleaning. I had to go take out trash and beat the cats up for trying to tear the bag open. Well. I'm tired and sweaty. I think I might take a shower.
- Punky
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Bathtime laptop
I sort of need one. The bath is where I do my best thinking. When I'm soaking away the aches and pains in some hot water, I think of all the things I want to blog about. That's when I reach sudden clarity about my feelings, what I'm thinking about, etc. Of course, by the time I get out, dry off and run a brush through my hair it has all gone away.
It was a little overwhelming this morning to see all the updates on the many blogs I follow. And, it shamed me a little for not being better at this. It's not like I don't want to be, I just happen to fall into a lot of routine ruts and cycles. I'll see someone blog about something that inspires me and instead of being able to do the same, I'm off on a google hunt for a new camera so I can use it to blog with pictures. Not that when I had one I did much with it. I think it's just an excuse I make up, " Oh, I can't blog today, I don't have a digital camera. "
A few weeks ago I cooked with the brat. I took pictures of the steaks after seasoning them, and again after they were done. And I never posted them. I didn't think they looked good enough. So, I fear I'll always have an excuse not to get on here. It's because I feel like I don't have much worthy of sharing. I'm not a Martha Stewart type guru of cooking and crafts. I'm just a dreamer with too high standards.
It wasn't too long ago that Aine helped me make sense of those feelings, wanting to be the tv-prefect embodiment of something that doesn't really exist. Except, that I stubbornly do believe in the existence of those perfect people. My mother was one of them. She was a single mom with a spotless apartment, fabulous cooking skills, she could sew and knit, she taught me history, legends and myths and folklore. She could dance, and craft, and interpret dreams. She was as close to perfect as any human can get. When I walk around her neighborhood once a week I am stopped at least three times by random people who know her, who want to tell me how great she is.
So why can't I be more like her? Why can't I wake up at six thirty, do a little reading, bathe and dress, make breakfast for the brat and pack him off to school ? Why can't I follow that with cleaning and grocery shopping, and meal prepping and have her life? I rarely ever saw her do those things unless it was a weekend. She did it all behind the scenes like a magician. And still had time to go out, explore, etc.
Sure, part of it is that I'm sick. Hard to dance and cook and clean with too little blood and not enough air, but I always feel like she could have done it anyway. It's a very harsh standard. It also makes me feel like I won't get to do some of the grander things I want to do in life, if I can't so much as keep a blog and a neat home.
I think it should be called Cleaver Syndrome, and Aine should get royalties from it.
In other news, I will finally be seeing a hematologist tomorrow who will hopefully help me get healthy enough to strive for Perfect June-itis. After that, it's off to see Priest on Friday with Punky and The Raven. The theatre is close enough for us to go and get back all before the boys are out of school. Very convenient, that. To top it off, the weekend shall also be filled with much adventuring. It's officially Bronx Week, and there's much fun to be had. Trolleys, carnivals, canoes, and more.
I have to go make dinner now, but if someone pokes, prods, and reminds me, I'll blog a little more later.
-Angelwick
It was a little overwhelming this morning to see all the updates on the many blogs I follow. And, it shamed me a little for not being better at this. It's not like I don't want to be, I just happen to fall into a lot of routine ruts and cycles. I'll see someone blog about something that inspires me and instead of being able to do the same, I'm off on a google hunt for a new camera so I can use it to blog with pictures. Not that when I had one I did much with it. I think it's just an excuse I make up, " Oh, I can't blog today, I don't have a digital camera. "
A few weeks ago I cooked with the brat. I took pictures of the steaks after seasoning them, and again after they were done. And I never posted them. I didn't think they looked good enough. So, I fear I'll always have an excuse not to get on here. It's because I feel like I don't have much worthy of sharing. I'm not a Martha Stewart type guru of cooking and crafts. I'm just a dreamer with too high standards.
It wasn't too long ago that Aine helped me make sense of those feelings, wanting to be the tv-prefect embodiment of something that doesn't really exist. Except, that I stubbornly do believe in the existence of those perfect people. My mother was one of them. She was a single mom with a spotless apartment, fabulous cooking skills, she could sew and knit, she taught me history, legends and myths and folklore. She could dance, and craft, and interpret dreams. She was as close to perfect as any human can get. When I walk around her neighborhood once a week I am stopped at least three times by random people who know her, who want to tell me how great she is.
So why can't I be more like her? Why can't I wake up at six thirty, do a little reading, bathe and dress, make breakfast for the brat and pack him off to school ? Why can't I follow that with cleaning and grocery shopping, and meal prepping and have her life? I rarely ever saw her do those things unless it was a weekend. She did it all behind the scenes like a magician. And still had time to go out, explore, etc.
Sure, part of it is that I'm sick. Hard to dance and cook and clean with too little blood and not enough air, but I always feel like she could have done it anyway. It's a very harsh standard. It also makes me feel like I won't get to do some of the grander things I want to do in life, if I can't so much as keep a blog and a neat home.
I think it should be called Cleaver Syndrome, and Aine should get royalties from it.
In other news, I will finally be seeing a hematologist tomorrow who will hopefully help me get healthy enough to strive for Perfect June-itis. After that, it's off to see Priest on Friday with Punky and The Raven. The theatre is close enough for us to go and get back all before the boys are out of school. Very convenient, that. To top it off, the weekend shall also be filled with much adventuring. It's officially Bronx Week, and there's much fun to be had. Trolleys, carnivals, canoes, and more.
I have to go make dinner now, but if someone pokes, prods, and reminds me, I'll blog a little more later.
-Angelwick
Monday, April 25, 2011
Post-Weekend Catch Up..
It's that time of the week again...
Easter was a fantabulous success. The easter bunny was very generous this year, leaving The Brat an even bigger basket and over twenty filled eggs. He's got enough stickers to wallpaper a small house and an armload of silly bandz.
Lela was awesome while having us over, and very excited about getting in on the easter bunny fiction. We're a strange family, very proud to have told The Brat our first lie. Crazies we are.
Our window display has just come down. We managed to salvage the paper eggs, but the flowers had to be tossed. The sun had bleached them out and the tape just worsened the damage. Next up is our Mother's Day display, which is turning out to be lots of fun.
We have two windows in the kitchen, with two sections each. It's sort of like having four small windows. So.. what we're going to do is dedicate each one to a different fictional race. We had been busting our heads trying to come up with a Mother's Day display that didn't just recycle flowers. It had to be simple though, as we are not Macy's and will be making everything ourselves out of very cheap materials.
Weellll... I've been missing Star Trek lately, and we just finished watching Lord of the Rings.. so I asked Punky about doing something like " Elvish moms do it better". And she agreed. So far, we're going to dedicate one pane to Vulcans, one to Elves, and one to Vampires. We haven't figured out the last pane yet. Any ideas, Jeanne?
Now we just have to figure out what each pane will have in it to represent the race. For Vulcans it might be the ta'al, a starfleet insignia, and maybe a silhouette with pointy ears. For Vampires, fangs of course. I have no clue for Elves other than maybe butterflies and fairies. I'm sure Punky will help me come up with something.
Maybe instead of 'do it better' we'll use 'parent better'.
For our fire escape Punky picked up a lovely little birdhouse kit at Michael's. She put it together, and we'll see about hanging it up out there tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be lovely.
Also, I took pictures of the steaks the other night and forgot to post them up. Actually, I'm a little shy about putting them up because they look so plain. Meh. Maybe next time.
All in all it was a very good weekend. By this time next week my insurance will have kicked in and I might have news about trips to the doctor. For now, I'm off to seek more inspiration for our wacky window display.
-Angelwick
Easter was a fantabulous success. The easter bunny was very generous this year, leaving The Brat an even bigger basket and over twenty filled eggs. He's got enough stickers to wallpaper a small house and an armload of silly bandz.
Lela was awesome while having us over, and very excited about getting in on the easter bunny fiction. We're a strange family, very proud to have told The Brat our first lie. Crazies we are.
Our window display has just come down. We managed to salvage the paper eggs, but the flowers had to be tossed. The sun had bleached them out and the tape just worsened the damage. Next up is our Mother's Day display, which is turning out to be lots of fun.
We have two windows in the kitchen, with two sections each. It's sort of like having four small windows. So.. what we're going to do is dedicate each one to a different fictional race. We had been busting our heads trying to come up with a Mother's Day display that didn't just recycle flowers. It had to be simple though, as we are not Macy's and will be making everything ourselves out of very cheap materials.
Weellll... I've been missing Star Trek lately, and we just finished watching Lord of the Rings.. so I asked Punky about doing something like " Elvish moms do it better". And she agreed. So far, we're going to dedicate one pane to Vulcans, one to Elves, and one to Vampires. We haven't figured out the last pane yet. Any ideas, Jeanne?
Now we just have to figure out what each pane will have in it to represent the race. For Vulcans it might be the ta'al, a starfleet insignia, and maybe a silhouette with pointy ears. For Vampires, fangs of course. I have no clue for Elves other than maybe butterflies and fairies. I'm sure Punky will help me come up with something.
Maybe instead of 'do it better' we'll use 'parent better'.
For our fire escape Punky picked up a lovely little birdhouse kit at Michael's. She put it together, and we'll see about hanging it up out there tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be lovely.
Also, I took pictures of the steaks the other night and forgot to post them up. Actually, I'm a little shy about putting them up because they look so plain. Meh. Maybe next time.
All in all it was a very good weekend. By this time next week my insurance will have kicked in and I might have news about trips to the doctor. For now, I'm off to seek more inspiration for our wacky window display.
-Angelwick
Friday, April 22, 2011
A Humble Salute...
This one is Punky's purple Loli egg. Hence the cute little bow.
This is my menacing vampire fangy egg. As you can see, I have no artistic talent whatsoever.
This is Punky's polka dot egg. It's a very pretty shade of green.
Punky has arrived with food, so off I go.. more eggs later.
-Angelwick
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Sunshine!
Today is a sunny day! This means no rain pain, no dark and gloomy clouds. I got to sit out on my fire escape finally and enjoy the quiet of the morning before my neighborhood is truly awake. I even managed to talk my grumpy Punky into taking a picture with the laptop. So not a morning person, that one. Have I mentioned that before?
It's actually a really funny picture. I sort of wish that I could post it here, but I'm still trying to shake off a bit of paranoia regarding He Who Shall Not Be Named. I have taken to calling it The Family Portrait in my head, as all three of us are in it just a little bit. >.> Maybe I will put it up later...
Let The Brat sit out there with me. He likes it because it's a privilege and I like it because it's just the two of us for a little bit. Ninety-nine percent of the time the things we do together as a family are three of us kinds of things, but even so Punky and I both find little moments to call our own. Laundry time with her and The Brat is a two of them kind of sport, and fire escape time is a two of us kind of one.
