A Transition - No Pithy Phrase Is Moving

So a couple of years ago I started a blog on Wordpress for writing, because Wordpress has more up to date functionality and is in many ways easier to use.

I intended to use that one for "professional" writing things and this one for personal, but in the last two years I've discovered a couple of things.

1) I don't do well at "professional" website writing...it ends up way too generic and I feel like it's boring, therefore it's probably pretty boring to read. Gross. No.

2) I'm too old and busy to hide the freak flag. Fuck that.

I exported all of THIS blog this afternoon and uploaded it to my other one, which will be quickly renamed No Pithy Phrase as well, but the address is way easier: http://jessicasettergren.com.

This is my last post on Blogger, so if you follow me here and want to keep up with my weirdo blog stuff, please come on over to the insanity at the new address. If you've had enough, hey, I totally get it and thanks for playing.

I'll likely leave this site as is for a while and I haven't deleted any of the content, just migrated it over.

Review: The Sin Eater's Last Confessions: Lost Traditions of Celtic Shamanism

The Sin Eater's Last Confessions: Lost Traditions of Celtic Shamanism by Ross Heaven
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

When I picked this up, I anticipated a book of Welsh, Scottish, and Briton mythology surrounding the history of Sin Eaters with a bit of personal background. Instead, Ross Heaven wrote an engaging and lovely memoir about his time learning from one of the last Sin Eaters in Wales. Heaven's tone is similar to Dan Millman: any wisdom or lesson is presented more like a cozy conversation in someone's living room than a class. Pagan books can sometimes be dryly informative: this was utterly charming in tone and delivery. I ended up reading it twice: once for the story itself, and again to take practical notes.

I read it over New Year's weekend this winter, and it has set the tone for my approach to reading for work, pleasure, and spirituality this year. I loved it, and I'd have tea and conversation with Mr. Heaven any time.

View all my reviews

Dear Death: I See You Here

This is not a funny post. Today was a bad day. My vet told me to do a good day/bad day jar for a couple of weeks, but I don't really need it.

Death is stalking my household.

Thanatos waits patiently in the shadowed corners of my living room while we watch movies and bark quietly at neighborhood kids or invisible monsters in the back yard. Badb is hanging out cross-legged on the floor under a desk in my office, casually flipping through books in my library, content but staying close.

If I'm lucky. Persephone is working on a new spot with Thor: one with enough toys that they can steal from each other again.

I know the sensation of Death lingering in my house. I've done this already.

We are getting to the point that "tired" is more than just sleeping between meals and an exhausting barking session. It's a look in the eyes, a distinct need for comfort that forces failing legs to keep trying to push 110lbs up the stairs so he can sleep near a person. It's the sad expression when I pick up the leash, and half-hearted attempt to get up only to lie next to the open door, because the urge to pee isn't strong enough to bother going out even though it's been nearly 12 hours.

He's not ready, but I think we're within a week or two now. Taking responsibility for another living creature is a double edged razor. The vet says the timing is up to me. What that really means is I'm no longer monitoring and caring for Chewy to provide him with quality of life, but quality of death. Some would argue there are many reasons to make that choice on his behalf - send him on before he suffers, the expense involved in waiting, the disruption to my life, moving on.

Responsibility is a heavy burden because it's SUPPOSED to be heavy. Who the hell am I to determine how much of his life to cut off? People who bring up the expense involved are talking a bout the vet bills, the pills, the time involved in waiting for him to struggle back inside twice a day. But the real expense is the waiting, the burden of choosing when to invite Death formally instead of letting her hang out, because at some point the suffering is just enough. But I am only a caretaker: Chewy will let me know when he hits that point. Thor did.

We, people, humans, are so afraid of Death visiting that we'll do damn near anything to avoid it. Dogs are different. They'll fight to survive until it's time, and when it's time they're just...ready. They've done their jobs here, they've loved and protected and forgiven, and they let you know they're ok.

My vet is truly a fantastic man. When we let Thor go, he warned me what might happen - convulsions, bodily fluids, scary and awful struggling against the soul slipping from the body. He told me so I wouldn't be surprised, so I could stay in the room and be a comfort instead of a basket case. NONE of that happened with him - in fact, he give a little sigh of relief and just slipped off his body like an uncomfortable jacket that's gotten too tight.

