Nerd Rant #2 - My Wonderland Obsession

Ya. I was *that* girl
 (hello Lisa Frank!)
Credit

I am one of those 80’s kids that grew up watching The Neverending Story, Labyrinth, Legend, and the like. I love mystical adventure. Dragons, fairies, unicorns, and other really nerdy things were introduced to me early in life and my imagination grabbed onto that shit and held on for dear life. Not to get too Freudian, but I kind of had a tough early childhood in which I learned escapism. Escape for me was being someone else, or at least somewhere else, as often as I could.

I was not a child that loved Barbie, though I did have several; she was too close to realism for me (ha!). I would rather pretend that I was a My Little Pony than a beautiful girl; I would rather pretend to be a wolf on the hunt than a fashion model –

Credit

and so I did. I may have mentioned before that I moved to my grandmother’s house at an early age; I think I was around eight. This was where my Wonderland obsession began. I had, of course, seen the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland many times at this point and loved it with all of my heart. I had also watched the real-life version of Through the Looking Glass and Wonderland that was full of pseudo-celebrities more than my fair share of times by this point as well, so it was not a new story to me by any means. 

When I made the move to my grandmother’s, I really only took clothes with me. My grandmother was a small children’s Sunday school teacher, so she had plenty of coloring books and puzzles appropriate for my age range. However, what I did not have was unlimited access to a TV and tons of videos like I did at my parent’s house. There was a TV, but there was no cable and even if there were, the TV was not for constant

Artist Credit
I *need* this

passive watching; my grandmother was what I would call “old school” in this regard. It was during my first nights at her cozy house that she presented me with what became one of my greatest treasures – a copy of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. I remember her placing it in my outstretched hands gingerly and asking me to be very careful with it. It was old. The spine was well-worn. The pages were a brownish-yellow and it smelled like…I am not sure, but I now associate the smell with old books. Her name was written in the top corner of the inner cover in very faded pencil. I remember writing my name beneath it in a sloppy print that contrasted to her neat cursive. It was my first “real” book. I had read various kids’ books. I was well-versed in Little Golden Books and Dr. Seuss – but this was different.

Artist credit

I remember running my fingertips gently over the embossed illustrations and dreaming night after night that I was Alice. I looked around my grandmother’s house filled with white lace doilies and floral motif tea sets – hand stitched quilts and handmade dresses and found myself down the rabbit hole. The backyard was full of flowers, berries, and soft grass that reminded me of the flower garden from the book. The stray yellow cat that watched me from the roof of our house was my Cheshire cat. The horrors of things done to me before I found the peace and tranquility of this Wonderland were my Jabberwocky. Everywhere I looked, I saw that the fantasy was real. My grandmother baked me delicious and seemingly magical cookies (something that I was wholly unaccustomed to) and the normal drink was tea – cold for me, warm with lemon and sweetener for her. The Red Queen reminded me of my mother and the White Queen was likened to my grandmother. My father was the kind (but clumsy) White Knight.  I suppose you could say that happiness and normalcy were my elusive white rabbit, and I saw not only Alice,                   but the Mad Hatter in myself. 

Artist credit

I made my own Wonderland from the pages of that book and I have continued to do so throughout my life. I can still feel the shattered innocence inside of me that was sloppily glued back together by books like Carroll’s and what I call the “golden years” of my youth that were spend crafting and learning with my grandmother. Is it a weird obsession to have? Perhaps; though it is a popular one for women of my age. In a way, no matter how old I get, I will always be Alice and I will always cherish my time in Wonderland – though I have yet to slay my Jabberwocky. 

Jabberwocky

Lewis Carroll

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

  And the mome raths outgrabe

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

  The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

  Long time the manxome foe he sought --

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

  And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

  And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

  He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?

  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'

  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

  And the mome raths outgrabe.

Re-acquaintance + 30 Things 3/30 Describe your relationship with your parents

Oh hai, Internets. Aye, I realize it has been several *cough* months since I created an entry. To be fair, I did say from the start that I would probably not be able to “stick with it”, as they say. To get back into the swing of things I figured I would pick back up on the narcissistic journey that is 30 Things!

http://weirviewphotography.wordpress.com

My relationship with my parents – oye; this is a touchy one for me. I actually did not live with my parents for a large portion of my childhood, but I was in regular contact with them. Eventually (in my mid-teens I think) they came to live with my grandmother and myself, but that is beside the point. My beautiful, sweet mother died a few years ago, so I will focus on her first.

