Satupon

As a kid, I used to get made fun of quite a bit. I’m not sure why, but it was probably a combination of my innate weirdness (I always kind of did what I wanted to do and what I thought was cool), a desperate desire to fit it with the other girls my age, and a knack for saying really weird awkward things.

Today, while taking a shower, I remember one incident.

See, I was a girl scout (against my will. I wanted to be a boy scout, they did cooler stuff). Thus, I went on lots of girl scout ‘camping’ trips. (‘Oh man, we’re so roughing it. We’re going to have to *re-heat* this lasagna!). For one, we were told to bring a ‘situpon’, which is exactly what it sounds like. Something to sit upon while out on a hike, to keep our clothing clean and dry.

My mom was a bit mystified, but looked at the girl scout stuff I had, and found lots of directions, like these and these and these, except in books and stuff, because I was a girl scout before the internet. While my mom doesn’t consider herself a ‘crafter’, she was always pretty good at sewing and sewing stuff. Her first job was working at store that sold custom tailored denim, and my aunt was also a seamstress. We Blackheart’s pick up skills. (Plus, now she’s a fabulous quilter! Like I said, we’re pretty good. :)

She made me a really awesome situpon. I remember it was a horrible brown colour, because she used some leftover upholstery fabric my grandmother had. Ugly, but nice and thick. Plus, this way I didn’t care if part of it got dirty! I think she used leftover carpet backing or some sort of cotton batting for the inside, so it was cushy, but kept my butt from getting wet. She put handles on either side so that i could fold it and carry it around easily, and added a closure (I don’t remember if it was ties, or snaps, or Velcro.) Folding it also meant that I wouldn’t confuse the sides, so that I would sit on the inside, and the outside would go on the dirt.

I thought it was really nifty! I figured it would be great, and maybe the other girls would think it was cool too.

Apparently, my mother was either the only one who decided to investigate what a situpon was, or could be bothered to make one, because the other girls all had towels, pieced of oilcloth, folded up sheets or chair cushions.

Thus, even though I had a really nifty thing, I was totally different from all the other girls, and spent most of that trip getting made fun of for my situpon. I didn’t crow about it, or show it off, the way I wanted, because I saw that the other girls didn’t have one and didn’t want to be a bitch, but it happened anyway.

I remember being really made at my mom for not giving me a towel or something, and making the stupid thing. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never used it again.

That really pisses me off. My mom made something really cool, and I wound up resenting her for it, which happened quiet a bit. For my birthday one year, she bought a bunch of small white buckets, stickers, paint pens and what not for everyone to decorate, and then filled with candy and stuff. Everyone did it, but no one seemed to enjoy it. (@chachacioffi, remember that? The year my birthday got snowed out, and we had to do it another day? I was sooo annoyed at having been born in winter!) I had wanted a party at a place, like Plaster Fun Time or something, which, as I learned when I had my own party there at 17, can get pricey. I feel bad that I resented my mom for coming up with what I think now are really cool ideas, and I resent those bitches that used to make fun of me for me and my mom’s cool ideas.

I assume now that they were totally jealous, but as a kid, that isn’t something you can easily wrap your mind around and understand. Because you’re still getting teased, even though you’re totally cooler than they are.

Internet Cross Stitch Sampler, part 2

Emma, a lovely person who saw my post and liked the icons I had added to the sampler, was nice enough to make charts of them, since I did it by hand.

She sent these to me a while ago, and Emma, I’m sorry it took me so long to post these. At first, I wasn’t on a good enough computer, and then it slipped my mind. But thank you so, so much!

Pagan Wheel of the Year

I found this a few years ago on the Pagan Library website, and I quite enjoy it.