I want that for Chewy, too. I want an easy death that relieves him from his broken down body and gives him freedom to bark at ALL THE THINGS. I want Thanatos to give him quiet sleep, and Badb to take him on a long, leisurely walk. There's always the chance that won't happen, that his passing will be somehow scarring. I hope not.

I suppose I'll find out in the next couple of weeks, because I know this countdown.

He stole a loaf of bread today while I got coffee. He was so proud of reaching it I can't even be all that mad, even though it was MINE MINE MINE. Cheeseburgers and treats will be the order of the days ahead, and a lot of sitting in the grass so he can just hang out and do what he loves best - watching over the neighborhood. Until it's time to stop.

Yes, I could say Tuesday is the day and we could be done and save me the emotional stress of Death becoming my temporary roommate. But that's not my job here. I'm not afraid to wait with him. I'm not afraid to make the decision or lie with him on the floor in the vet's office, or let him go.

When it's time, I will ask Death to walk my dog gently, and kindly request no more visits for a long while. Until then, we're sitting in companionable quiet, listening to Chewy's quiet breathing while he dreams.

Dear Universe: Point to You.

So, this* showed up in my mail yesterday. I am, indeed, amazed.


And not un-coincidentally, I laughed the sort of cathartic, belly-wrenching, tear-streaming, choking snort-laugh that only happens when ALL THE THINGS stifled inside are suddenly and shockingly jarred loose. Those of you who reached, offering kindness and chocolate and sandbar (or alcohol bar) support, I love you. Thank you for helping me until I found a way to shore.


Which I have, Universe, you colossal weirdo. Because, who the fuck expects THIS in the mailbox? Clearly, the photographer surprised her: of all the candid camera  shots...




Pretty sure SHE'S amazed...at just how far she can get her own tongue up her nose.

*For the record, I did look up the organization. It's a non-profit dedicated to helping people not only get fed, but start their own livestock farms for continued prosperity. So while I can make fun of the catalog itself, (from what little research I did) it seems like a cool concept. 

Vacation Conversations That Probably Shouldn't Be Repeated

I took an extra day off this weekend to be all social-like and prove I'm not a zombie hermit. My most excellent family member (who hates being called an aunt because we're more like sisters, and so I'm accommodating her whining request by calling her "family member") came down to drink and be stupid go to the MN Horse Expo yesterday.

FYI, I can't look at the expo link without seeing "hor-seex-po" (obviously there's a Latin-based language's accent attached - feel free to take your pick there), which is really indicative of my own mental failings and should probably be ignored.

Anyway, Thursday night presented Animal Planet on TV and smartasses on the couch. And thus, the following.

• What the FUCK is with man-buns anyway? WHY? For the record, I completely agree. 
• Later compared ManBuns to EntitledYogaHipsterMomBuns (those would be the Teletubby-esque top-of-the-head "messy" buns) sported expertly by a woman at the expo, who daintily pushed her fashionable stroller through a pile of horseshit while wearing a VERY disconcerted look. 
• SHITSTICKS! poop-on-a-stick, twatwaffle, and various versions of "whoore" also made appearances over the weekend.
• That's not a River Monster. That's a teeny crocodile, you puss. As it turns out, she's not a fan of Jeremy Wade or River Monsters. 
• OMG that guy just finger-fucked a crocodile! And thus Jeremy Wade's humiliation is complete. 
• When Chewy humps the air he's getting more than I do... I really see no need to reveal which of us made that comment. 
• If only for a pair of scissors with really long...scissorparts. For the manbuns, of course. After a couple of Guinnei (I still maintain that should be the plural of Guinness), the individual parts of scissors escaped us both. 

And then, there was Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo. I LOVE her, and I am not sorry. Pat Benatar was the go-to lip-sync game when I was a kid: my babysitting aunts and I used to sing along with a tape deck and an upright vacuum (because who needs a karaoke machine when you have a vacuum handle?).

And Pat Benatar didn't know she was still in Minnesota...I'm certain she thought they'd crossed the border into Canada. Close enough, really.