Even Porthos got a bit of sunshine time today. He likes walking off the fire escape on to the awning for the floor below us. He even hops across the wall of the building and circles about to the bedroom windows if he's feeling adventurous. Again, it sucks to take pics with the computer itself, but we might try for some of him.
The Fire Escape was not as mystical today as it normally was. I felt a little sad, sitting out there wondering where the magic had gone. It turns out, it was just too early, and also, I was sitting too close to the wall. Since I want The Brat to be careful out there, I lead by example. He's tiny and built out of toothpicks. If he leaned over the railing the wrong way a strong gust of wind would carry him off Mary Poppins style. So, I sat where I wanted him to sit. Which... is not where I usually sit.
The magic of my fire escape is being able to lay out and look at the clouds. It's being able to see up both sides of the Boulevard and feel like you're on top of a hill. For this, you have to stand at the railing sometimes and lean out over it. I got my magic back once The Brat shuffled off to his local Spring Break Camp Thing. I even got Punky out there to sun her Psoriasis since that usually makes it feel a little better.
I feel like it needs a little sprucing up though. The year before last we tricked it out for Halloween, and last summer I had a mini-farm out there. So far this year it is very very clean thanks to Punky, but also very very empty. Any ideas on some niceties that are weather proof that maybe could live out there for a while?
Today is also Easter Egg Coloring Day. When The Brat gets back we'll have lunch, popcorn chicken and maybe some corn, and get to dipping some eggs. Since Punky and I only just got our first lesson on natural dyes, this year we'll be using a kit from a store. It comes with a brush, some sponges, two kinds of dyes in lots of colors, and about five different ways to decorate the eggs. Those we will definitely take pictures of for the blog.
Last night, steak dinner was a success. Unfortunately, my family pounced the dinner before anyone could take a picture. The forty dollar investment in the skirt steak was a very very wise one. The pack came with far more than we could tell, and was just the tenderest most melt in your mouth piece of meat ever. Yum! We paired it with roasted potatoes and some french bread. A little bit bad to not have some greens there, but we did have a salad earlier, does that still count?
So far, for our next shopping trip we'll need to stock up on more onions, tomatoes, broccoli, corn and possibly cauliflower. We're covered on chicken breast, skirt steak, turkey meatballs, and fish. Soon it'll be time to stock up on grilling essentials. I can't wait to buy our new charcoal grill this year. We have one picked out at The Fenceway Center. They've also got good sales on charcoal, which only leaves us food and lighter fluid to worry about.
I sort of envy Punky's family in Georgia since they can pretty much grill year round. I hope they've been able to plant the seeds we sent down for them.
We may or may not have another play-date with The Raven. This is the codename for our lovely neighbor, a play on her e-mail address. Before three kids and life took over, she used to be one of our goth-y brethren. Her boys are awesome. Not into crafting as we had been thinking of, but definitely into cooking, which is also tons of fun and sort of a craft itself.
Punky is being an adorable vampire. She usually shuns the sun, but since she knows it affects my mood she went ahead and opened all the curtains. It's as bright in my room as it is outside. Well... almost as soon as I started blogging, she just passed right out in all the sunshine. Silly thing. She didn't even take off her shoes.
Off I go to pounce..
-Angelwick.
Punky the vampire!
That would be Aramis beside her. Scientific Name : Getofficus Mylapicus
It's actually a really funny picture. I sort of wish that I could post it here, but I'm still trying to shake off a bit of paranoia regarding He Who Shall Not Be Named. I have taken to calling it The Family Portrait in my head, as all three of us are in it just a little bit. >.> Maybe I will put it up later...
Let The Brat sit out there with me. He likes it because it's a privilege and I like it because it's just the two of us for a little bit. Ninety-nine percent of the time the things we do together as a family are three of us kinds of things, but even so Punky and I both find little moments to call our own. Laundry time with her and The Brat is a two of them kind of sport, and fire escape time is a two of us kind of one.
Even Porthos got a bit of sunshine time today. He likes walking off the fire escape on to the awning for the floor below us. He even hops across the wall of the building and circles about to the bedroom windows if he's feeling adventurous. Again, it sucks to take pics with the computer itself, but we might try for some of him.
The Fire Escape was not as mystical today as it normally was. I felt a little sad, sitting out there wondering where the magic had gone. It turns out, it was just too early, and also, I was sitting too close to the wall. Since I want The Brat to be careful out there, I lead by example. He's tiny and built out of toothpicks. If he leaned over the railing the wrong way a strong gust of wind would carry him off Mary Poppins style. So, I sat where I wanted him to sit. Which... is not where I usually sit.
The magic of my fire escape is being able to lay out and look at the clouds. It's being able to see up both sides of the Boulevard and feel like you're on top of a hill. For this, you have to stand at the railing sometimes and lean out over it. I got my magic back once The Brat shuffled off to his local Spring Break Camp Thing. I even got Punky out there to sun her Psoriasis since that usually makes it feel a little better.
I feel like it needs a little sprucing up though. The year before last we tricked it out for Halloween, and last summer I had a mini-farm out there. So far this year it is very very clean thanks to Punky, but also very very empty. Any ideas on some niceties that are weather proof that maybe could live out there for a while?
Today is also Easter Egg Coloring Day. When The Brat gets back we'll have lunch, popcorn chicken and maybe some corn, and get to dipping some eggs. Since Punky and I only just got our first lesson on natural dyes, this year we'll be using a kit from a store. It comes with a brush, some sponges, two kinds of dyes in lots of colors, and about five different ways to decorate the eggs. Those we will definitely take pictures of for the blog.
Last night, steak dinner was a success. Unfortunately, my family pounced the dinner before anyone could take a picture. The forty dollar investment in the skirt steak was a very very wise one. The pack came with far more than we could tell, and was just the tenderest most melt in your mouth piece of meat ever. Yum! We paired it with roasted potatoes and some french bread. A little bit bad to not have some greens there, but we did have a salad earlier, does that still count?
So far, for our next shopping trip we'll need to stock up on more onions, tomatoes, broccoli, corn and possibly cauliflower. We're covered on chicken breast, skirt steak, turkey meatballs, and fish. Soon it'll be time to stock up on grilling essentials. I can't wait to buy our new charcoal grill this year. We have one picked out at The Fenceway Center. They've also got good sales on charcoal, which only leaves us food and lighter fluid to worry about.
I sort of envy Punky's family in Georgia since they can pretty much grill year round. I hope they've been able to plant the seeds we sent down for them.
We may or may not have another play-date with The Raven. This is the codename for our lovely neighbor, a play on her e-mail address. Before three kids and life took over, she used to be one of our goth-y brethren. Her boys are awesome. Not into crafting as we had been thinking of, but definitely into cooking, which is also tons of fun and sort of a craft itself.
Punky is being an adorable vampire. She usually shuns the sun, but since she knows it affects my mood she went ahead and opened all the curtains. It's as bright in my room as it is outside. Well... almost as soon as I started blogging, she just passed right out in all the sunshine. Silly thing. She didn't even take off her shoes.
Off I go to pounce..
-Angelwick.
Punky the vampire!
That would be Aramis beside her. Scientific Name : Getofficus Mylapicus
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Inspiration!
Having gotten such wonderful support from my bloggy fairy godmothers... I think that when I attempt to cook dinner tonight I will get Punky to help me take pictures with the webcam. It's usually a little tricky to hold the laptop in weird angles, but I think it'll be worth it.
Today was a good day. Sure, it's not over yet, but I need a little something to take my mind away from the pain and a bit of blogging just might do the trick. I'll apologize in advance if I take over anyone's reader list with multiple posts. Sorry. Being sick sucks.
In case any of you are wondering what I'm afflicted with, I'll run down the list. I have HMS. Which, rather unfortunately stands for Hypermobility Syndrome, rather than Husband Money Sex. Essentially, my ligaments are made of jello and do very little to keep my joints in place. I dislocate a lot of things, a lot of the time. However, dislocating something isn't really the worst of it. Of course it sucks to have your kneecap suddenly go on strike and dislocate, but the pain of that is very in the moment. It hurts when it pops, and it hurts when it's set. In between, honestly? Not so bad.
No, the sucky part of HMS is the pain when NOTHING is dislocated. I ache virtually every day. I was diagnosed when I was thirteen, and though the painfest wasn't daily back then, it did eventually become so. Rainy days are the worst. When I was a teenager I would scoff at people who said everything hurt worse on account of the weather, I didn't believe in the correlation between muscle, bone and temperature. Boy, am I paying for that now. I used to love walking in the rain, and much of the chagrin of anyone who knew me, I loved climbing trees in the rain and watching the storms above me.
Now I lay very still and wait for it all to go away. If it's one of the few days when I'm not contemplating suicide, I still like to peer out the window at the rain. It's a little bit of a double edged sword though, as it just serves to remind me that I can't be out there walking in it.
Speaking of walking, guess what I can't do a lot of? Sorry. I apologize now if the tone of this gets snappy or mean. Pain comes and goes in waves and at the moment there's little I can do about it. I try not to lash out, but if I'm honest I have admit that I fail at that a lot. Ever had one of those really bad headaches that makes every single thing annoying? That's sort of what it's like. Everything bothers me, the light, the dark, noise, quiet, everything. It is very frustrating, and as I'm always saying, I'm very young. I lack in a lot of things, including the ability to handle this like an adult.
So yes, before I got attitude-y.. Walking. Most days it's a challenge just to be mobile within the walls of my own home. Hence the dieting. It's very hard to maintain healthy weight when mobility is an issue. All the five minute work-outs in the world don't help if my limbs just won't cooperate.
On top of all that, I'm anemic. Annnnd... because I can never do things in half-measures, I'm not just a little anemic, I'm crazy anemic. At my lowest my hemoglobin count was 3.4. I've had doctors roll their eyes when I say this and tell me I couldn't be right, that if my blood was that low I'd be dead. Well, I'm not. Blood tests tend to shut them up. The last one I took though had my hemoglobin count at around 7. Much, much better. The goal number however is 13.
So.. about this hemoglobin stuff though.. it's kinda important. They're red blood cells, and they're supposed to carry oxygen about. Since there's not enough of them to go around, a simple trip to the bathroom or kitchen leaves me winded. Hella frustrating, and, very embarrassing. I can never bump into someone I know in the street and walk with them in the same direction because I can't keep up.
Last, but not least, the anemia has taken its toll on my heart. I haven't heard the final diagnosis on that though. Just that I'm almost always tachycardic, and in heart pain. This part is the scariest to those around me, since usually if you're around me when my heart is working double time you can see/feel it from afar. I can make furniture vibrate to the tune of my heart beat because it's pumping so hard to push the little blood I have around. It does this in my sleep a lot too.