I inherited quite a lot from my mom: my love for nature, music, and books. I also inherited a good deal of my looks from her and, unfortunately, I inherited some mental health issues from her. My mom had what she called, “nerve issues” but she would never see a mental health professional about them. Instead, she had her pcp give her various “nerve pills” to help her. I suspect that she was an undiagnosed bipolar and she certainly had severe anxiety and depression. In our society these are shameful illnesses to have, and that’s bullshit; but I assume that this is why she never got a proper diagnosis or proper treatment. Because of these illnesses mom could be difficult at times, but she was, at her core, one of the most amazing people I have ever been lucky enough to know.

Yes, very much like this. 

My mom loved everyone, including me.
She loved me the best that she could when I was very young. I can remember going shopping with her every week, even after I moved out of her house. We did love to shop together, much to the dismay of my father at times. Our trips to the mall to clothes shop were always epic. Book and music stores were an all-day event. When I was a teenager she was kind enough to haul my friends and I around everywhere – she even listened to our music with us without complaint.

True story - she loved our
grunge music.
http://eddie-vedder.tumblr.com/page/51

She was one of those “cool moms” that became more of a friend and buddy than an authoritative figure to me. It was not until I got older that I really began to appreciate what a good mom she was. She was *always* there for me. If I needed someone to talk to I could call her at any time and talk to her about anything. I will never have another person in my life that will love me quite like she did. I will never have someone in my life that is genuinely as interested in every single thing that I do and think as her.

My dad is still alive, but we live about 1,000 miles away from one another so we rarely get to see one another. I was always, in a way, “daddy’s girl” growing up. I was his only child and I had him wrapped around my little finger for a good portion of my life. Dad and I have spent a lot of time together in cars. Back in the day (when I was a small child) when he and mom were mad at one another, or when mom was having one of her bad days, it was RoAd TrIp time! 

I am fairly sure we spent a large amount
of time in Bat Country. 

He would haul me into the car, grab his wallet and keys, and the two of us would drive around all day – no destination in mind. We lived in Northwest Louisiana and it was not unheard of for us to end up in Dallas or some far-flung nowhere in Mississippi on one of these days. Sometimes we would go visit some obscure family member that he hadn’t seen in 30 years or so, other times we would go to some overgrown cemetery. He would drive 150 miles away to get us fried catfish at a specific gas station restaurant in Nowhereville, Louisiana. I always liked the trip back home the most. I can remember laying in the backseat of my parent’s ugly old Ford Fairmount staring up at the stars. It was 

amazing to me how much brighter the stars were outside of the city.

Good times...

Once I was a teenager, dad started taking me out to teach me how to drive; this was always exciting for me. He started out taking me to my high school’s parking lot on Saturday and Sundays; I was so enthusiastic about driving around in circles at very slow speeds! Eventually he started letting me hop into the driver’s seat in rural areas. Finally, he let me drive on one of our road trips – an empty highway in the middle of nowhere; it was glorious!

http://cheezburger.com/3952668160

There were, of course, times that he and I did not get along very well, but those times were few and far between. Dad was more often disappointed in my bad choices than he was angry at me; of course that disappointment hurt far worse than him yelling at me ever could. My dad and I always had a special relationship. I wish that we could now communicate more easily. We talk on the phone about once a week, I always call him. I think that he doesn’t want me to worry about him so he isolates himself from me; but this actually makes me worry more about him than less. I am still trying to convince him to move here and be close to me, but he has resisted so far. 

I guess that’s about all there is to say that is not too personal. I will close by saying that I know how lucky I am to have had the parents I did. I had two people that loved me and loved each other very much. They were both good people who loved to help others and didn’t mind taking in people and animals in need. I was, and am, damned lucky to have known them both. 

http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/30-things.html

2/30 Things: 3 Fears

Well, here I am with part two of the “30 Things” challenge, and it is going to be a tough one for me. Today my task is to:

Describe 3 legitimate fears you have and explain how they became fears.

