Um...?

It seems the evil fairy of writer's block has caused a dearth of words available to me...I can't even come up with a catchy one-word title for a post. *sighs* Perhaps it's because I can only extend artistically in one direction at a time. Lately I've been trying to paint and draw more...and it seems to be sucking at the teat of creativity and running it dry, or not so cheesily put, stealin' mah werdz.

*another sigh* I hate resorting to lolcateze in order to cadge a chuckle...or groan, as the case might be.

Sitting here at work (yeah, sue me), drinking diet coke, eating way too oily peanuts on a dodgy stomach, wondering why I don't just go home (would involve calling the spousal unit and having him give up his comp time to haul my ass home), and if I can type this, why can't I sort through ancient accounting records and get them in order.

This is more fun?

I hate working, I hate getting out of my nice, comfy, cat-strewn bed on someone else's schedule. It sucks, and I've been doing it for nigh onto 38 years..at the risk of repeating myself, I say again..it sucks.

Four more years until I retire...and then I'll still have to work. I'm going to look into learning something like web-design, or medical transcription, something I can do from home in my t-shirt and sweats, yanno?

For those of you who were in suspense over this *cricket chirping* I was initiated on the 24th of February. Sylvan wrote an incredible ritual that had most of us crying at the least. Won't give it away, in case she wishes to use it for future initiates, but suffice to say it was awesome. And no, not crying in a scary way, well, not scary the way you might think. More like rebuilding yourself scary. We had the post-class-initiation "feast" yesterday...and a more unlikely spread of food you couldn't imagine. Sylvan brought leftovers from her dad's birthday party...the usual suspects, fruit, cheese, veggies, dips, salsa, chips, olives, etc. summer sausage, and she bought some chocolate-covered, pecan evilly decadent hockey pucks on the way home..one is enough to die from insulin shock. The wild redhead brought some sort of choco-chocolate cake that I didn't try, and the Kimmeister shows up with a bag of sunchips and a--ready for this?--dozen Krispy Kremes. ACK! and the worst of worst, I had eaten way too many apricots over the preceding 24 hours and yep...the worst. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say I wore home a pair of Sylvan's old lounge pants. >.<

After my trip to the loo I noticed they had lit incense...go figure. *dies*

Told you this blog would not be pretty at times.

Le Kimmeister put it best...shit happens.

ttfn

Um....oh, hai! I'm in ur hed, makin thingz up

Sorry...the title is well, sophomoric, but it got your attention, didn't it? ;)

Four months to the day...what was this thing about turning over new leaves, etc? Feh...leaves, schmeaves...I write when the muse twhacks me over the head with a box of number 2s. I'm hoping my priestess/teacher is still talking to me...I asked her to repeat the snarky comment story and I guess a couple of the "we have nothing better to do than diss people more intelligent than ourselves" sites got hold of it. *sighs* You know, since skinny is considered "normal" and "desirable" (yeah, right, ask my husband about that one), and fat is "not normal" and "undesirable" (these are society's views, not necessarily my own), then it seems to be okay for skinny bitches to be bitchy about fatgirls in public and everyone's alright with that...

In a word? Bullshit. Here's the story, btw. I think Sylvan was completely and totally within her rights to a) be snarky to the ill-bred bitch, and b) to blog about it. Tit for tat, as they say.

I have yet to experience any of the rudeness that goes along with being fat...I think because I'm not young anymore. I am off everyone's scope, so to speak. And I still think fat people can do something about it if they wanted to...now, before you jump down my throat, there's a lot in that. Very often "being fat" is not the issue. Addressing other emotional issues is the issue...and those things have to be recognized, analyzed, and then dealt with before the fat thing can be tackled. And myself? I'm no one to talk, I've literally gained 100 lbs since high school. Good gods.. .bleah.

And I know, I know, I'm a horrible pagan...I don't find fat attractive or acceptable, but at least I'm well-bred enough to not SAY shit to people like Miss Jogging Suit. She deserved what she got, snarky comment and judgment included.