Yule (Winter Solstice) 21 December – Longest night of the year, various methods of celebrating, most involve some form of lights (sometimes affixed to an obvious phallic symbol like, oh, a fir tree) which are employed in an act of sympathetic magick to encourage/welcome the return/rebirth of the sun/son. A major female deity gives birth to (insert name of preferred solar deity here). There is much rejoicing and praise unto Him while Her husband, the God of the Old Year who, dressed in a tacky red suit trimmed with rabbit fur, watches and packs Her an overnight bag in anticipation of Her departure.

Celebrants light candles (indoors), ignite bonfires (outdoors mostly), drink to excess, sing carols, remove clothes, sing dirty carols, engage in group sex, drink some more, vomit copiously, have more sex, exchange gifts, have one more drink/boink for the road and return home.

Imbolc (Groundhog Day/Candlemas) 2 February – More lights, however by this time we’re pretty sure the days are getting longer so we can throttle back on the pleas for Apollo/Ra/Lugh/Baldur to return. Celebrants hold aloft individual candles intended to symbolically light the ascent of the mother of the newborn solar deity as She returns to this plane of existence from the underworld bearing Her son/sun with Her, the end result resembling a Melanie concert. This is related to the weather prognosticating involved in the observance of emerging hibernating animals like the groundhog. Bears were ruled out as an appropriate animal for observance by trial and error and attrition of the bear watching advocates. Plenty of excessive drinking followed by group sex by those not immobilized by solidified candle wax drippings, more drinking followed by the projectile vomiting “Write your craft name in the snow” competition, scrape off remaining wax and whatever else has dried and caked to participants, a few more drinks and back home. (Bonfires are optional unless you insist on watching for a bear, in which case a bonfire is strongly advised).

Lupercalia (Valentine’s Day) 15 February – (The 14th for Saint Valentine being a pre-emptive usurpation of the Roman Ides of February pre-spring fertility celebration. Not an actual Sabbat but still a sentimental favorite.) The wolves come down from the hills around Rome looking for a little nosh. Note that this is about two weeks after the Imbolc solar cross-quarter; if the groundhog didn’t see it’s shadow (and remained out) Winter ends here, if it did see it’s shadow (and returned to it’s lair to resume it’s nap) Winter ends about six weeks later than Imbolc, at Ostaera, the next Sabbat. Those celebrants who consider themselves adventurous and hardy enough may wish to emulate a Roman tradition that makes the running of the bulls in Pamplona look like English high tea. Ready? After the usual excessive drinking, the attendant women strip naked (always a promising start) and are chased by men bearing flails, whips or strips of leather who “warm” the women’s bottoms by vigorous application of those tools while chasing them. When the women decide their asses are sufficiently heated they are “caught” by the pursuing men who apply the pre-warmed bottoms to the ground to “break the ice”, sometimes literally, and thus prepare the ground for ploughing, both human and agricultural. All women’s secretions are allowed to drip directly onto the ground further preparing the ground for planting, this is the woman’s precious bodily fluid contribution mirrored by the God’s blood at a Sabbat to be discussed later.

Warned ya.

Ostaera (Spring Equinox) 21 March – Probably named after a Goddess whose name translates literally as “Easy lay, easy May”, a reference to and reminder of the importance of the next Sabbat which is actually concerned with sex, unlike the previous ones in which sex is a (welcome) bonus and potential life saver in the colder climates. The baby born at Yule here ages to childhood and the major female deity absorbs His youthful energy to grow younger, back to childhood; they then play “Asclepius”. Once again celebrants drink to excess, paint a few eggs (rebirth representation) with increasingly blatant yonic/phallic symbols, followed by more drinking, then paint a few hares/rabbits (fertility totem), boil the eggs and probably the rabbits too, what the hell, chow down on the eggs and rabbits since nobody remembered to pack a lunch, still more drinking followed by rabbit-fur-lined vomiting, group sex, lick rabbit grease out of the pot, more sex (any remaining rabbit grease at this point is given priority consideration as a sexual lubricant), a couple of more drinks, dress up in rabbit skins and back home.