Part of all of this is my fault. I was diagnosed with the HMS at thirteen. I spent three years seeing scores of specialists and surgeons and hospitals and anyone with a degree. That got old fast, so when I turned sixteen I said no more. I was spending more time in hospitals and doctors offices than at home or school. I couldn't deal, and then I had a very bad experience with my pediatrician. A story for another day, or maybe even just another post later today. I went without medical care for the next two and a half years, allowing everything else to crop up on me.
What happened was, I one day went to visit my Aunt and she talked a lot about my seeing a doctor, even offering to go with me. I could write for hours and never fully explain what this particular aunt meant to me, so just take it from me that she was important and when she spoke I listened. Even so, I was a little hesitant. So, she told me a truth I hadn't known. Earlier in the week I had been shopping at a very nice butcher shop in Ritzy Town. My mother ran into me there because she worked in the area. I remember this much. I was picking out meat and fish, and she asked if I was okay. I said I was fine. So, we said our goodbyes so she could get back to work, and she walked off leaving me to finish the shopping. Two minutes later, she came back to my side and asked if I really was okay and did I need help carrying my basket. I reassured her I was fine, and that I could handle the shopping as I did every week. She left again, and I carried on, not thinking much of it.
Apparently, she went to work and called my aunt crying hysterically. She told my aunt that I was going to die. That she'd thought I was just going to keel over right there at the butcher and die, and that secretly she had stayed behind to watch me in case I did.
My aunt told her she'd call me and check me out herself. That was how I eventually met unhelpful doctor number one. Three blood transfusions later, I can no longer just have blood transfused at a hospital. I have to warn doctors to 'wash' it, I believe the term was. An extra procedure that can take an extra day, because my body fights the blood transfusions and I just bleed them out. I am now very paranoid about getting into a car accident.
I quit on doctors again, off and on. Eventually I fall apart enough to have some caring loved one drag me in by my hair caveman style, but I still fight. I hate doctors like most people wouldn't believe. Someday I'll let Punky blog about my latest doctor, whose treatments included printing information from the internet and handing it to me. Ahahaha.. it's a wonder I'm still considered sane.
None of the above is conducive to parenting, but I've become an expert at gritting my teeth and enduring. Mostly, because doctors around here are worried about my age and my liver and therefore won't give me anything for the pain. I'm going to commit suicide someday with the healthiest liver in NYC.
So.. now I'll post this with my head hung in shame, because you'll see the monster I can be and possibly hate me for it.
I'm sorry.
-Angelwick
Today was a good day. Sure, it's not over yet, but I need a little something to take my mind away from the pain and a bit of blogging just might do the trick. I'll apologize in advance if I take over anyone's reader list with multiple posts. Sorry. Being sick sucks.
In case any of you are wondering what I'm afflicted with, I'll run down the list. I have HMS. Which, rather unfortunately stands for Hypermobility Syndrome, rather than Husband Money Sex. Essentially, my ligaments are made of jello and do very little to keep my joints in place. I dislocate a lot of things, a lot of the time. However, dislocating something isn't really the worst of it. Of course it sucks to have your kneecap suddenly go on strike and dislocate, but the pain of that is very in the moment. It hurts when it pops, and it hurts when it's set. In between, honestly? Not so bad.
No, the sucky part of HMS is the pain when NOTHING is dislocated. I ache virtually every day. I was diagnosed when I was thirteen, and though the painfest wasn't daily back then, it did eventually become so. Rainy days are the worst. When I was a teenager I would scoff at people who said everything hurt worse on account of the weather, I didn't believe in the correlation between muscle, bone and temperature. Boy, am I paying for that now. I used to love walking in the rain, and much of the chagrin of anyone who knew me, I loved climbing trees in the rain and watching the storms above me.
Now I lay very still and wait for it all to go away. If it's one of the few days when I'm not contemplating suicide, I still like to peer out the window at the rain. It's a little bit of a double edged sword though, as it just serves to remind me that I can't be out there walking in it.
Speaking of walking, guess what I can't do a lot of? Sorry. I apologize now if the tone of this gets snappy or mean. Pain comes and goes in waves and at the moment there's little I can do about it. I try not to lash out, but if I'm honest I have admit that I fail at that a lot. Ever had one of those really bad headaches that makes every single thing annoying? That's sort of what it's like. Everything bothers me, the light, the dark, noise, quiet, everything. It is very frustrating, and as I'm always saying, I'm very young. I lack in a lot of things, including the ability to handle this like an adult.
So yes, before I got attitude-y.. Walking. Most days it's a challenge just to be mobile within the walls of my own home. Hence the dieting. It's very hard to maintain healthy weight when mobility is an issue. All the five minute work-outs in the world don't help if my limbs just won't cooperate.
On top of all that, I'm anemic. Annnnd... because I can never do things in half-measures, I'm not just a little anemic, I'm crazy anemic. At my lowest my hemoglobin count was 3.4. I've had doctors roll their eyes when I say this and tell me I couldn't be right, that if my blood was that low I'd be dead. Well, I'm not. Blood tests tend to shut them up. The last one I took though had my hemoglobin count at around 7. Much, much better. The goal number however is 13.
So.. about this hemoglobin stuff though.. it's kinda important. They're red blood cells, and they're supposed to carry oxygen about. Since there's not enough of them to go around, a simple trip to the bathroom or kitchen leaves me winded. Hella frustrating, and, very embarrassing. I can never bump into someone I know in the street and walk with them in the same direction because I can't keep up.
Last, but not least, the anemia has taken its toll on my heart. I haven't heard the final diagnosis on that though. Just that I'm almost always tachycardic, and in heart pain. This part is the scariest to those around me, since usually if you're around me when my heart is working double time you can see/feel it from afar. I can make furniture vibrate to the tune of my heart beat because it's pumping so hard to push the little blood I have around. It does this in my sleep a lot too.
Part of all of this is my fault. I was diagnosed with the HMS at thirteen. I spent three years seeing scores of specialists and surgeons and hospitals and anyone with a degree. That got old fast, so when I turned sixteen I said no more. I was spending more time in hospitals and doctors offices than at home or school. I couldn't deal, and then I had a very bad experience with my pediatrician. A story for another day, or maybe even just another post later today. I went without medical care for the next two and a half years, allowing everything else to crop up on me.
What happened was, I one day went to visit my Aunt and she talked a lot about my seeing a doctor, even offering to go with me. I could write for hours and never fully explain what this particular aunt meant to me, so just take it from me that she was important and when she spoke I listened. Even so, I was a little hesitant. So, she told me a truth I hadn't known. Earlier in the week I had been shopping at a very nice butcher shop in Ritzy Town. My mother ran into me there because she worked in the area. I remember this much. I was picking out meat and fish, and she asked if I was okay. I said I was fine. So, we said our goodbyes so she could get back to work, and she walked off leaving me to finish the shopping. Two minutes later, she came back to my side and asked if I really was okay and did I need help carrying my basket. I reassured her I was fine, and that I could handle the shopping as I did every week. She left again, and I carried on, not thinking much of it.
Apparently, she went to work and called my aunt crying hysterically. She told my aunt that I was going to die. That she'd thought I was just going to keel over right there at the butcher and die, and that secretly she had stayed behind to watch me in case I did.
My aunt told her she'd call me and check me out herself. That was how I eventually met unhelpful doctor number one. Three blood transfusions later, I can no longer just have blood transfused at a hospital. I have to warn doctors to 'wash' it, I believe the term was. An extra procedure that can take an extra day, because my body fights the blood transfusions and I just bleed them out. I am now very paranoid about getting into a car accident.
I quit on doctors again, off and on. Eventually I fall apart enough to have some caring loved one drag me in by my hair caveman style, but I still fight. I hate doctors like most people wouldn't believe. Someday I'll let Punky blog about my latest doctor, whose treatments included printing information from the internet and handing it to me. Ahahaha.. it's a wonder I'm still considered sane.
None of the above is conducive to parenting, but I've become an expert at gritting my teeth and enduring. Mostly, because doctors around here are worried about my age and my liver and therefore won't give me anything for the pain. I'm going to commit suicide someday with the healthiest liver in NYC.
So.. now I'll post this with my head hung in shame, because you'll see the monster I can be and possibly hate me for it.
I'm sorry.
-Angelwick
Today is maybe going to shape up to be a good day
Angelwick seems to be feeling better, but I'm worried he's lying about it. I know I should just trust what he says, but I also know how much he wants to feel better, and the worrisome feelings come. I think for now, I'll take his word for it, and I'll wait to see if there's a fall out. He no longer wants to bite my head off, and that's a very good thing. And he's not pushing me out, also good.
On another note. Essays. Must go them. Math must do it. Go me!
Another note. Oven is sparkling. Fire escape is shiny, as are the windows. Later today I'll be doing more cleaning. For now though, I'm going to take a quick nap.
On another note. Essays. Must go them. Math must do it. Go me!
Another note. Oven is sparkling. Fire escape is shiny, as are the windows. Later today I'll be doing more cleaning. For now though, I'm going to take a quick nap.
Post-Weekend Catch Up..
The trip to Sleepy Hollow was amazing, and, all our fear of bad weather was for naught. Even though it was a cloudy/rainy day it was good because it thinned out the crowds. We saw the whole nine. There was a border collie demonstration that was hilarious.. and .. made me rethink my want of a dog a little bit.
A very nice upstate sheep farmer came to Phillipsburg Manor with four of his herding collies. Dot, Jen, Sweet and .. another one. Oops. He also had a small handful of sheep in a pen. First he did a lot of explaining of the border collie history. For example, his came from Wales, and had been bred for many many generations to sheep herd. The good of it being that they were amazing at it, the bad being that they weren't really good pets. The dogs have a hard time staying still. Which was hilarious, because the man couldn't get through more than a minute of explaining at a time for either their barking or Dot's running about.
So... he lets the sheep out of their pen and man, Dot goes wild. She is on them like white on rice. She is the FBI of border collies, the Big Brother of sheep. Never mind that they don't do much but roam a bit and she's got no commands yet. These sheep aren't getting away.
The farmer [ I wish I had caught his name ] got around to doing a few demo's and explained that to this day the words used for commands and still derived from gaelic. He can have the dogs bring the sheep in a counter clockwise direction by saying something that sounds like ' way by me ' and clockwise by saying ' come by '. He did this a few times, much to the exasperation of the young sheep who weren't used to herding yet and seemed to want him to make up his mind where they were going.