Sadly, I have many, many fears and phobias – this is probably due primarily to my (aforementioned) PTSD. I am not sure that I could really compose a comprehensive list of three fears that are both “legitimate fears”…. (if I have a legitimate fear, can my mind shut that whole thing down? *zing!*), and something that I feel comfortable sharing with the whole wide world of the Internets (all two of you who visit my page!), so I will just settle for the first three fears that come to mind.

I know, I know...its old. But I am still not over it! 

Fear #1 – Zombie Attacks 

The zombies in my nightmares are never this personable. =(

I may have mentioned before that I have a really strong fear of random zombie attacks and it is true, I am afraid of it. I like to take walks at night because it is fracking miserable to walk during the day in most months, and because I enjoy the solitude of an evening walk. I like that I do not have to worry about interacting with anyone because most people in my neighborhood seem to be fast asleep at the time I walk. For everyone else, there is my very large husky that tends to intimidate non-canine lovers away. The downside to walking at this time is the darkness – the shadows – the “unknown.” I have seen my share of horror movies (and CSI Miami) and bad things happen when someone walks by themselves at night. 

*cue The Who - Won't Get Fooled Again

So why zombies specifically? When I moved here with my husband a couple of years ago, some really weird shit immediately started to happen here in good ol’ Floriduh. Well, to be fair, weird shit is always happening here – but this was different. An enraged naked man randomly attacked a homeless man and ate most of his face…HIS FACE. And then, when the police shot him, he grunted at them and kept attacking! Here is a quote from a Huffington Post story, which I will post the link(s) to at the end of this entry.

Is there anything appetizing about that guy's face or
neckbeard to you?

Gruesome photos circulating the web would later confirm most of Poppo's face, including his nose, eyes, and mouth, was ripped away, in what Miami's Fraternal Order of Police vice president Sgt. Javier Ortiz told the Associated Press was of the "goriest scenes I've ever been to." Poppo remains in critical condition.

"He had his face eaten down to his goatee. The forehead was just bone. No nose, no mouth,"said Sgt. Armando Aguilar, Miami FOP president. "In my opinion, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

What. The. Fuck? “But it’s just an isolated incident – a freak occurrence!” says you. Ya. Nope. Not at all an isolated incident. I did ONE Google search and found the aforementioned story; this headline:

 Another Florida ‘zombie’ attack? Naked man storms girlfriend’s house, bites chunk out of man’s arm - Drug-addled man takes off all of his clothes in his lover's home and then bites another man on the bicep. Police had to taser him twice to subdue him.

…and this headline:

Zombie Mickey - just as endearing as
 regular Mickey Found here

Another Zombie Attack? Naked Florida Man Jeremiah Haughee Climbs On Roof, Bites Home Owner And Cop.

So ya, don’t give me any of that isolated incident bullshit. This is reeeeal. I could be out on a stroll and it would not be unheard of for me to get nommed by an enraged naked zombie person. If I went out for a walk and got bitten by a zombie it might not even be front page freakin’ news! To sum up the reason why I fear zombies – I live in the most ‘effed up place on earth.

Fear #2 – Bathroom mirrors

This is one of those really long stories with way too many details that would probably be best left uttered to a therapist rather than the Interwebs, so I will try to stay brief. In the mid-eighties when I was in grade school there was a really popular urban legend about Bloody Mary. I found a reading of it that I have posted below – this version seems to best fit the tale that I had muttered to me as a child. 

Okay so picture is not quite related but they
 sounded that creepy

I would hear the story, then forget it for a while – as kids do. Then, one day while I was in one of the stalls in the bathroom during recess, I heard one of my classmates threaten another with the story. She warned her that “Bloody Mary was going to kill her.” I thought that it was pretty cruel but I was a very shy little girl who kept to herself. I began to readjust my clothes and flush. I heard screaming, then I heard it. Three or four girls chanting..

Bloody Mary...

            Bloody Mary...

                        Bloody Mary...