Beltane (Walpurgisnacht/May Day) 30 April-1 May – “Hooray, hooray, the first of May, outdoor screwing starts today!” The Goddess and God who are at this point both of adolescent age actually get it on, after which they become betrothed. Celebrants erect large Maypole (get it?), half the dancers going deosil and half widdershins interweaving their hand-held ribbons until they clothe the pole in colorful array and the Maywreath, previously laid at the top, rides the ribbons down to the very base of the pole — as close as Pagans ever get to “safe sex”. After which everybody attends the bonfires, usually two bonfires so you can pass through your livestock to be blessed by Prometheus/Ba’al/Wotan/Elvis but the really adventurous just build one big fire, or let the two smaller ones get out of hand until they become one big fire. Attendees then jump the fire (bare naked, as if I needed to mention), and preceded by the at this point mandatory excess drinking, there follows a MAJOR ORGY of the Mongolian Cluster-Fuck variety, wherein the bodies of the participants are so thoroughly entangled and interlocked that you can’t tell who’s doing what to whom and you couldn’t care less and the vomiting is actually part of the gestalt and provides much needed lubrication. For many devout Pagans this is the most sacred day of the year.

Litha (Summer Solstice/Midsummer’s Night) 21 June – Longest day of the year. The young Sun God at His zenith, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may”. This is the marriage of the Goddess and Her incestuous consort who are both fully adult at this point and it turns out She’s knocked-up anyway so He has to. This being a Pagan wedding celebration…well, you can just imagine the debauchery. Here is the origin of the “Honeymoon”, where bride and groom stay plastered for a month (moon) on mead, a honey based wine. About this time the God of the Old Year has grown bored with the rather limited interpersonal interaction with ghosts in the underworld and bit parts in Ingmar Bergman films and so travels as a spirit to the womb of the pregnant major female deity and inhabits the unborn child, to be near His rejuvenated love.

Lammas (Somebody’s day somewhere) 2 August – Sad day for the young God; having passed His prime last Sabbat at this first harvest of the grain festival the Goddess decides He is more useful as compost and fructifies the ground with His blood to ensure future abundant harvests. Several methods may be employed by Her, perhaps no Pagan method being quite as picturesque as a certain deity-specific version of being nailed to an uneven armed solar cross with blood running down the upright beam to the ground, but She gets the job done none the less. On this solemn occasion celebrants are expected to drink until they fall down in imitative honor of the dying God. Sex is for those still conscious or who at least had the foresight to pin “Do me anyway” notes to their beer and vomit drenched clothes.

Mabon (Autumn Equinox) 21 September – Preggers and alone, sure, NOW She misses Her slain lover/son and decides She cannot abide this world without Him. He, meanwhile, has found the abandoned throne in the Land of the Dead and is having a high old time trying on the crown which looks suspiciously like a pair of antlers and is getting horny…the God that is. Depending on whose press release you read the Goddess is abducted by the just-back-for-a-quick-one God _or_ She jumps onto His chariot and won’t get off until He takes Her all the way down (get that one?). This harvest festival centers around grapes, so celebrants consume barrels of wine and each then take turns climbing into a barrel to play the traditional “Guess which orifice I’ve placed at the bunghole?” game. This Sabbat’s accompanying lunar cycle is sometimes referred to as the “Keith Moon”.

Samhain (All Hallows Eve) 31 October – The by this time big-as-a-house Goddess is crowned Queen of the Underworld. She and Her reunited and now mature King shoo all the souls out of their realm so they can have a little quality time together, which is why it gets so crowded up here around then. Ghosts, Goblins and Ghoolies come topside for a little R&R or just to wish that special someone good-bye, in their own inimitable fashion. Celebrants offer food and drink to the dead and attempt sex with any who posses sufficient ectoplasm to generate friction. A lovely time for all.

