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.

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

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

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 !

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