'Nuff for now...back to clearing nearly 20 years of clutter...mind, body, and house...

Remission

Oy. I've been remiss. Does that mean I'm in remission...or that my writing is? Anyhoo...I've started a thousand blog entries in my head and none ever make it to paper…let alone the “intarweb.”

This looks very much like it’s going to turn into one of those “bulleted posts,” you know, the kind that happen when you’re thinking too much…or not enough, or too lazy to write each into its own post (or know better than to try to stretch the glue too thinly).

* Regarding Mr Mukasey…I was actually rendered speechless by this one…yeah, me. What sort of deliberation does one need to make on whether or not water-boarding is torture, or even just plain wrong? Let’s see, as I understand it, water-boarding simulates drowning, scaring the individual into thinking they’re dying. Hmmm…now of course, I can’t say for sure, since I haven’t been to a Christian church in a long, long time (Goddess be praised!), but I think I can safely say that even the Southern Baptists haven’t moved this little activity onto the list of approved methods for Sunday school instruction or full-immersion baptisms. Please feel free to correct me here. So what is it that might be good or acceptable or in any way condonable about this practice? I’d probably die of heart failure and they wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not I’d drown, for fuck’s sake.

Anything that is this mentally abusive is WRONG. It doesn’t matter who the bad guys are, we’re the GOOD guys. To stay the good guys we must tread the higher moral ground, always. Always.

But then I temporarily forgot that Mr Bush and his cronies ran out of toilet paper years ago…and are now using the Constitution to wipe their asses with.

* Consideration. It’s amazing how many people preach the Golden Rule (remember that one about doing unto others…?) and yet never practice it. Here’s some things to think about…when you go to a public restroom, do you take a moment to wipe the counter around the sink, wipe the handle and front of the towel dispenser…after you’ve splattered water all over them? Wipe the seat if you just squatted to pee? Use tissue to wipe the products of your nose mining, instead of smearing it on the wall? (Yes, I’ve seen this one, and I have yet to understand it, with toilet tissue RIGHT FUCKING THERE!) If you splat your coffee in the hall at work…do you go back and wipe it up? Do you dump your damned ashtray out on the pavement instead of in a trash bag? Do you take your earphones out when you talk to someone? Do you answer your cell phone when talking to someone, instead of letting it go to voicemail? Do you mosey across the street as if there’s no tomorrow when you know there are cars being held up and your causing a traffic jam? And here’s a biggie……..do you wait for Mama Smith to load her 5 brats and 300 bucks worth of groceries, so you can get her space…thereby holding up traffic in the parking lot, even up to the main drag in front of the store…all because your fat ass is too fucking lazy to take the spot 20 feet down? I want to laser you into space. I have actually loaded up my truck while people waited like this and locked the door and gone back into the store…just far enough to see them park and then I walk right back out and nod and smile as they pass me going into the store—you are NOT more important than the dozen cars you are holding up and your fat butt could use the work anyway. Do you drive up the shoulder instead of waiting in traffic like everyone else? Again, you are not more important. I don’t see a pregnant woman about to drop her spawn, I don’t see your ass on fire…YOU are part of the problem, because then, when you get to the head of the line of traffic, you slow it down again trying to wedge your way back in. Again…I want to laser your toukus into space…far far into space.

There’s more…but really the bottom line is…the old golden rule says it all treat others as YOU would want to be treated.

* Egg-walking and the senior citizen. Well…L will know what this one is about. *sighs* Maybe some time when I have more energy.

Is it mine?

things you know intuitively

I KNEW there was a reason not to eat raw fish!!!! Talking to one of my classmates, who's lead in a fish market, I found out about moving cod filets....

Don't forget to read part II.

woman

Life is too busy, too stressed and yet I get nothing done, accomplish nothing...rearranging life...

In the meantime, for your edification, this week's inspiration comes from a ritual in Dianne Sylvan's The Body Sacred, part of which is to tape this poem to your mirror.

PHENOMENAL WOMAN
by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.