…and then I heard a scuffle, the door slam, a girl scream and I saw…nothing. Blackness. Someone had shut the lights out. I heard the other girl that had been trapped in the bathroom scuffle and cry and scream for the next several minutes. I could do nothing but sit on the toilet and hug my knees with my eyes closed. Eventually, after what felt like a very long time, someone opened the door. For some reason both the lock and the lights for the bathroom were outside of the door – I assume this was to keep children out of mischief. I snuck out of the bathroom after the other girl left. I was never sure if anyone ever knew that I was there. 

FFFFUUUUUUUUUU!!!!

THIS is the very beginning of why I am afraid of bathroom mirrors. To call Bloody Mary you had to chant in the mirror, you see. Unfortunately for me, the mirror in my grandmother’s lone bathroom was HUGE. I had to stare at that thing every day after that traumatizing ass day. I always wondered if Mary was going to “come” for me. So far, so good but anything could happen (see Fear #1). 

Fear #3 – Death

I think this also started when I was a kid. I lost my first grandmother (not the one I lived with) when I was about six, and then I lost my pawpaw when I was about eight. I was not particularly close to my grandmother that died when I was young, but I did adore my pawpaw (the grandmother I lived with’s husband.) He was a really sweet, nice man. He cared about sick people, poor people, people that needed help. He devoted his time to them. He was Christian in a way that doesn’t really exist anymore. When I lost him, it devastated me – but I did not understand death enough to fear it.

I began to fear it after watching some really demented show that I should not have watched. I cannot remember the name of the show (if you know what I am talking about please tell me!!), but it scarred me. I cannot remember the specifics of it but basically, there is this village of people who make a deal or a wager with “death”. In the show death was personified – probably as a guy in a black cloak, but I don’t remember for sure.

 The people win the wager and death has to go away, never to return. The villagers were really happy for a long time, until one of them got really sick. One after one all of the villagers began to get really sick, really old, really miserable. By the end of the episode they were all writhing in agony from some affliction or another but they just could not die because they had sent “death” away. They were all begging for death….

That shit…..woah. Imagine being a 9 year old and seeing that! That one show began my fear of death that I think, is a healthy and natural thing for everyone to have – at least for a little while.  

What are your fears (besides really long blog posts)? I really want to know! Thanks for reading!

Story links:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/30/new-face-eating-attack-video-miami-rudy-eugene-18-minutes_n_1555653.html

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/florida-zombie-attack-naked-man-storms-girlfriend-house-bites-chunk-man-arm-article-1.1099760

http://www.ibtimes.com/another-zombie-attack-naked-florida-man-jeremiah-haughee-climbs-roof-bites-home-owner-and-cop-722177

1/30 Things: 20 Randoms

It's in my nature - but I try *really* hard not
to be truly narcissistic (bonus fact!)

I ran across a cute little blog while obsessively clicking on links on Pinterest today – Hopes and Dreams. I clicked through a few posts, envying the picture perfect people and their picture perfect life until I ran across a 30 Things post. Basically, you answer a question about yourself on this list every day for 30 days. This is something doable for me as I am both looking for material to blog about and am excessively narcissistic.

So, here is day one: List 20 random facts about yourself. As a disclaimer…there will likely be no rhyme or reason to this list so please forgive me if it goes a little off the rails.

1. I have grey eyes. I used to be really disappointed that I didn’t have bright blue eyes or pretty green eyes, but at this point I actually like them. How many people do you know that have grey eyes? Probably not that many.

2. My first concert was Def Leppard. I think I was 10. No, I was not a fan.

I love that the one guy is wearing, like, pantaloons and
his girlfriend's shirt. 

3. I have a weird sock obsession. I always wear mismatched socks, and they are always obnoxious colors and prints. I have done this since I was a teenager.

4. I have PCOS – Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. It makes my life hell and complicates every aspect of my health; but I am finding ways to overcome it. There is no cure.

5. I am a dog person, but I love animals in general. I have and will always prefer dogs – big dogs. Right now I have a husky (as I have mentioned) and a pitbull.

6. I need music. If I really need to get something done, I need music to do so. Cooking, cleaning, schoolwork, blog writing…music will push me through it.

7. I don’t drive. I used to drive but I lost my license. Long story.

8. I haven’t cut my hair in 16 years. Another long story. It had to do with a traumatizing hospital incident.

Holy shit! He is really, really naked! 