I have no smartass commentary about Pat, except I was really amused at how pissed off the sour old woman next to me really was (NOT any aunt or sister at the concert with me. I should go on record saying that...I was on the end and had the stranger danger). I'm not sure I can really blame her: the drunk jackass in front of her was one of six people who stood the entire concert...directly in front of us. And I'm 90% sure he kept farting in her general direction.

Pat and Neil did a bit of When Doves Cry to honor Prince. And all my favorites. My ears are still ringing with the pure awesome.

And there were many idiots with Teletubby topknots in the crowd.

Blessed Samhain

Samhain is a night in which time pauses: a crossing point between what has been and what is to come. A time to remember and honor those who have passed before us, and a time to look forward to a new cycle of the year.

Grandpa Ron, who left us suddenly and too soon but will never be forgotten. I still smell your cigars occasionally at the farm.
Grandpa Lars, who came from Norway in 1923 to become a successful silversmith and always had a joyful twinkle of mischief in his eye.
Grandma Ruth, who quietly encouraged me to eat another serving and calmly argued with Lars about Swedes being just as good as Norwegians.
Aunt Christine, who defied all norms to run her own business and paid for my ballet lessons as a child to ensure I was exposed to art. I follow in your footsteps now and hope to be an aunt as influential.
Grandma Evelyn, my niece's namesake, who made absolutely the best fudge ever, and who spent a great deal of time in the nursing home reciting her extremely large family's descendants to keep her mind sharp.

Robert, who never failed to joyfully take up all the space in a room with his generous laugh and wildly perfected costumes.

I remember you with love and will spend time with the shared stories of our pasts tonight.

I will remember that in all endings, including jobs, moves, and relationships, come the seeds of new beginnings.

Tonight isn't about sad dwelling upon the end,
But allowing endings to pass in peace and love,
So to begin anew tomorrow.

May your Samhain be blessed, and may tomorrow bring your next grand adventure.

Molon Labe

This is not a funny post. It's likely to cause me some hate mail (or hate-facebooking, I suppose). Ah well.

I am completely NOT shocked, nor even mildly surprised, about the CIA torture report. What DOES dishearten me are the variations of "This is why I don't give a fuck that we tortured terrorists" memes on social media. No, I'm not posting any examples, because I won't give credence to the idea. It disheartens me that many of the people whose opinions I value to at least some degree are willing to jump on the "it's ok to do anything to get results" bandwagon.

When you reduce a person to a label or pull an "ends to means" justification to excuse horrific brutality, have you not just proved you're no better than the enemy you're fighting? I would challenge any supporter of torture as an appropriate means to an end to read detailed descriptions of what happened in medieval torture chambers, and examine whether the rack or hot pokers are humane. Then read accounts of what happened to POWs during the Civil War or WWII or Vietnam (or, really, any other war). Torture hasn't changed much in the past few thousand years except in sophistication: in fact, as humans we've gotten BETTER at it.

Humans have gotten BETTER at breaking another human's psyche and spirit through physical and psychological pain without actually killing them. This is not an accomplishment we should be proud of as a species.

Here's the thing. I am not, at my core, a gentle person. In the words of a t-shirt I will soon own, "I am comfortable with violence."  I don't advocate peace at the expense of freedom, and, perhaps more importantly, I don't advocate standing by when someone else is attacked. As such, I'm both pro-military and pro-law enforcement in general. I get that it seems counter-intuitive to some of my really liberal values, but those who protect us are important to me. I admire those who serve because they do jobs that, by their very nature, chip away at the soul. They sacrifice immensely on our behalf. There are certain situations, both personal and as a member of humanity, in which violent response is the only available answer. I understand many will disagree with my position: I'm ok with that. The point of writing this isn't to advocate for my ethics: it's to give you a framework for what I'm about to say.

The moment you endorse the torture of another human being, even if you're not doing the torture yourself, is the moment you choose to kill a piece of your own humanity. Maybe it's just a little piece. Maybe you have humanity to spare. Maybe you truly feel justified that your response is fair retribution. Let me be painfully clear:

If you think it heinous and depraved for the ENEMY to shock American prisoners' genitals with electrodes, to repeatedly drown and revive them, to pull fingernails out, to refuse food and water and sleep, to force them to stand for days on end in joint-breaking positions, but you think it's acceptable for US to do so under the fallacy of getting "information," you have failed your argument. 