Yule (Again, to complete the circle) – The once young and vital Sun God becomes the God of the Old Year in His turn, and takes up sewing to pass the time. Since red is one of the few colors visible to the dead He makes Himself a red suit to keep them from bumping into Him during the long dark nights and trims it with some leftover rabbit fur. Waste not want not. He knows what’s coming and packs a bag for His wife and new son to take on their journey back to the land of the living.


Revelation

I was assaulted two years ago, by the host of a sex party I was at.  It fucking sucked. The aftermath sucked harder. Spending the following two years trying to piece things back together sucked slightly less, but still sucked.

Afterward, I couldn’t leave my apartment for nearly a week.

Afterward, I wound up dropping out of school because I couldn’t deal with going.

Afterward, I became skittish and fearful around men I didn’t know, and some that I did.

Afterward, I had to piece my personality, my perceptions, and my sexuality back together.

Every time I think I’m past it, something comes up. Last summer, I had a flashback while being worked on in class. I freaked out, and scared the shit out of my partner. I was able to calm down and go back and finish – he needed to go home.

I’m extremely jumpy when people come up behind me and touch me, especially when I’m not expecting it, like at school.  I’ve walloped a couple of people before I got that under control.

Something triggered me Wednesday night, and it lasted well into Thursday. My sister and I got into a ridiculous fight that ended in screaming on her part and standing against the wall crying and twitching on mine. Yeah. Not fun. Then I spent the next two hours in bed, I think. Things got a little fuzzy, which is…new.

But afterward, things changed in my life. There was a wonderful outpouring of support from my lovely blogger friends, my new (at the time) cv friends, and others. It was unexpected on my part. I was young and relatively new to the city, blogging, etc. I was happy, because most of my support network is scattered. My oldest, closest friends live far away, and after all that happened, I mostly wanted to be pet and told everything was ok. That’s a little hard from 2000 miles away.

Then there were people whom I wanted, needed, to be my friend at the time, who I desperately needed, and for whatever reason, they were unable or unwilling to help. There were other people who I was friends with at the time where the friendship was damaged because of the situation – Marcus was well known, and well liked, and there were many people who seemed to think that my perceptions and feelings about the assault were invalid and wrong – that I was not assaulted.

After things died down, even until recently, I wanted these friendships back. I wanted my friends.

But I realized, if they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, or for whatever reason chose not to either believe me, or be my friend, I shouldn’t *want* their friendship back so bad. And finally, I don’t.

I just don’t. Why would I want that back, when it seems as if it was nothing to begin with?

My old friend Teddy would say ‘Fuck ‘em and feed ‘em beans’. I never got the ‘feed ‘em beans’ part, since beans are tasty. But I get the general idea, of course. And he’s right. (Actually, if Teddy knew about any of this, legs would have been broken. He was my funeral home buddy, and very old school about this sort of thing.)

So then. Yes. Beans.

Quittin’

So, I”m trying to quit smoking again.  I threw away my pack the other night, and went to the clinic at my school and got some acupuncture treatments to help me, along with helping a few other issues I had.

I’m going to go next week and see if they have another cancellation, since its too late in the semester to get my own series of sessions.  It was quite yummy – I could feel the qi moving through my body, and it was soooo calming and relaxing.  Partway through, my hands started ‘jumping’ on their own.

I think I will be much more successful this time with quitting.  Thoughout my life, I have know about, and used, the Law of Attraction, to a degree. I was ok, but it didn’t always work for me.  Then, Anon turned me on to The Secret. Admittedly, I thought it was kind of stupid at first, until I realized it was basically a repackaging of the Law of Attraction in a way that made sense to me, and in a way that taught me how to use it much better than I had in the past.

For example, now. Rather than focusing all my energy on Not Smoking, and Quitting Smoking, I will be focusing on being healthy, breathing deeply, and perhaps even jogging again. At least getting through long, long walks happier and healthier than I am now.

Its quite awesome. :)

The Science Experiment

When I was seven, I created an experiment for the school science fair. I decided to study whether or not fish could hear and respond the music.