We also met some very nice cows, but I didn't get to commune with them as much because The Brat became bored by them after just mooing at them a couple of times. Ah.. the cows. Punky's favorite was a red and white one. I of course wanted to hug the one with the long pointy horns. Someday, I'll get around to telling you guys about the time I nearly electrocuted myself trying to hug a bull.
Very very nice ladies in colonial clothing held various demonstrations on wool, everything from picking it clean to spinning it on a wheel. Bonus lesson, flax. We also learned about natural dyes, and I now fear for our clothing. Punky's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when the nice ladies explained that to make the wool yellow they just boiled it some water with onion skins and daffodils. I fear any day now I will wake up to a yellow wardrobe. That aside, we're now keeping an eye out for a tree called Logwood. Apparently, when you grind up its dead or dying limbs it makes the prettiest purple color in the world. Punky's inner fashionista was very inspired.
Unfortunately, this trip was not the most stimulating for The Brat. He enjoyed looking at the animals well enough, but he's much more of a hands on kind of person, which I should have remembered. The clothing/wool demos weren't much fun for him.
We all did have an amazing lunch at The Horseman's Diner in town. Very good chicken tenders, and a surprisingly good quesadilla. We also took a small walk about town, but there wasn't too much to see that can't be seen at every other small NY town. So, we went back to the farm and picked up souvenirs for ourselves and the family.
Beyond our day there, yesterday the neighbor in need of a codename came by. I called to ask for her help moving a tv we were throwing out and she came baby and all. We had a nice neighborly chat, and are making plans for another movie date soon. Next up is The Kings Speech. I'll need to think of a snack to bring over. In the meantime, her boys are out of school same as our boy and Punky and I have been tearing our hair out trying to think of an excuse to invite them over. Not just an excuse really, but a craft or activity that they could enjoy.
Sadly, we have limited experience with teens as we were just recently teens ourselves. [ Or so we tell ourselves. ] There's one particular craft we have in mind, fairly cheap to gather the ingredients we don't have, and highly customizable. Here's hoping we work out the kinks and put it all together. We really love the neighbor lady's boys, as they are like the coolest kids ever.
Furthermore, as the greatest pick-me-up in the world... Punky cleaned out the fire escape last night while I napped. Yesterday was a bit of a crummy day as I'm struggling with health and depression. One leads to the other unfortunately, and while I wait around for my new insurance to kick in, I'm falling apart. Unfortunately, it's pretty deep dark hole I fall into when I do, and I tend to push everyone away. Punky was having none of it though, and fixed up my sanctuary for me. If the weather is nice tomorrow, I will drag the laptop out there and try for some pictures of it. I have been dying to share it with you guys after all.
Getting The Brat ready for his big day on the twentieth of next month has been slow but good. Since my paranoia has been up lately, I might be keeping mum about that for a bit. I don't need abusive exes finding stuff out.
Ummm.... Dieting.. Out the window for now. I can't diet and be depressed. I'm a big time stress eater, and comfort eater.. so.. yeah. The sooner I can kick this in the butt, the sooner I can get back to business.
Also.. I need a camera like nobodies business. I'm currently defrosting a huuuuuge skirt steak which I will be cutting into manageable pieces and cooking for the first time ever. Pictures must be taken of my culinary adventures. Maybe once I straighten out this weeks finances I can start saving pennies for another camera. I'd really like another Kodak, since the first one served me so well.
I think that's about it, except for a bit about Pirates. I'll save that for next time mateys.
Hungry Hungry Hippo,
-Angelwick
A very nice upstate sheep farmer came to Phillipsburg Manor with four of his herding collies. Dot, Jen, Sweet and .. another one. Oops. He also had a small handful of sheep in a pen. First he did a lot of explaining of the border collie history. For example, his came from Wales, and had been bred for many many generations to sheep herd. The good of it being that they were amazing at it, the bad being that they weren't really good pets. The dogs have a hard time staying still. Which was hilarious, because the man couldn't get through more than a minute of explaining at a time for either their barking or Dot's running about.
So... he lets the sheep out of their pen and man, Dot goes wild. She is on them like white on rice. She is the FBI of border collies, the Big Brother of sheep. Never mind that they don't do much but roam a bit and she's got no commands yet. These sheep aren't getting away.
The farmer [ I wish I had caught his name ] got around to doing a few demo's and explained that to this day the words used for commands and still derived from gaelic. He can have the dogs bring the sheep in a counter clockwise direction by saying something that sounds like ' way by me ' and clockwise by saying ' come by '. He did this a few times, much to the exasperation of the young sheep who weren't used to herding yet and seemed to want him to make up his mind where they were going.
We also met some very nice cows, but I didn't get to commune with them as much because The Brat became bored by them after just mooing at them a couple of times. Ah.. the cows. Punky's favorite was a red and white one. I of course wanted to hug the one with the long pointy horns. Someday, I'll get around to telling you guys about the time I nearly electrocuted myself trying to hug a bull.
Very very nice ladies in colonial clothing held various demonstrations on wool, everything from picking it clean to spinning it on a wheel. Bonus lesson, flax. We also learned about natural dyes, and I now fear for our clothing. Punky's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when the nice ladies explained that to make the wool yellow they just boiled it some water with onion skins and daffodils. I fear any day now I will wake up to a yellow wardrobe. That aside, we're now keeping an eye out for a tree called Logwood. Apparently, when you grind up its dead or dying limbs it makes the prettiest purple color in the world. Punky's inner fashionista was very inspired.
Unfortunately, this trip was not the most stimulating for The Brat. He enjoyed looking at the animals well enough, but he's much more of a hands on kind of person, which I should have remembered. The clothing/wool demos weren't much fun for him.
We all did have an amazing lunch at The Horseman's Diner in town. Very good chicken tenders, and a surprisingly good quesadilla. We also took a small walk about town, but there wasn't too much to see that can't be seen at every other small NY town. So, we went back to the farm and picked up souvenirs for ourselves and the family.
Beyond our day there, yesterday the neighbor in need of a codename came by. I called to ask for her help moving a tv we were throwing out and she came baby and all. We had a nice neighborly chat, and are making plans for another movie date soon. Next up is The Kings Speech. I'll need to think of a snack to bring over. In the meantime, her boys are out of school same as our boy and Punky and I have been tearing our hair out trying to think of an excuse to invite them over. Not just an excuse really, but a craft or activity that they could enjoy.
Sadly, we have limited experience with teens as we were just recently teens ourselves. [ Or so we tell ourselves. ] There's one particular craft we have in mind, fairly cheap to gather the ingredients we don't have, and highly customizable. Here's hoping we work out the kinks and put it all together. We really love the neighbor lady's boys, as they are like the coolest kids ever.
Furthermore, as the greatest pick-me-up in the world... Punky cleaned out the fire escape last night while I napped. Yesterday was a bit of a crummy day as I'm struggling with health and depression. One leads to the other unfortunately, and while I wait around for my new insurance to kick in, I'm falling apart. Unfortunately, it's pretty deep dark hole I fall into when I do, and I tend to push everyone away. Punky was having none of it though, and fixed up my sanctuary for me. If the weather is nice tomorrow, I will drag the laptop out there and try for some pictures of it. I have been dying to share it with you guys after all.
Getting The Brat ready for his big day on the twentieth of next month has been slow but good. Since my paranoia has been up lately, I might be keeping mum about that for a bit. I don't need abusive exes finding stuff out.
Ummm.... Dieting.. Out the window for now. I can't diet and be depressed. I'm a big time stress eater, and comfort eater.. so.. yeah. The sooner I can kick this in the butt, the sooner I can get back to business.
Also.. I need a camera like nobodies business. I'm currently defrosting a huuuuuge skirt steak which I will be cutting into manageable pieces and cooking for the first time ever. Pictures must be taken of my culinary adventures. Maybe once I straighten out this weeks finances I can start saving pennies for another camera. I'd really like another Kodak, since the first one served me so well.
I think that's about it, except for a bit about Pirates. I'll save that for next time mateys.
Hungry Hungry Hippo,
-Angelwick
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Slasher Flick Anyone?
Today, Punk and I are off to the local movie theatre to see Scream4.
Okay.. So I actually wanted to blog about other things. I was going to write a long post about Punky and her history. I also wanted to comment back to Aine and Jeanne, our elder fairy godmothers who are so full of good advice. [ Thank you ladies ! ]
However.. I feel like some sort of Debbie Downer. I don't want to be the one with the constant sob story in need of attention. Yes, I have a sob story, yes, Punky does too. We've learned and are still learning that we have just got to let go and carry on.
Unfortunately, we are still young. We're still in foot-stomping It's Not Fair mode. Like the average bratty teenager, we want to rage that no one understands. But we are not that young. We'll come back to it all when we can behave like the civilized adults that we would very much like to be.
In the meantime.... We had an awesome adult playdate yesterday. A dear neighbor and old friend of ours invited us over for movie watching and coffee. We brought over muffins and a good time was had by all. It has been very nice to reconnect with her, and I get the feeling I'll soon have to come up with a code name for her, lest our relationship expand and she become a regular character here.
Dieting has been a little tricky this week. Weekends are usually our off-days when we allow ourselves a little leniency but this week the weekend ran a little too long. Oh well, we'll pick up again. The food shopping was done, and we're stocked up on greens, tomatoes, chicken breast, fish, bread, and other goodies. The worst of it hasn't been hunger or even calorie counting, but the lack of a good home cooked meal. I have yet to figure out the secret behind being able to work with raw ingredients and calorie count. We're working on it though.
This weekend we're off to Sleepy Hollow for the Sheep to Shawl event and hoping for good weather. There's a chance of rain, but we're hoping it'll stay away. I'm all kinds of geared up for sheep! Seriously.. I might need therapy for how much I love me some sheep.
Tonight was parent-teacher conference. As usual, The Brat was all A's with only two B's. I'm happy, though admittedly concerned that he's apparently having trouble in his reading testing. Sure, his reading has come a long way, but he still has to be able to test well in order for his grades to reflect his progress. In happier news, he'll be taking part in more than one performance next month. Yay for school plays!
All in all, today was a good day. Good weather, good friends, good grades. The weekend will be a wonderful endcap to it all.
-Angelwick
PS -
-Aine,
Thank you so much for your words, and for the post on your own blog. It gave both Punky and I a lot to think about, and I've never been more glad that The Brat isn't allowed television at all. I've blogged once before about my own issues with wanting what was shown on television, but it wasn't until today and your post that I got a little bit better of a grip on how deep it went. Thank you.