I don't agree with the Abrahamic religions' idea that everyone, even the most evil, have some bit of good to nurture. There is a level of depravity and cruelty in the world that, to my mind, deserves no quarter. No second chances to cause additional damage. I don't have a problem with the death that comes with war. It's part of war. I don't have a problem with the death penalty for certain levels of criminals. I don't have an issue with carrying guns or defending ourselves from violence done upon us. But if death is the response, it needs to be a clean, humane death.

There are people who are the equivalent of rabid dogs attacking individuals and society. The response to a rabid dog is NOT to become rabid yourself.  I think inflicting death upon another soul, taking someone or something's life, is already a serious and soul-damaging act. Inflicting pain because the judgement is made that the pain is "deserved" is both unjust and creates a dark, unclean space in the spirit.

I work, hard to cultivate compassion and empathy for others. Yes, this is a direct countermeasure to my ability to consider violence as an option. The better I am at seeing both sides of a situation, the more likely I am to be able to DE-escalate.  Empathy leads to finding a point of common ground, which can lead to a point of understanding between two otherwise contentious parties. Empathy leads to compassion for others' situations, and maybe, just maybe, empathy and compassion can provide a single moment for a person to step back and look without judgement. Imagine that: a break in the cycle of "you hurt me, so I'm going to do worse to you and yours."

Every attempt toward compassion is worthwhile. Every moment of empathy achieved is a step toward making your life more positive. And when it fails, as it most definitely will fail on many occasions, there is a choice. Choose to keep trying, or to give in to the negative, vengeful, destructive side. It's HARD to look at a situation from the other party's point of view.  But in my opinion the work is worth the effort, the failures, and the frustration, both personally and in hopes that I can make a little corner of my own universe a little less dark.

I'm not giving up my empathy and compassion to anyone, especially not to propaganda and a false sense of vengeance perpetrated by misinforming social media garbage.

Molon Labe. 

I have no good title for this...It's an anniversary of sorts.

It's been two years this weekend since Husband and a friend were on his motorcycle when they were schmucked by a drunk asshole. I say schmucked because said drunk asshole was going about 45mph and didn't slow down. At all. He pinned Husband's leg between the truck and the bike, breaking his pelvis in two places, dislocating his hip, breaking his foot, and finally flinging him across the overpass. There were other injuries, and some scars he'll bear forever. However,  Husband is definitely mending, although the extent of some of the internal injuries mean he still has pain all the time: nerve damage sucks, people. It sucks.

Two years ago on Friday I was sitting in the waiting room at Regions Hospital in St. Paul, going in and out of the ICU, hoping Husband could wake up eventually. I didn't know for sure until that Monday that he would. Two years ago 8/29 (since the dates and days don't match) I found myself in the ER at Regions at 10:30pm. To our friends in the ER with me, the doctors, nurses and EMTs (especially one in particular who knows us personally but said nothing so he didn't get removed from working on Husband), I can only say thank you. And that I sincerely hope the surgical resident who talked to me about the exploratory surgery necessary that night at 2am now looks his age, because it's goddamned disturbing to have a 12 year old telling you "we don't know where he's bleeding internally, but he's on his fifth bag of blood and we have to find the problem or he could die." Please dude, grow a goatee or something. Also, FYI, husband did not become a vampire. I just felt I should clarify...

As I understand it, our friend on the bike with him is also doing well, but her recovery is her own story to share or not...I just wish her the best in recovering and in dealing with the insurance company.

It's a funny thing, an intense accident. Not funny in a belly-laugh sort of way...funny in a life is fucked up and weird sort of way. Let me lay some background before I explain.

Humans, including Husband and I, get into ruts. Patterns of behavior, patterns of thinking, patterns of living and socializing, without really even thinking about it. I suppose the patterns happen BECAUSE we aren't thinking about it: when there is no examination of what's going in in our lives, we just sort of float through and act on habit instead of intent. Habitual behavior isn't a bad thing by nature: you can cultivate just as many good habits (eating healthy, exercising daily, etc.) as bad.  Change is always hard, whether you're creating good or bad habits, and more often than not people (including me) are more comfortable sticking with the devil they know than going through the pain and work of change.