9. I read historical romances. What can I say? I wish I did not like them, but I do! I read plenty of other things that have actual substance, but I do love a good cheesy period romance.

10. I am an artist of sorts. I have made jewelry, drawings, paintings, candles, soaps, and lots of random things. I love to create but need a safe space to do so.

11. My first “real” relationship was with someone twice my age. I was 16…he was 36. We met on the Internet on AOL chat. I was online dating pervs before it was cool!

12. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I am a senior in college and I am not totally sure I am on the right track. I guess I’ll figure it out one day.

....probably.

13. I had all four wisdom teeth and another tooth pulled at once with no sedative. I’m fuckin’ hardcore. If I had known about how painful it was going to be for the next month I would have just suffered with the toothaches, I think.

14. I used to collect tons of incense and candles. I ALWAYS had candles and/or incense burning in my room when I was younger. I think I set my hair on fire leaning over my dresser once…

15. I was raised, primarily, by my grandmother. I do not regret this. I love my parents very much but I don’t think I could have had a better childhood outside of my mamow’s house.

16. I have several unfinished novels. One is actually about my grandmother.

17. I got beat up for the first time in 1^st grade – by two 8^th grade boys. I then got punished by my principle for “lying” about it.

In retrospect, I was a miniature, female Tyler Durden
back then...except I got the crap beat out of me and
it wasn't on purpose. 

18. I sleep with 8 full sized pillows. I use each one at certain times in the night as I toss and turn.

19. I have one older half-brother who is 10 years older than me. He lives in a nursing home and I have not seen him in almost 2 years.

20. I was a tattoo and body piercing apprentice – it was my dream. I eventually learned that it was not for me, but that, again, is a long story.

I saw waaaaay too much of this shit. 

Same old routine

I find that most of my days are extremely boring. Same old routine, same old house, same old me day after day after day. Having an extreme lack of funds tends to limit my capability of going and doing things. Not having a job makes that “one day folding into the next” thing even worse. So what is life like for an unemployed online student? Here is the essential breakdown of my never-ending “day (omitting things like peeing, bathing, taking out the dogs, etc.).

10:00 a.m. (this is being pretty positive – most days it’s more like 12:00 or 1:00 p.m.) – Wake up

10:15 a.m. – Fuck around on Internet

Add lol cats to the table and thats about right

11:00 a.m. – Breakfast

11:20 a.m. – Look for job

2:00 p.m. – School shit

4:00 p.m. – Lunch

4:20 p.m. – More school shit mixed with general fucking off on the Internet

10:00 p.m. – Dinner

10:20 p.m. – More Internets

3:00 – 4:00 a.m. – Pass out

Basically…that’s it. Occasionally I get up and take my husky for a walk at night. Other than that, ya, …lather, rinse, repeat. But occasionally something really weird happens – something that is so surreal that you question whether or not it is actually happening.

The last time this happened to me was about 2 weeks ago. I was (as usual) really bored and decided to take Shao (my husky) for a walk around the block. Our walks are never really that far because I am incredibly out of shape; she is incredibly out of shape; and its sticky, nasty, sweaty Florida in the summer.

Every day in Florida outside of December and January...

I felt pretty good that night. It was late so there was no one around. I was wearing a really comfy broomstick skirt that always makes me feel like a gypsy princess when I wear it, I had makeup on (for once), and Shao seemed excited to go – which at her age (14) is always encouraging. I didn't feel like pulling on socks, so I just slipped on my husband’s (clown shoe-sized) indoor/outdoor slippers and headed out. The walk is pretty easy – flat ground and mostly sidewalk so no need for sneakers, really. Shao and I walked, slowly, around the block. I remember thinking that it was eerily quiet. I have a really unnatural fear of random zombie attacks so I got a little paranoid.

Have you seen Florida news?
Why WOULD'NT I be terrified?

Suddenly, it began to rain. I mean really rain. It didn't even work up to a hard rain as it often does; you know, a small sprinkle that gradually works its way up to a hard rain – nope, none of that bullshit. It felt, in that first moment, like someone was playing a really cruel joke on me; like I was the punch-line to some cosmic joke. 

Ugh...what is it with that guy?