-Jeanne,
Thank you too! You and Aine really are a special find for Punky and I. We need rather badly the wisdom of someone like yourself, as we're desperately lacking in family and elders amongst other things. In Laws are indeed a tricky thing, but I'm glad that your own experiences will shape your relationship with your DIL's. When the time comes for me to be an In Law, I too will strive to give The Brat's significant other a special relationship she or he can count on.
Soon I'll get around to telling Punky's story so that in the future it might be easier for the both of you to advise us. In the meantime, we're putting it all in a bubble and blowing it away.
Thank you again,
-Angelwick
Okay.. So I actually wanted to blog about other things. I was going to write a long post about Punky and her history. I also wanted to comment back to Aine and Jeanne, our elder fairy godmothers who are so full of good advice. [ Thank you ladies ! ]
However.. I feel like some sort of Debbie Downer. I don't want to be the one with the constant sob story in need of attention. Yes, I have a sob story, yes, Punky does too. We've learned and are still learning that we have just got to let go and carry on.
Unfortunately, we are still young. We're still in foot-stomping It's Not Fair mode. Like the average bratty teenager, we want to rage that no one understands. But we are not that young. We'll come back to it all when we can behave like the civilized adults that we would very much like to be.
In the meantime.... We had an awesome adult playdate yesterday. A dear neighbor and old friend of ours invited us over for movie watching and coffee. We brought over muffins and a good time was had by all. It has been very nice to reconnect with her, and I get the feeling I'll soon have to come up with a code name for her, lest our relationship expand and she become a regular character here.
Dieting has been a little tricky this week. Weekends are usually our off-days when we allow ourselves a little leniency but this week the weekend ran a little too long. Oh well, we'll pick up again. The food shopping was done, and we're stocked up on greens, tomatoes, chicken breast, fish, bread, and other goodies. The worst of it hasn't been hunger or even calorie counting, but the lack of a good home cooked meal. I have yet to figure out the secret behind being able to work with raw ingredients and calorie count. We're working on it though.
This weekend we're off to Sleepy Hollow for the Sheep to Shawl event and hoping for good weather. There's a chance of rain, but we're hoping it'll stay away. I'm all kinds of geared up for sheep! Seriously.. I might need therapy for how much I love me some sheep.
Tonight was parent-teacher conference. As usual, The Brat was all A's with only two B's. I'm happy, though admittedly concerned that he's apparently having trouble in his reading testing. Sure, his reading has come a long way, but he still has to be able to test well in order for his grades to reflect his progress. In happier news, he'll be taking part in more than one performance next month. Yay for school plays!
All in all, today was a good day. Good weather, good friends, good grades. The weekend will be a wonderful endcap to it all.
-Angelwick
PS -
-Aine,
Thank you so much for your words, and for the post on your own blog. It gave both Punky and I a lot to think about, and I've never been more glad that The Brat isn't allowed television at all. I've blogged once before about my own issues with wanting what was shown on television, but it wasn't until today and your post that I got a little bit better of a grip on how deep it went. Thank you.
-Jeanne,
Thank you too! You and Aine really are a special find for Punky and I. We need rather badly the wisdom of someone like yourself, as we're desperately lacking in family and elders amongst other things. In Laws are indeed a tricky thing, but I'm glad that your own experiences will shape your relationship with your DIL's. When the time comes for me to be an In Law, I too will strive to give The Brat's significant other a special relationship she or he can count on.
Soon I'll get around to telling Punky's story so that in the future it might be easier for the both of you to advise us. In the meantime, we're putting it all in a bubble and blowing it away.
Thank you again,
-Angelwick
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Georgia dreaming on a New York City fire escape...
It's a tiny lie. I haven't actually gotten out on to the fire escape yet. There's still a little cleaning up to do out there from last year's gardening. Also, it's been raining for what feels like weeks. Ordinarily though, that's where I do my dreaming. I get to be outside, in the buzz of the street but safely above at the same time. If I could, I would invite all you readers to join me out there on a sunny morning.
Sunny mornings are what I dream about on sunny mornings. I have an attachment to the sun. My mom thinks it's because I'm a Leo, I think it's because I'm part Inca. Whatever the reason, I'm like a cat, I turn into a gooey puddle wherever there is a patch of sun. Eventually, I'd like to upgrade from dreaming on my fire escape to dreaming on a porch, or a balcony, or even just in a nice grassy patch that I come to own.
Punky is from Georgia. Actually, she's sort of an all over southerner. She was conceived in South Carolina, born in North Carolina and raised primarily in Georgia. Georgia is still where her father lives, in the same white house at the bottom of a hill where she left him when she was packed in a car and taken away.
Last summer for the first time in ten plus years, she was able to go back. Of course, The Brat and I went with her. It turned out to be fun. For being a city person, I have always liked the country. Just one of those things I guess. Small town people long for the city, and city people long for the country.
I'd love to say that the reunion was wonderful and joyous, but that would be an overstatement. In true southern form, Punky's dad took her return from exile with the same enthusiasm that he applies towards the sun shining. He's just a laid back sort of dude.
Since that one time trip Punky and I have come to understand that his relaxedness about her return was not an offense or an insult, but just the natural reaction of a man that had always sort of held a place for her in his heart and home. Sort of. It all comes down to expectations again.
If I put myself in his shoes, if I imagined a world in which I had not seen or heard from The Brat in ten years I imagine that there would be many tears and much squishing of the kid. I also don't buy the BS that this is because I am housed in a chick body and therefore chicks cry. Sorry, I believe real men cry. I know they do.
So why the lack of emotions? We still don't actually know. Sure, we have a lot of thoughts and theories but nothing actually concrete.
The new wife, Punky's step-mom, says he's just a man and that's about it.
Punky's dad.. who sometimes goes by Batman.. is sixty years old. Is that too old to teach a dog a new trick? I initially say no, but that no sometimes changes to yes, and then the man surprises us with new tricks that put me back at square one.
Batman is complicated.
The part that Punky and I struggle with the most is that age-wise they are jumping in to that part of child/parent life that is tricky enough on it's own without throwing in kidnapping and other bits. As he grows older it will be her job to be the provider/care taker. This isn't a role she's ready for.
It's already horribly frustrating to her to have to be the voice of reason to her much older patriarch. He's sixty and she's twenty-five. In an ideal world she'd be sowing wild oats while he'd be the voice of reason. It would be his job as the dad to advise her about money, remind her to save and put away for a future, to pick her up when she was down and keep an eye on her health. Instead, it's the other way around. Her reunion with her father didn't allow for her to be the child she missed out on being. So far, she has been the educator.
Me? I have no patriarch. Mine happened to die when I was tiny because he was a foolish old man who was too old to be having babies. I love him, I do, but sometimes I hate him too. His absence in my life caused a lot of unpleasantness.
These new waters that we are navigating a little scary, and very .. I don't know the word.
It seems to turn out a lot that nothing is ever ideal. However, my own personal beliefs don't really allow for me to sit back and say oh well, that's how the cookie crumbles. I know that if I want something done, or to happen, I've got to help it along. I've got to put myself in it to get what I want out of it.
Unfortunately, I also haven't had the greatest of luck with In-Laws. Once bitten-twice shy kind of stuff. It'll be sort of a big deal to pour myself into these new In-Laws who may or may not be able to be shaped into something closer to ideal.
Mostly, it feels like Punky and I spend a lot of time stomping our feet and crying out It's Not Fair! It shows how young we are, not only in years but emotionally and spiritually.
So.. why the Georgia dreaming? Well, this year we won't be returning there. It's a very expensive trip to us of very limited funds. We'd probably spend about two thousand dollars to spend a month or so there, and sadly we wouldn't get much out of it. The way I was raised, you never stay in someone else's home, even if they're family, without pitching in. So, when we went to Georgia, I did a lot of grocery shopping, almost all the cooking, and Punky and I both even cleaned their home from top to bottom. Dude.. that's a story for another day.
Punky's dad on the other hand never so much as took one day off of work, save for the day he picked us up from the bus station. He ate the meals we prepared in his bedroom rather than say the kitchen or living room. And, most hurtful of all, he maintained the same day to day routine the whole time his only daughter was there. Which is to say he'd get home from work, shower, watch Days of Our lives, eat then head to bed.
The only exceptions were twice when Punky's brother came over to watch Nascar, and of course there was little talking or bonding as the race was on.
We just can't justify spending two grand on a vacation to the middle of nowhere a place where we essentially blend into the walls.
So what do we do? Do we try and shape them into a more loving ideal family? Or, is that wrong to do and should we just accept them as they are, flaws and all? After all, isn't that how family is supposed to be loved?
Bonus question to Aine, and Jeanne, obviously we'd both love your input and hope to receive it, but you've both also mentioned husbands, children, and grandchildren. As Punky and I have almost no males in our lives, would it be too forward to ask what their two cents might be? Could it really be a male thing to feel little towards a child that is taken away from you for ten years?
Punky is her father's only daughter, and she was parentally kidnapped by her mother. He never called the police, never organized any kind of a searched, and only sort of looked for her by getting into his car and driving around different states hoping to find her. ( Punky and I still don't really understand how this was supposed to work. ) When I first met Punky years ago, she had no hope of ever finding her family again. She didn't remember phone numbers, or addresses. I was the one who insisted they could be found. It took a couple of months, but we found her dad. She called, and left a message. He called back, and left a message, and finally, they got each other on the phone.
It took a little over a year before she actually laid eyes on him. Essentially, because that was how long it took to save up the money to get there. Neither of us has steady work. Her father did however. In that year though, he never offered to bring her home, he never saved up the money himself, and come to find out way later that he and his wife have some alcohol problems and were spending something like five hundred dollars a month on alcohol. All that money on alcohol, plus money on cigarettes, but no effort to either get to his daughter, or get his daughter to him.
What do you think, my dear Abby's?
-Angelwick
Sunny mornings are what I dream about on sunny mornings. I have an attachment to the sun. My mom thinks it's because I'm a Leo, I think it's because I'm part Inca. Whatever the reason, I'm like a cat, I turn into a gooey puddle wherever there is a patch of sun. Eventually, I'd like to upgrade from dreaming on my fire escape to dreaming on a porch, or a balcony, or even just in a nice grassy patch that I come to own.
Punky is from Georgia. Actually, she's sort of an all over southerner. She was conceived in South Carolina, born in North Carolina and raised primarily in Georgia. Georgia is still where her father lives, in the same white house at the bottom of a hill where she left him when she was packed in a car and taken away.
Last summer for the first time in ten plus years, she was able to go back. Of course, The Brat and I went with her. It turned out to be fun. For being a city person, I have always liked the country. Just one of those things I guess. Small town people long for the city, and city people long for the country.
I'd love to say that the reunion was wonderful and joyous, but that would be an overstatement. In true southern form, Punky's dad took her return from exile with the same enthusiasm that he applies towards the sun shining. He's just a laid back sort of dude.