Unfortunately, we'd both been in an unhappy rut for quite some time when the accident happened. There were so many reasons for the unhappiness, so many reasons for the horrible habits we'd both developed that it's difficult to even say when they started. But we'd both been generally stuck in these bad patterns for years. The accident was a catalyst, as major life-changing events usually are.

During Husband's recovery time we both had a lot of time to assess our lives, what we wanted, and where we wanted to go. Honestly, the entire first year after the accident was such a blur of emotion and physical turmoil it seems accelerated in my mind. There are months of 2012 and 2013 I don't remember clearly, and there are moments of memory etched in permanent, painful detail. It's been a very long two years, but there has been healing in every way possible.

Ultimately, his accident saved us both, as sick as that sounds. Waking up from a sleepy life and paying attention is hard. "Hard" isn't a sufficient description...hmm. Miserable, exhausting, enlightening, humbling, terrifying, thrilling, astonishing...all better descriptors but only if they're all together. It's harder when it's forced upon you. But once it begins, attention is difficult to stop, and contentment with the devil I know isn't possible anymore.

So, changes have been under way. Some are subtle: we've both been making individual efforts to work on accepting ourselves, on figuring out and actually working toward our on life goals. For me, that means a lot of meditation, writing, and slowly changing my diet/exercise to be a healthier person as well as a lot of internal work on identifying and...well...fixing the way I talk to myself.

Some are...less subtle. Ha. We moved from Minnesota to Texas, got new jobs...it's a whole new thing here and it's both terrifying and exhilarating. I miss my people all the time. I don't miss the state, and I suspect this winter I won't miss the snow much. We'll see. Currently out my window it's changed from 93 degrees and sunny to torrential downpour rain (the sort we only got rarely in MN happens here often...I call it Trinidad rain: feels like someone's dumping a bucket of warm water on you). It's lovely here, and I'm flabbergasted that I (VERY unexpectedly) like Houston. Funny how  preconceptions you have about something are so often utterly wrong. I like it here, and I feel healthier than I have in a long while: a physical change of scenery was something I needed.

But I still miss my friends and family, particularly those who became so very close to me in the past two years. Interestingly, the accident wasn't just a catalyst for changes in ourselves and our marriage: it was a big catalyst for our social circle (individually and as a couple). I'm not always good at identifying actual friends from those who need something from me but don't wish to be needed or people who are just flat out selfishly harmful. During those months in the end of 2012, we both discovered truths about people in our various circles and surprising things happened. Some acquaintances became very close friends, old friendships were rekindled, some close friends drifted away, toxic people were cut out of our lives because it's too damn much energy to accommodate them anymore.

To those of you who have been with us (for him, me, or both) on this ridiculously weird, intense, painful journey: we hope you know just how much we love you. I'm so utterly grateful for everyone in our lives, and I have some regrets about those I didn't get to know better before we left. Things are better, and even with challenges we're both definitely on a better path, individually and together.

I'm happier paying attention.

Nighmares At The Museum...Or, Ways To Feel Lucky I'm Still Alive

This isn't a real post: it's a bunch of pics from our trip to the Houston Museum of Natural Science for my birthday (because the MAGNA CARTA was there, people, and nothing makes my geeky medieval heart beat quite as fast as a piece of parchment that was written in 1217).

 

After I stopped drooling on the glass attempting to read tiny scribblings I'm told are supposedly in  Latin but were written on really old skin, in fading ink, in a different language, by some sort of hobbit sized scribe erm... blind monks thrifty people trying to save messenger fees...

 

Anyway, after we finished geeking out over the Magna Carta we spent some time in the Paleontology exhibit.

 

Wherein I met monsters that I'm afraid are digging holes in my front yard and some unfortunate fellows had...incidents.

 

First, there were bugs. LOTS OF GIANT SNAKEPIDER BUGS.

If THIS is what's making a goddamned hole in my front garden, FUCK NO.

FUCKETY FUCK FUCK NO!!!!

Then, there were super awesome giant cross sections of huge trees that lived about a zillion years before man was even a blip on the cosmic radar. And they're pretty.

 

I'm 6' tall. This cross section of a fossilized tree is taller than me...just how many rings IS that?