I bought three goldfish, and placed each one in an separate, but identical tank (made out of milk jugs). I named them Fish A, Fish B, and Fish C. They were all fed the same food, at the same time. I changed their water the same way, did my best to keep it at the same temperature. They had the same amounts.

Every day, for ten minutes, I would observe each fish by itself, while playing different music.

Fish A was the control fish – I watched him swim and react to nothing.

Fish B was the classical fish – I watched him swim and react to Beethoven’s piano sonnatas.

Fish C was the ‘rock’ fish – I watched him swim and react to the Beach Boys. (Dude. I was seven. I thought that was rock.)
Fish A acted as one would expect. I felt that Fish B was more graceful and dance like.

Fish C died.

I replaced all the fish.

Fish A acted the same. Fish B acted the same as before.

Fish C died.
I checked the water. I kept changing their containers (each fish got a new milk jug when I had to buy new fish.) I changed the songs.

Fish C always died.

The only conclusion I could reach was that the Beach Boys killed fish.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t do very well in the science fair, despite my rigorous attempts to maintain the scientific process.

As an adult, I learned about the Beach Boys and their connection to Charles Manson.

I must assume then, that association with the Beach Boys is bad. It led to Charlie Manson killing a bunch of people, and three fish, I assume, killing themselves to get away.

Of Tree Sprites and Former Jobs

I used to work at a public library. You meet all types at the library – see, the good part, is that anyone can go there….that’s also the bad part. However, I formed quite a rapport with many of the patrons. I stood out – for a good chunk of time I had hair ‘vampire’ red, thanks to Manic Panic, and shades of blue. Rather than making me unapproachable, people seemed to feel more comfortable talking to me. (Take THAT, library establishment!)

Anyway, I got to know lots of the people who came in lots of different ways. Nothing personal, of course, because I wanted to keep my distance, but friendly.

There was one oldish man who often came in, who appeared to be at least partly Native American, which on Long Island isn’t terribly common or uncommon. There were a few tribes that lived here before the white people came and killed ‘em all or made ‘em move, and I do believe there is a reservation or two. Anyway, this man may have been part Native American, or at leastfascinated with the colour. He often wore bird feathers in a braid in his hair, a medicine pouch, and other such things. He was sweet, andmischievous.

One year, for Halloween (for which I always dressed up), I went as a tree sprite. I had bought a green shirt and brown skirt from the second hand store, and fabric paint which I used to paint leaves and stuff on the shirt, and trunk like stuff on the skirt. I also wrote ‘Tree Sprite’ on the shirt, so people could figure it out. I pinned two of thoseMcDonald’s teenie beenie babies on me – a bird on my shoulder, and a squirrel on my chest.  I wore a garland of (fake) leaves and berries  in my hair, trailing down my back, and did my make up in some earth tones. It was fucking adorable!

While at work, that nice man came by, and he knew right away I was a tree sprite, and he complimented me on my outfit and choice of costume. Then we had this conversation.

“So, you know what happens when a tree sprite’s tree is cut down, right?” He asked, very solemnly.

“It dies.”

“Right.”

“But we protect the trees we live in, so that won’t happen!” I said.

“Of course!” he said, still very serious “And you do a good job at it. So all you really have to worry about are dendrophiliacs!”

For a moment, we were both dead serious, and then we both burst out laughing, confusing the crap out of everyone around us.

Snowpocalypse Part Deux!

The bushes and neighbours yard/driveway

A pretty tree in front of my house

The backyard and bushes

The clothes line

The untouched trashcan – we got at least 9 inches of snow! That’s a nice sized cock of snow!

This is my fav – taken from my bedroom window

The neigbours tree from my window

Lots and lots of snow!

Snowpocalypse 2010

Its still snowing pretty fierce. Perhaps I’ll take a few more shots later, before it gets too dark.

This first shot is from my second floor bedroom window this morning

This is from the front door

The backyard

The back steps and the recycling bin

The Optimist’s Creed

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