Since that one time trip Punky and I have come to understand that his relaxedness about her return was not an offense or an insult, but just the natural reaction of a man that had always sort of held a place for her in his heart and home. Sort of. It all comes down to expectations again.
If I put myself in his shoes, if I imagined a world in which I had not seen or heard from The Brat in ten years I imagine that there would be many tears and much squishing of the kid. I also don't buy the BS that this is because I am housed in a chick body and therefore chicks cry. Sorry, I believe real men cry. I know they do.
So why the lack of emotions? We still don't actually know. Sure, we have a lot of thoughts and theories but nothing actually concrete.
The new wife, Punky's step-mom, says he's just a man and that's about it.
Punky's dad.. who sometimes goes by Batman.. is sixty years old. Is that too old to teach a dog a new trick? I initially say no, but that no sometimes changes to yes, and then the man surprises us with new tricks that put me back at square one.
Batman is complicated.
The part that Punky and I struggle with the most is that age-wise they are jumping in to that part of child/parent life that is tricky enough on it's own without throwing in kidnapping and other bits. As he grows older it will be her job to be the provider/care taker. This isn't a role she's ready for.
It's already horribly frustrating to her to have to be the voice of reason to her much older patriarch. He's sixty and she's twenty-five. In an ideal world she'd be sowing wild oats while he'd be the voice of reason. It would be his job as the dad to advise her about money, remind her to save and put away for a future, to pick her up when she was down and keep an eye on her health. Instead, it's the other way around. Her reunion with her father didn't allow for her to be the child she missed out on being. So far, she has been the educator.
Me? I have no patriarch. Mine happened to die when I was tiny because he was a foolish old man who was too old to be having babies. I love him, I do, but sometimes I hate him too. His absence in my life caused a lot of unpleasantness.
These new waters that we are navigating a little scary, and very .. I don't know the word.
It seems to turn out a lot that nothing is ever ideal. However, my own personal beliefs don't really allow for me to sit back and say oh well, that's how the cookie crumbles. I know that if I want something done, or to happen, I've got to help it along. I've got to put myself in it to get what I want out of it.
Unfortunately, I also haven't had the greatest of luck with In-Laws. Once bitten-twice shy kind of stuff. It'll be sort of a big deal to pour myself into these new In-Laws who may or may not be able to be shaped into something closer to ideal.
Mostly, it feels like Punky and I spend a lot of time stomping our feet and crying out It's Not Fair! It shows how young we are, not only in years but emotionally and spiritually.
So.. why the Georgia dreaming? Well, this year we won't be returning there. It's a very expensive trip to us of very limited funds. We'd probably spend about two thousand dollars to spend a month or so there, and sadly we wouldn't get much out of it. The way I was raised, you never stay in someone else's home, even if they're family, without pitching in. So, when we went to Georgia, I did a lot of grocery shopping, almost all the cooking, and Punky and I both even cleaned their home from top to bottom. Dude.. that's a story for another day.
Punky's dad on the other hand never so much as took one day off of work, save for the day he picked us up from the bus station. He ate the meals we prepared in his bedroom rather than say the kitchen or living room. And, most hurtful of all, he maintained the same day to day routine the whole time his only daughter was there. Which is to say he'd get home from work, shower, watch Days of Our lives, eat then head to bed.
The only exceptions were twice when Punky's brother came over to watch Nascar, and of course there was little talking or bonding as the race was on.
We just can't justify spending two grand on a vacation to the middle of nowhere a place where we essentially blend into the walls.
So what do we do? Do we try and shape them into a more loving ideal family? Or, is that wrong to do and should we just accept them as they are, flaws and all? After all, isn't that how family is supposed to be loved?
Bonus question to Aine, and Jeanne, obviously we'd both love your input and hope to receive it, but you've both also mentioned husbands, children, and grandchildren. As Punky and I have almost no males in our lives, would it be too forward to ask what their two cents might be? Could it really be a male thing to feel little towards a child that is taken away from you for ten years?
Punky is her father's only daughter, and she was parentally kidnapped by her mother. He never called the police, never organized any kind of a searched, and only sort of looked for her by getting into his car and driving around different states hoping to find her. ( Punky and I still don't really understand how this was supposed to work. ) When I first met Punky years ago, she had no hope of ever finding her family again. She didn't remember phone numbers, or addresses. I was the one who insisted they could be found. It took a couple of months, but we found her dad. She called, and left a message. He called back, and left a message, and finally, they got each other on the phone.
It took a little over a year before she actually laid eyes on him. Essentially, because that was how long it took to save up the money to get there. Neither of us has steady work. Her father did however. In that year though, he never offered to bring her home, he never saved up the money himself, and come to find out way later that he and his wife have some alcohol problems and were spending something like five hundred dollars a month on alcohol. All that money on alcohol, plus money on cigarettes, but no effort to either get to his daughter, or get his daughter to him.
What do you think, my dear Abby's?
-Angelwick
In Sickness and In Health, through Mad Mad House and Sister Wives, forever and ever, Amen.
Thank God that Punky and I don't have a television. We'd never be able to watch anything and would live under a rock.
Actually, we don't own a television because The Brat has Fatal TV Brain Syndrome. Essentially, if you turn a television on anywhere within twenty feet of him, his brain puddles and pours out of his ears. It's a sad sad thing to see. No.. Really, the kid will freeze in his tracks, his eyes will glaze over, and he will be gone. I can't stand it. He's so vibrant and chock full of energy that it's nerve wracking to see him turn into a zombie in the presence of a tv screen. What's further scary? This will still happen even if there is nothing for him to look at on said screen. He blanks out at static.
Also.. Punky and I talk too much during tv time. Thankfully, since we only ever watch stuff on the computer, this is not so much of a problem. We can always hit the pause button and dissect whatever issue we just had with whatever episode/movie/thing is playing, then hit play again and pick up where we left off.
It's not that we don't like tv, it's just that we have so much to say about it. A. Punky hasn't had anyone to talk to about anything, let alone tv, for years before meeting me. B. I can talk the hind leg off a mule. C. We're talkers. We just are. No discussion is off limits. We just talk and talk and talk and talk. When that's not enough, we make up things to talk about. I play the Devil's Advocate. She spins of impossible scenarios, we are never without something to discuss, twist, and discuss again.
This is especially fun because Punky can figure out an episode of any show on tv two minutes after the credits are over. Killer? She knows who did it. Death? She knows why. Baby? She knows who the father is and when the conception happened. Bam. She just knows. I would think she could never enjoy tv, but she does. If I had it all figured out that fast, I could never sit around and watch a whole episode. What would be the point? She says, it's just always been that way.
Me? I can never figure anything out. I'm always surprised, even when it's obvious. On the flip side, I'm so freaking fussy about tv. I don't do week to week episodes. I wait until a season is over and then watch it all in one sitting. Drives Punky up a wall. She's a slave to commercials. Not me. I don't do cliffhangers. ( Back me up here Aine! )
So, we never watch anything current. Nothing is ever done enough, and also.. we hate anything that's too popular. This is some childish aversion to the mainstream that we still battle apparently. If too many people like something, we just don't touch it. It's too cool for us. So we wait five years till it's no longer cool, then we watch and drool.
Case in point, Mad Mad House. This thing is from like 2004 man. We're only now watching it. Now.. the premise is cool, but the delivery is so hoke-y... there are no words. Just.. none... Except maybe some expletives.
Here's the set-up that got us interested. It's a reality show. Ten contestants are chosen to live in a house. They are all average run-of-the-mill normal people. Their judges? Not so much. They're called Alts, and are supposed to be from alternative walks of life.
That was all we knew when we started looking for a streaming version of it. We didn't read the Wiki or anything in case of spoilers.
The Alts turn out to be one vampire, one witch, one voodoo priestess, one naturist, and one modern primitive.
Turns out, we know the vampire. Not personally or anything, we've just seen him on tv before. He's called The Vampire Don. Already, I am in stitches. Sorry.. my inner twelve year old says that no vampire can be called 'Don'. No way man, vampires have to be cool, and Don is not cool. My inner Jedi says that a name is just a name, and a vampire can be a Don if he was born that way. The twelve year old won. If you are a vampire your name has got to be something cool. Like Dracula, or Lestat, or.. something cooler than Don. Also... Don is cheesy. Soooo cheesy. He does a little vampire turn on the catwalk.. on the catwalk.. yeah he does his little turn on the catwalk.
The witch turns out to be a lady called Fiona Horne. I had never previously heard of her, but it gets mentioned that she's written six books and is sort of a big deal. I wanted so badly to like her. I just wanted so badly for witch craft to be represented awesomely on tv. She did okay at first. She was a bright perky blonde, all smiles. This was awesome, as Don had already cornered the market on dark and goth-y. Unfortunately, through out the course of the show she turns out to be a disappointment.
I would like to make one tiny note though. I am very aware that no brand of religion makes anyone completely invulnerable. It's all just about expectations with me.
I feel that if you are going to be the sort of witch that writes six books and tries to educate other people, that you've got to be smart enough not to be made to look like a fool on television. A. She falls for lies. Now.. anyone could be lied to, but she makes a big deal out of tarot reading and whatnot. Surely there should be a hint in the cards somewhere for her. B. She hosts a ritual/trial thing, as it is an elimination/competition sort of show, and she shows up dressed like the w-word.
Seriously. She's got on a white plastic porn looking thing on with a pentacle cut out at her midriff. Also,she's wearing a robe out of Candice Michelle's closet. She looks like a porno-y wrestler skanky thing. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Why would you do that to twelve million witches across the world?!?!?!?!?!? Dude.. if I was actually a Wiccan, I would have either sued or killed her.
The best part is when she whips out this awesome looking sword and quotes from The Craft. Even Punky kersploded and she was all on the bandwagon of ' A witch can dress like a whore if she wants to.' Now, Punky will admit that the people behind the movie did their research and stole from actual witches, but even she will admit that maybe it's time to step away from the ' Better to rush upon this blade...' speech.
I think a lot of the frustration Punky and I felt with the cast of Alts had to do with responsibility. Neither of us are people that grab labels and try to represent them, because to do that is essentially to speak for so many other people. I think it takes some kind of balls to be the hokey person who says ' I'm going to embody the dark goddess for a bit ' and follow it up by putting on a black bikini top and leather pants. Why? Why does the dark goddess wear black leather pants? Wouldn't the imagery and the impact be better served by being truly dark? If I were to be a dark anything, I wouldn't announce it from the rooftops with my garb. I'd most likely be the rosy-cheeked innocent in a white dress. Why? Because then you'd never see the darkness coming. Like a snake camouflaged in the grass, you'd have the advantage.