Then Husband unfortunately lost his hand to some sort of giant sailing lizard. Sad. (It's possible he's attempting to choke said sailing lizard, which seems foolish considering the HUGE FUCKING TEETH, but it all turned out ok in the end.)

 

His new hook is on backorder. 



Then we discovered Syfy channel has failed utterly in their monster movie motifs. I mean, come ON: in the Hall of Monsters in the museum these dudes just hung out, waiting to stalk you and eat your brains. Except they were literally 15 to 20 feet tall, and looked fully large enough to carry off a Clydesdale. Syfy, their NAME is Gigantodactyl. YOUR WORK HAS BEEN DONE FOR YOU HERE.

We do not eat worms.
Unless it's a sandworm from Dune...those might be tasty, and we're definitely early.
And terrifying.
 

And then we discovered this unfortunate scene, in which a skeletal zombie mammoth is fighting skeletal human hunters. As you can see, the mammoth is CLEARLY winning here.

Or, prehistoric humans could fly. It's rather difficult to tell.

See the skeleton? Natural Selection at it's best.



Nope, this dude DEFINTELY looks like he's having a piss-poor hunting day. Maybe the Mammoth learned to appreciate human flight deaths from Robin Arryn? (Yes, that's a Game of Thrones reference. What? This could be the brother of the sad mammoths that died at the Wall)

 



You win this round, Mammoth.



And thus our trip to the museum ended. And I'm reminded that even though I'm closer to 40 today, I still have a longer life span than people who tried to fly around mammoths. And that's enough for me.



Mammoth Butt. The End.

Call Me a Poser if You Like: Jane of All Geeks

This post rambles some. Feel free to ignore.

I am neither a true blooded geek nor a nerd, at least not the way either label is used in the current nerd culture. I'm not sorry for that at all, but it does occasionally cause some...hmm...awkward moments.

I was born the year Star Wars was released. Yes, I'm aware what age that makes me. Return of the Jedi was the second movie I ever saw in a theater, and I've been utterly hooked on science fiction and fantasy (arguably Star Wars has many elements of both genres, effectively melding the two into a cohesive combination of both the mystical and the scientific). Throw out titles of science fiction or fantasy movie from the '80's through today, and I've likely seen it. I adore losing myself in a good sword and sorcery tale, or harboring the terror of aliens after Ripley.

Books have always been even more important to my...hmm...let's call it "escapery". I read The Hobbit around age ten or eleven. I got into harder science fiction, oddly enough, through Anne McCaffrey's Pern series, which (while 100% fantasy after the first book) was based on a scientific expedition crashing on Pern and genetically developing the dragons for later generations. But while I'm a huge fantasy fan, I never read all the D&D books, or the Forgotten Realms series'. While I'm a huge sci-fi fan, I never read the really hard-core space novels. Why? Because they bored the shit out of me. Sigh.

I'm a dabbler. I'm honest about it: I love pieces and parts of all genres and sub-genres, but I'm an expert in none. I've read all of Tolkien's books, not just LOTR and The Hobbit, but the Lost Tales, Silmarillion, the Appendices...but I can't throw out quotes and get into arguments with people on the accuracy of the books vs the movies. I find space, science, fantasy, anime, games, movies, comics, books - (all aspects of subjects that got me bullied for being a nerd in school) fascinating, but I'm not obsessed with any of them. I started reading my first comic series when I was 36. I don't know (or care about, really) the differences between the Marvel universe and the Marvel movies. I just like the Marvel characters.

My passion, where I store the most knowledge and put my energy into learning, is Mythology. All mythology, all religions. Even fictional mythologies, like those in games or comics. That makes me somewhat out of place in, say, anime/sci-fi/fantasy conventions or in groups of gamers and cosplayers. I'm at a distinct disadvantage because I'm not an obsessed expert in anything else, just a a casual dabbler with various degrees of random fact recall...which leads to scoffing "you're not a REAL nerd/gamer/fan/geek" snarky comments.

How fucking tiresome.