Shao and I stood there for a minute, just in total shock. I began to feebly shield my hair and my makeup from the downpour; I became really agitated. I looked down at Shao who was staring anxiously at the route home, but standing still and patiently waiting for me to start moving. I realized then that life was happening. This simple, every day event was life and I, symbolically and literally, was thrashing and trying to shield myself from it. I gave up and just accepted that yes, I was getting wet by a crazy fucking monsoon; and no, there was nothing that I could do about it. I actually smiled; I laughed and stopped shielding myself. If there had been anyone on that deserted street to see me they would have thought that I was mad; and maybe I am.

 

I composed myself, held my head high, and began the soggy walk home. Shao slowly walked by my side; the rain clearly stressing her out. We trudged on, my long hair a big sopping mess, my makeup streaming down my face. I realized how heavy my skirt was – it was completely wet…like it could not be any wetter if I had jumped in a pool with it on.

 I rounded the corner to the alleyway my apartment is on and I almost twisted my ankle.  The alley was a mixture of wet sand, mud, and rock. The far too big, slip –on house shoes were making very difficult to walk. I considered slipping them off and walking barefoot, but the rock and gravel would hurt my feet really bad. I started to feel a little desperate. My eyes were beginning to hurt from all of the rain water and running mascara. The rain was so loud, pounding off of the tin roofs of sheds and car windows. I have severe PTSD and the sounds, the desperation I was feeling began to turn me to panic. I began to pick up the pace; I tried to jog but I could hardly walk let alone jog with the way the shoes were sticking in the ground. Then I looked up and I saw something that I really didn't expect. There, silhouetted by the light on our patio, was my husband with a huge umbrella.

It was like something out of a romantic comedy, truly!

In this instant all of the panic, all of the desperation went away. Here was this big, strong man braving the weather for me. Without hesitation he put the umbrella in my hand, smiled at me warmly, and took Shao’s leash from me. He asked if I was okay and slowly led me back home when I told him about my ankle. When we got home, we laughed about it and had a good night together. What is the point of all of this? I am not sure, totally, but I know it has something to do with appreciating life right now. When I saw that man walking towards me in the pouring rain, I knew that he would always be there for me. With all of the loss and pain I have had recently it has been hard to see anything positive in my life – but in that moment I saw him, and I knew that everything was okay. 

Nerd Rant #1 - Game of Thrones (spoilers galore!)

Hahaha...no really...the husband and I have done this
(more than once)...

A few days ago, I finally got around to finishing out season three of Game of Thrones. When my husband and I heard about the show, and that the show was going to star Sean Bean, we thought that it might be a good idea to read the series of books. He and I are both pretty nerdy and love to read books similar to the Game of Thrones series, so we bought our first paperback and took turns reading it through.

I may have gently set that Kindle on
my pillow...BUT THIS IS HOW I
FELT DAMNYOU!

We were both hooked, but for different reasons. The husband seemed to really, truly enjoy the complex storylines and the complexity of the characters. I had my favorites as well (….yes, *had*…thanks George...), but I kept reading for the spite of it. I cannot even tell you how many times I threw my book across the room only to begrudgingly pick it back up later and finish the chapter. The later books in the series were bought in digital form and I also, on several occasions, rage quit reading them as well…though I more or less dropped my Kindle on the bed and flipped it off rather than threw it.

So why “for the spite of it?” Because Martin seems to work his absolute hardest to make his readers stop reading, to make them hate the books. He makes you care for the characters and then he takes them away in some sick, sadistic way. The show reinforced this surprise by casting the first big surprise death with one of the only actors I had heard of (Sean Bean.) As I read (before the show aired), I felt assured that good old Eddard and the Starks were generally safe, since Sean Bean was Eddard and surely they wouldn't

kill off one of the major actors in the show early on.

In retrospect...it *is* Sean Bean so....
http://www.comicbookmovie.com/fansites/MsKyle08/news/?a=41776

This brings me to the infamous Red Wedding scene. I dreaded the episode the entire TV series. I knew that it was coming and I hated it. I hated looking at Joffrey’s stupid face every episode (though that slap was DAMNED satisfying)! (you're welcome!)

I hated the endearing love story that they grew between Rob and his wife. I hated how much I truly cared about Catelyn as a character and knowing what was coming for her…and then! That blood curdling scream she lets out…just wow. 