Same goes for Don. Gah.. just.. argh.
Art was the coolest Alt. He was the modern primitive. He was also the quiet one. He did a lot of watching and listening, and oddly enough, had better instincts/intuition than both the witch and the voodoo priestess.
Avocado was also cool. He was the naturist, but he had a very nice smile, and was very laid back.
Ta'Shia was the voodoo priestess, and other than one or two things, she was also very awesome to watch. I have very great admiration for Voodoo as a religion. Living in NYC my exposure to it started very young, and I was always fascinated by a religion that placed the bulk of its power in women. At the time I was being raised in the Pentecostal church, a place that was rarely friendly to women in positions of power. I loved that Ta'Shia took great pride in her appearance, it rang very true to me and reminded me of all the beautiful cuban priestesses in my neighborhood and their bright white dresses.
This show is so funny. It promises the contestants one hundred thousand dollars, but the Alts immediately dislike anyone who actually wants to win the money. Like they're not supposed to be competitive for cash. Psh.
Then there's Big Love. The last season is over, but we haven't finished watching it because we're so ADD. It deals with a polygamist mormon family. One husband, three wives, and a bunch of kids. That show is a roller coaster, and spawns the most discussion between myself and Punky. For starters, I believe in polygamy. Just not in the religious kind. I don't really think that people were built or wired for monogamy. Can it be accomplished? Of course, but it's more a matter of will than of instinct. At least, that's how I feel.
Punky believes in Polygamy theoretically. She thinks it can work, and that it could be awesome. It would stick some of the community back in family life. However, she is not a sharer, so there shall be no third and fourth wife to help with the cooking and cleaning in our house.
The polygamy in Big Love is all kinds of jacked up. Bill, the man/dad/priesthood holder gets to have three wives. He has sex with them individually according to a schedule that the sister wives put together. What about them? According to the beliefs/rules in the show, they are all married to each other. So technically, the wives are married to each other, not just to Bill. Yet, Suppose Bill is with wife three, wives one and two can't hop into bed together. Why not? They're married, they love each other, they raise their kids together, budget together, worship together, why can't they keep each other warm on lonely nights?
Okay, so I'm not just talking about warmth here, I am discussing sex. How come two women can be married, but can't have sex? They only share a bed with their husband every third night. It doesn't seem fair. Of course, in their particular cases, these women don't seem to want that anyway, but.. to me, it's the principle of the matter.
I feel that women are a wondrous thing. They're special, and the bonds they can have with each other can be so.. awesome, for lack of a better word. It's not like I'm just sitting around thinking about the hot lesbian factor, honestly. I just enjoy seeing the nurturing nature of women, and love seeing it multiplied. Women that dissolve the barriers of society and propriety.. they become something else. I think of how amazing it would be to be raised by such women. Even to be loved by such women.
There shall be more on Big Love, and on Fiona and Don.. but my time is up. I didn't even get to blog about the in sickness and in health part.. more reminders please.
However, tis late.
-Angelwick
Actually, we don't own a television because The Brat has Fatal TV Brain Syndrome. Essentially, if you turn a television on anywhere within twenty feet of him, his brain puddles and pours out of his ears. It's a sad sad thing to see. No.. Really, the kid will freeze in his tracks, his eyes will glaze over, and he will be gone. I can't stand it. He's so vibrant and chock full of energy that it's nerve wracking to see him turn into a zombie in the presence of a tv screen. What's further scary? This will still happen even if there is nothing for him to look at on said screen. He blanks out at static.
Also.. Punky and I talk too much during tv time. Thankfully, since we only ever watch stuff on the computer, this is not so much of a problem. We can always hit the pause button and dissect whatever issue we just had with whatever episode/movie/thing is playing, then hit play again and pick up where we left off.
It's not that we don't like tv, it's just that we have so much to say about it. A. Punky hasn't had anyone to talk to about anything, let alone tv, for years before meeting me. B. I can talk the hind leg off a mule. C. We're talkers. We just are. No discussion is off limits. We just talk and talk and talk and talk. When that's not enough, we make up things to talk about. I play the Devil's Advocate. She spins of impossible scenarios, we are never without something to discuss, twist, and discuss again.
This is especially fun because Punky can figure out an episode of any show on tv two minutes after the credits are over. Killer? She knows who did it. Death? She knows why. Baby? She knows who the father is and when the conception happened. Bam. She just knows. I would think she could never enjoy tv, but she does. If I had it all figured out that fast, I could never sit around and watch a whole episode. What would be the point? She says, it's just always been that way.
Me? I can never figure anything out. I'm always surprised, even when it's obvious. On the flip side, I'm so freaking fussy about tv. I don't do week to week episodes. I wait until a season is over and then watch it all in one sitting. Drives Punky up a wall. She's a slave to commercials. Not me. I don't do cliffhangers. ( Back me up here Aine! )
So, we never watch anything current. Nothing is ever done enough, and also.. we hate anything that's too popular. This is some childish aversion to the mainstream that we still battle apparently. If too many people like something, we just don't touch it. It's too cool for us. So we wait five years till it's no longer cool, then we watch and drool.
Case in point, Mad Mad House. This thing is from like 2004 man. We're only now watching it. Now.. the premise is cool, but the delivery is so hoke-y... there are no words. Just.. none... Except maybe some expletives.
Here's the set-up that got us interested. It's a reality show. Ten contestants are chosen to live in a house. They are all average run-of-the-mill normal people. Their judges? Not so much. They're called Alts, and are supposed to be from alternative walks of life.
That was all we knew when we started looking for a streaming version of it. We didn't read the Wiki or anything in case of spoilers.
The Alts turn out to be one vampire, one witch, one voodoo priestess, one naturist, and one modern primitive.
Turns out, we know the vampire. Not personally or anything, we've just seen him on tv before. He's called The Vampire Don. Already, I am in stitches. Sorry.. my inner twelve year old says that no vampire can be called 'Don'. No way man, vampires have to be cool, and Don is not cool. My inner Jedi says that a name is just a name, and a vampire can be a Don if he was born that way. The twelve year old won. If you are a vampire your name has got to be something cool. Like Dracula, or Lestat, or.. something cooler than Don. Also... Don is cheesy. Soooo cheesy. He does a little vampire turn on the catwalk.. on the catwalk.. yeah he does his little turn on the catwalk.
The witch turns out to be a lady called Fiona Horne. I had never previously heard of her, but it gets mentioned that she's written six books and is sort of a big deal. I wanted so badly to like her. I just wanted so badly for witch craft to be represented awesomely on tv. She did okay at first. She was a bright perky blonde, all smiles. This was awesome, as Don had already cornered the market on dark and goth-y. Unfortunately, through out the course of the show she turns out to be a disappointment.
I would like to make one tiny note though. I am very aware that no brand of religion makes anyone completely invulnerable. It's all just about expectations with me.
I feel that if you are going to be the sort of witch that writes six books and tries to educate other people, that you've got to be smart enough not to be made to look like a fool on television. A. She falls for lies. Now.. anyone could be lied to, but she makes a big deal out of tarot reading and whatnot. Surely there should be a hint in the cards somewhere for her. B. She hosts a ritual/trial thing, as it is an elimination/competition sort of show, and she shows up dressed like the w-word.
Seriously. She's got on a white plastic porn looking thing on with a pentacle cut out at her midriff. Also,she's wearing a robe out of Candice Michelle's closet. She looks like a porno-y wrestler skanky thing. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Why would you do that to twelve million witches across the world?!?!?!?!?!? Dude.. if I was actually a Wiccan, I would have either sued or killed her.
The best part is when she whips out this awesome looking sword and quotes from The Craft. Even Punky kersploded and she was all on the bandwagon of ' A witch can dress like a whore if she wants to.' Now, Punky will admit that the people behind the movie did their research and stole from actual witches, but even she will admit that maybe it's time to step away from the ' Better to rush upon this blade...' speech.
I think a lot of the frustration Punky and I felt with the cast of Alts had to do with responsibility. Neither of us are people that grab labels and try to represent them, because to do that is essentially to speak for so many other people. I think it takes some kind of balls to be the hokey person who says ' I'm going to embody the dark goddess for a bit ' and follow it up by putting on a black bikini top and leather pants. Why? Why does the dark goddess wear black leather pants? Wouldn't the imagery and the impact be better served by being truly dark? If I were to be a dark anything, I wouldn't announce it from the rooftops with my garb. I'd most likely be the rosy-cheeked innocent in a white dress. Why? Because then you'd never see the darkness coming. Like a snake camouflaged in the grass, you'd have the advantage.
Same goes for Don. Gah.. just.. argh.
Art was the coolest Alt. He was the modern primitive. He was also the quiet one. He did a lot of watching and listening, and oddly enough, had better instincts/intuition than both the witch and the voodoo priestess.
Avocado was also cool. He was the naturist, but he had a very nice smile, and was very laid back.
Ta'Shia was the voodoo priestess, and other than one or two things, she was also very awesome to watch. I have very great admiration for Voodoo as a religion. Living in NYC my exposure to it started very young, and I was always fascinated by a religion that placed the bulk of its power in women. At the time I was being raised in the Pentecostal church, a place that was rarely friendly to women in positions of power. I loved that Ta'Shia took great pride in her appearance, it rang very true to me and reminded me of all the beautiful cuban priestesses in my neighborhood and their bright white dresses.
This show is so funny. It promises the contestants one hundred thousand dollars, but the Alts immediately dislike anyone who actually wants to win the money. Like they're not supposed to be competitive for cash. Psh.
Then there's Big Love. The last season is over, but we haven't finished watching it because we're so ADD. It deals with a polygamist mormon family. One husband, three wives, and a bunch of kids. That show is a roller coaster, and spawns the most discussion between myself and Punky. For starters, I believe in polygamy. Just not in the religious kind. I don't really think that people were built or wired for monogamy. Can it be accomplished? Of course, but it's more a matter of will than of instinct. At least, that's how I feel.
Punky believes in Polygamy theoretically. She thinks it can work, and that it could be awesome. It would stick some of the community back in family life. However, she is not a sharer, so there shall be no third and fourth wife to help with the cooking and cleaning in our house.
The polygamy in Big Love is all kinds of jacked up. Bill, the man/dad/priesthood holder gets to have three wives. He has sex with them individually according to a schedule that the sister wives put together. What about them? According to the beliefs/rules in the show, they are all married to each other. So technically, the wives are married to each other, not just to Bill. Yet, Suppose Bill is with wife three, wives one and two can't hop into bed together. Why not? They're married, they love each other, they raise their kids together, budget together, worship together, why can't they keep each other warm on lonely nights?