In about a year, I'm going to Star Wars Celebration in California. We bought tickets a year ago for this, and we're going with a group of friends who are possibly MUCH bigger fans than I am. I can get into a "Han shot first" argument with the best of 'em, but I haven't read all the extended universe material or played all the games. I know every line of all six movies, but I haven't seen all of the Clone Wars series. I don't have SW tattoos or know every name of all of the Skywalker line. I expect to be wowed by the level of fandom while I'm there.

Husband and the friends I'm going with are all excited to cosplay, and I'm simply not quite as interested in that. Sure, it'd be fun to dress up, but I'm not willing to spend THOUSANDS on an outfit I'll wear one time. Ever. (To be fair, I said exactly the same thing about my wedding dress.) And I'm not willing to argue with the "you're not a REAL fan: that belt/robe/color/boot isn't accurate" assholes out there, either. Add to that the fact that I'm not crafty, at all (I can barely sew a button back on much less create a costume) and I'm just...blah about the whole thing. I love seeing what people can do in cosplay. I love seeing excellently made, and even beginner made, costumes done by people who are passionate about their art. Because costuming IS art.

I am not an artist.

So I'll work on losing weight and toning up so I can be some sort of sexy Sith at Celebration for a night, because the three of us planning costumes will have fun together doing it. But I'm planning on bringing comfy clothes to bum around and people watch for most of the convention, because THAT's the shit I like best. People are fucking fascinating creatures, particularly in a microcosm like a con.

Mythology is ALIVE at a convention: that's exciting as hell for me. Even if I'm only really able to quietly geek out to myself about it.

Dear Minnesota: Buh-Bye Then!

Juice boxes for adults. I'd like a case, please. 

• So, man gets hit by drunk fuck assmonkey and nearly croaks. 
• Man recovers, decides life's way too short to continue doing what he's been doing (just getting by) and wants to follow his passions. 
• Man also sick as fuck about the frozen tundra's endless miserable winter. 
• Man finds the only goddamned school for said passions is in a state both he and his wife swore they'd never live in. 
• Man gets into said school. 
• Fool woman finds a job in the same town. 
• Job INSISTS on moving 6 weeks earlier than planned, before the funds for said move are actually available, before any place to live has been secured, before any renter has been found for the Tundra house. 
• Woman is now bald and sitting on the floor crying incoherently*. 
• SEND ADULT JUICE BOXES! STAT!
• Lesson 1: ALWAYS say your favorite place on earth is the one place you'll never move to, because apparently Texas is more powerful than "we're never moving there." 
• Lesson 2: I'm NEVER living in Ireland. I'm NEVER living in Ireland. I'm NEVER living in Ireland. I'm NEVER living in Ireland...

*I'm not actually losing my mind all the way...just part of the way. I have some hair left. 

Also, the moving company estimators were probably horrified at the number of random sex toys piled up in my office (I shut down the Party Gals business to move and am getting rid of a bunch of stuff). 

Apparently one foolishly mentioned (in an unpleasant way) that we sure do have a lot of weapons in our house. This was after he disparaged the dogs. That company will not be getting our business. Asshole. I suppose it's fair that Renaissance Festival weirdos like us with a large collection of swords could be seen as scary. I prefer to think of us as appropriately weird. So there. 

Furballs Run My Household

Shit I've said to the dogs in the past week:

But my feet are so TASTY! It's exhausting...

• Stop licking your feet.
• NO HUMPING YOUR BROTHER!
• Thor, don't bite Chewy's face when he's coming back in. Wait until he's through the door, fucker, it's COLD out there.
• DO NOT EAT THAT POOP!
• Seriously, Thor, stop eating your goddamn feet.
• It's rude to stare at my plate.
• No, you can't have anything here (pointing at plate). MINE.
• NO LICKING MY FORK, ASSHOLE!
• Uh Oh!! (note this is immediately followed by two lumbering oafs barreling into our little kitchen to clean up whatever edible bits of tasty goodness I dropped on the floor).
• Thor, I can pee on my own. I don't need your help. Wait outside.
• Godammit, I said DO NOT push the door open!
• Sigh Fine. Get your nose out of my face...I saw you eat poop earlier.
• THOR!  (followed by a pointed look from me to the dog who's foot is in his mouth. Again. He generally drops it, sighs, and stares at me forlornly).
• Chewy! NO BLOWJOBS!! Leave your brother's junk alone, dude. That's gross.
• NO HUMPING!
• Biscuit!
• Chew! Get out of the way or I'll have Luke cut off your other arm.*
• Breakfast!**
• Dinner!**

*Chewy = giant white fluffball, with teeth. Although he's unlikely to save people in his ice cave to eat later (because it's really way too much work), he'd probably enjoy an ice cave of his own. Also, he's never met a Jedi, but I imagine he'd like them. The only people he dislikes are those who run through HIS backyard and disrupt his view of the frozen tundra.