The show (and books) is very much a love/hate paradox for me. I hate all of the unending sad, terribleness of it – but love the anticipation of “who’s going to die next?” I hate that I love some of the characters – some of the real bastards in the books – as much as I do. Tyrion, Jon Snow, Arya, and Davos are probably some of the least-evil people that I like; but I find myself growing fond of Cersei of all people! The child-killing, scheming, brother-shagger!

"Jamie and I are more than brother and sister. We
are one person in two bodies. When he is in
me I feel whole" ...really? Just...no. 

Seriously...

 I even have a sort of sober respect for Tywin, Littlefinger, Jamie, and Varys.  I love that Martin makes me question my own moral standings. My one major complaint about the series is the rape thing. You do not see it as much in the show, but in the books….good lord. Every woman is apt to get raped at every moment – it is (very) ridiculous and pretty disturbing. My theory is that Martin has a bit of a rape fetish that manifests itself in his writing. I get that it happens (I really do) and that in the world his books are set in there is a kind of raw ugliness in which bad things happen really often… but do we really have to talk about how this person or that person is going to get raped in every single book? Take a deep breath and relax on the rape culture George, please.

Well, I do suppose that is about the extent of nerding out I will allow myself for one blog post. I realize that this was pretty rambling and nonsensical, and I thank you for your endurance! If nothing else I suppose it proves what a complete and hopeless dork I am for GoT!

*Closing words of wisdom*

Poetry post #1 - Ignorant Bliss (1999-ish)

I decided to go ahead and lend some credit to the title of this blog and include some "poetry." I was going to make one of those step-by-step walk-thru posts of me making dinner last night but the pictures all came out crappy (lucky you!). Instead of my vegetarian pad-thai recipe you get "Ignorant Bliss."

Thankfully, the poem is not about this kind of "bliss"
Picture found here: http://www.thristhan.com/ignorance-is-bliss

So much angst and....hair....mmmhmm...
p.s. - Dax was my favorite. 

In the late mid to late 90's I wrote a ton of rather nonsensical poetry similar to the style of Jim Morrison (whom I have already discussed) and the band Acid Bath - which was *huge* for me back then. They were dark, broody, really sexy (well, sexy to late 90's grunge fan-girl me), and my hot guy friends (again, this was *quite* subjective...) liked them. I decided that I loved their lyrics so much that I would try to write like they did. My guy friends loved it. I "inspired" one of my best guy friends to begin writing poetry as well. 

Like this but with runny black eyeliner
and a Nirvana t-shirt

This poem was one of the survivors of one of my many poetry purges, in which I decided that everything I wrote was unworthy of existence and either ripped it all up or dramatically burned it. I would swear off writing only to give it another go in a day or two after "mellowing out." 





As a rule, I will be trying to talk a little about my mental state during the writing of each poem I post in hopes of finding some connection to what I write and how it correlates with my mental illnesses. Since this was so long ago, I cannot remember my "exact" mental state - but I can tell you that it was a pretty decent time for me. I had a good group of friends, my family life was pretty stable, and I was creating a lot of art and poetry. I did not have a "love-life" at this time, but was still recovering from a major heartbreak that was probably at least a year or two old at this point. I still cried every other day or so over it - was a blathering mess really. 

No shit....I cried like this really regularly back then, but
that is a story for another day.

Ignorant Bliss (1999)

Underneath the creeping veins I sleep

Gripping onto my latest reality

He takes me for everything he needs

Squeezing me until I’m dry

I don’t care what he takes

As long as he is happy, so am I

Kinky masturbation and severe mutilation

These are what little boys are made of

I slit myself silly, bleeding pure anxiety

We take each other again and again

I rape him in all aspects and he never suspects a thing

As long as I am satisfied, I am happy

A web of confusion weaved with

The deadliest of poisons

These are what little girls are made of.

A deep sleep of nightmarish creatures

A rapist, a mime, and a politician

All silent stalkers

Beware of the Unaware

"Beware of the Unaware"...what the hell does that even mean? It sounds mysterious and scary, in any case I suppose. Well, thanks for giving it a read and feel free to give me your opinion of what my state of mind might have been way back then!