Okay, so I'm not just talking about warmth here, I am discussing sex. How come two women can be married, but can't have sex? They only share a bed with their husband every third night. It doesn't seem fair. Of course, in their particular cases, these women don't seem to want that anyway, but.. to me, it's the principle of the matter.
I feel that women are a wondrous thing. They're special, and the bonds they can have with each other can be so.. awesome, for lack of a better word. It's not like I'm just sitting around thinking about the hot lesbian factor, honestly. I just enjoy seeing the nurturing nature of women, and love seeing it multiplied. Women that dissolve the barriers of society and propriety.. they become something else. I think of how amazing it would be to be raised by such women. Even to be loved by such women.
There shall be more on Big Love, and on Fiona and Don.. but my time is up. I didn't even get to blog about the in sickness and in health part.. more reminders please.
However, tis late.
-Angelwick
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Questions. A deep throughful and painful release.
I've been dealing with a lot of stuff recently, and it seems that all of it stems from deeply rooted emotional place. My life isn't easy, it might not be the most horrible life ever, but it is not easy for me. I have so many problems and sometimes it feels I have no where to vent, ramble, rant or find help for them. Angelwick is my only line of defense against everything that boils inside of me and he wants so desperately to help but every once and a while falls a very short. Not because he's inadequate or lacking but because he doesn't have all the answers. I doubt anyone does.
Lately, I'm been questioning myself a lot about my beliefs, and I don't know if I know what I believe in any more. When it comes to belief and faith, and the ability to be blessed or touched by what you believe, I use to be very gifted. I promise I'm not trying to blow my own horn or be holier then now, I'm just telling the truth. I believe wholeheartedly in what I follow when I follow, and so strongly that I normally am touched by something more knowing then myself and form connections with it. It's startling when I think about it, but that doesn't make it any less true. I have had results with the craft that would knock your socks off. I have been able to predict things, weave spells beautifully from my own words, and heal when it's truly needed and touch many lives. I rarely talk about it because I don't want people to think I'm showboating when I'm not but it doesn't change the truth I feel and know in my heart. I was touched.
Here lately though, when I think of all the harm that's been done against me, and the pain I've lived through because of my own flesh and blood, a woman who also worked the craft but lied about her intentions, I'm shocked that the three fold law or that the higher power or whatever you wish to call it, hasn't come down on her and wiped her out.
I've lost faith, I've lost what made me blessed, because I wasn't protected from her.
I was raised Christian, Southern baptist actually, and then switched to Pentecostal because of my parents. I always fit very well in both, and then when I was older and found that I had a choice, I found myself drawn to Wicca. At first that is. Then I found Wicca didn't fit me, and found other crafts that weren't so cut and dry. I have my own beliefs. I hold to them. Sometimes they are very weird and I doubt that many people would be able to understand them but they seem to sometimes work for me. Or they use to.
The problems being, I'm stuck between them, between the Christian up bringing and the love I have for their God, and the love I have for Magic and everything dealing with the craft. Sometimes I don't think you can mix the two, and because they have both failed me. I want to scream at the heavens and find out why my mother is allowed to do such great harm to me, and everyone I love but have a happy little life with a new husband and friends who care for her. I want to know why the Christian God has failed me, and why the craft hasn't taken her out. I don't dwell on it too much. Not normally. But.. Recently I learned even more horrible things about her. I don't know if I can forgive myself, let alone the ones who let this happen, and the ones who haven't done anything to her.
I'm still a victim. I'm still a kidnapped little girl, whose has learned under the nail of an evil, evil woman who told such great lies that I've never ever know what's real, fake or who I even am. I still deal with the falling out of Stockholm Syndrome I didn't even know I had until two years back. I have been twisted, broken and I'm not.. I don't know what I am or what I am not. I wish I could break free and be able to do what needs to be done to her. Of course, I'm not talking about bodily harm, though I want to punch her some days, but legally.
I don't think I've reached the point where I can do anything myself, but I have also reached the point where I want something to be done. I want her to know that she can't keep getting away with her evil. And I want to know what I was so touched, so blessed with far reaching power, that I feel so abandoned by those I believe in.
That doesn't stop the questions. Or the wanting, longing for answers. I am a victim but I hope one day I'm free.
- From Punky with love.
Lately, I'm been questioning myself a lot about my beliefs, and I don't know if I know what I believe in any more. When it comes to belief and faith, and the ability to be blessed or touched by what you believe, I use to be very gifted. I promise I'm not trying to blow my own horn or be holier then now, I'm just telling the truth. I believe wholeheartedly in what I follow when I follow, and so strongly that I normally am touched by something more knowing then myself and form connections with it. It's startling when I think about it, but that doesn't make it any less true. I have had results with the craft that would knock your socks off. I have been able to predict things, weave spells beautifully from my own words, and heal when it's truly needed and touch many lives. I rarely talk about it because I don't want people to think I'm showboating when I'm not but it doesn't change the truth I feel and know in my heart. I was touched.
Here lately though, when I think of all the harm that's been done against me, and the pain I've lived through because of my own flesh and blood, a woman who also worked the craft but lied about her intentions, I'm shocked that the three fold law or that the higher power or whatever you wish to call it, hasn't come down on her and wiped her out.
I've lost faith, I've lost what made me blessed, because I wasn't protected from her.
I was raised Christian, Southern baptist actually, and then switched to Pentecostal because of my parents. I always fit very well in both, and then when I was older and found that I had a choice, I found myself drawn to Wicca. At first that is. Then I found Wicca didn't fit me, and found other crafts that weren't so cut and dry. I have my own beliefs. I hold to them. Sometimes they are very weird and I doubt that many people would be able to understand them but they seem to sometimes work for me. Or they use to.
The problems being, I'm stuck between them, between the Christian up bringing and the love I have for their God, and the love I have for Magic and everything dealing with the craft. Sometimes I don't think you can mix the two, and because they have both failed me. I want to scream at the heavens and find out why my mother is allowed to do such great harm to me, and everyone I love but have a happy little life with a new husband and friends who care for her. I want to know why the Christian God has failed me, and why the craft hasn't taken her out. I don't dwell on it too much. Not normally. But.. Recently I learned even more horrible things about her. I don't know if I can forgive myself, let alone the ones who let this happen, and the ones who haven't done anything to her.
I'm still a victim. I'm still a kidnapped little girl, whose has learned under the nail of an evil, evil woman who told such great lies that I've never ever know what's real, fake or who I even am. I still deal with the falling out of Stockholm Syndrome I didn't even know I had until two years back. I have been twisted, broken and I'm not.. I don't know what I am or what I am not. I wish I could break free and be able to do what needs to be done to her. Of course, I'm not talking about bodily harm, though I want to punch her some days, but legally.
I don't think I've reached the point where I can do anything myself, but I have also reached the point where I want something to be done. I want her to know that she can't keep getting away with her evil. And I want to know what I was so touched, so blessed with far reaching power, that I feel so abandoned by those I believe in.
That doesn't stop the questions. Or the wanting, longing for answers. I am a victim but I hope one day I'm free.
- From Punky with love.
A Question....
I write this mostly to you Jeanne, and Aine, as you two are the only people so far who've ever taken the time to comment and have conversation with me.
Does sexuality and sexual identity have a place in witch craft or paganism?
It's something Punky and I often discuss. I have little experience/knowledge and she has very very singular personal beliefs.
For example, she and I were watching Big Love recently. We both love/hate the show. The drama is good, but the morals are .. twitch inducing. One of the wives on the show was previously an LDS Mormon but is currently a polygamist/fundamentalist. Her and her husbands beliefs include a deity called Heavenly Father, who seems very male oriented. In this last season she feels that she is a Priesthood Holder. Apparently, this is not something a woman should hold. It's sort of a big deal.
Having both been raised Christian as children, Punky and I had pretty strong feelings about this. Mostly we stuck out our tongues and raspberried the screen. We believe women can be preachers/pastors/people of titles in all religions. Even in ones that ask that their women be more subservient. Subservient does not equal non-title-haver to us.
In my case however, I can always see the other side of it. I'm the devil's advocate that way. Punky could not. I asked how she might feel if a man approached her, claiming to walk the witch craft path, but... rather than identifying with The God dude, he were to claim The Goddess instead. What if he claimed to embody her in his rituals. She did not bat an eye. That's my Punky. Equality for all. She thinks a man can embody The Goddess, and vice versa, that The Goddess would totally crawl up in a dude.
Is she alone? I've met a fair share of witches and pagans of many different paths but I noticed that all of them seem to have little room for homosexuality in their path. Mostly, I think, because Wicca can be so God Goddess based. The Great Rite is about a man and a woman. The cycles of life and death and life are so imbued with women on one side, having babies, growing wise, and men on another. What happens when two men are in love and walk such a path? Or two women?
Just some questions, humbly posed to two of the ladies I admire most on the interwebs. Open of course to anyone else who might drop by with their own two cents.
-Angelwick
Does sexuality and sexual identity have a place in witch craft or paganism?
It's something Punky and I often discuss. I have little experience/knowledge and she has very very singular personal beliefs.
For example, she and I were watching Big Love recently. We both love/hate the show. The drama is good, but the morals are .. twitch inducing. One of the wives on the show was previously an LDS Mormon but is currently a polygamist/fundamentalist. Her and her husbands beliefs include a deity called Heavenly Father, who seems very male oriented. In this last season she feels that she is a Priesthood Holder. Apparently, this is not something a woman should hold. It's sort of a big deal.
Having both been raised Christian as children, Punky and I had pretty strong feelings about this. Mostly we stuck out our tongues and raspberried the screen. We believe women can be preachers/pastors/people of titles in all religions. Even in ones that ask that their women be more subservient. Subservient does not equal non-title-haver to us.
In my case however, I can always see the other side of it. I'm the devil's advocate that way. Punky could not. I asked how she might feel if a man approached her, claiming to walk the witch craft path, but... rather than identifying with The God dude, he were to claim The Goddess instead. What if he claimed to embody her in his rituals. She did not bat an eye. That's my Punky. Equality for all. She thinks a man can embody The Goddess, and vice versa, that The Goddess would totally crawl up in a dude.
Is she alone? I've met a fair share of witches and pagans of many different paths but I noticed that all of them seem to have little room for homosexuality in their path. Mostly, I think, because Wicca can be so God Goddess based. The Great Rite is about a man and a woman. The cycles of life and death and life are so imbued with women on one side, having babies, growing wise, and men on another. What happens when two men are in love and walk such a path? Or two women?
Just some questions, humbly posed to two of the ladies I admire most on the interwebs. Open of course to anyone else who might drop by with their own two cents.
-Angelwick
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