That would be root beer all over my nose. It was yummy.

Seriously, if you STILL don't get this reference, all I can say is go have a Star Wars marathon. In the proper order: IV, V, VI, I, II, III (if you must...I hated II and III, to be honest. All that horrific WHINING by Hayden Christensen...ugh).

**Both of my dogs do actually know the words "Breakfast" and "dinner." It's the best way to get them to come a-runnin if they're dawdling during a pee break. They also know "biscuit," "bath," "ball", "Furface," "treats," "cheeseburgers," "ride/car/go," "walk," "dog park," "wipe your mouth" and "use your words." Sometimes their vocabulary is entertaining. Sometimes it's irritating as hell.

"Nice! I Have a Cadaver Bone in my Jaw. Stay Warm People."

There is nothing I could possibly come up with for a title better than that.

Today's text conversation between my sisters and I today.  Punctuation fixed (it's hard to punctuate on text properly!)

S1: We got a new furnace finally!
Me: Yay! Just in time for -0 this week. Whew!!
S2: Nice! I have a cadaver bone in my mouth. Stay warm people.
Me: WHAT. THE. F. You eat dead people??
Mother: Heehee*
S1: That is literally amazing!!! What if it's from a criminal and it makes you go rogue?!?
Me: What if it's from a super secret agent spy and you get all Bourne Identity?
Mother: Don't give her any ideas!!!
S1: Heehee!!
S2: Lol sickos
Me: If you have a sudden calling to Catholic missions in Calcutta, it's Mother Theresa's bone.
S1: and if it's a craving for fava beans and a good Chianti...well...**
Me: This entire conversation belongs on the blog. How are you feeling after your...procedure? (Every possible way I tried to write that using "bone" sounded sick, FYI."
S2: LMAO yes, just sore. Otherwise went fine. :)
Me: If I write a haunted cadaver bone implant SyFy channel D movie I"ll be sure it says "inspired by REDACTED: S2" and give you 1/2 of the $10 I get for the script. Mwahahahaha!
S2: AWESOME.

Of course, I couldn't stop there...I mentioned it to my co-worker (who also writes). She immediately jumped all over the idea of a haunted cadaver bone in your jaw that haunts you or makes you do bad things, and the only way out is to remove the bone. Hence the SyFy channel D movie script plan.

*Oh yes, I know EXACTLY from whom I inherited my disturbed sense of humor.

**If you don't know what this references, first of all WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?? Second: go out immediately and rent/stream/watch The Silence of the Lambs. 

And invest in coffee, because you won't sleep for a bit.

And in other news, today in the office I've discussed guns in depth with the new guy, confirmed to a co-worker that Bermudians do, indeed, wear 3 piece suits with Bermuda shorts (and socks up to their knees) instead of pants, and just overheard my boss talking about opening wine bottles with a shoe.

I'm not entirely sure what universe I'm in today, but it's fucking cool and I'd like to stay a while.

I'm Done SHOULDing All Over Myself

Screw resolutions.

I've spent my entire life hearing "should" and some variation of "ought to (generally it's "otta").

You should lose weight. You should eat better. You should write more. You should pay more attention. You should be sexier. You should be more professional. You shouldn't act so crazy. You should be more fun. You shouldn't hide. You shouldn't be an introvert. You should move to the city for a better job. You should buy this. You should be more open. You should trust "me" (from various people, both romantic and not, both betrayers and not).

Worse than that...I've been SHOULDING all over myself for years. I'm sick of it.

I should lose weight. I should get in shape. I should be prettier. I should wear makeup. I shouldn't sleep in. I shouldn't game/watch all-day-bad-horror-movie-marathons. I need to save more money, I need to spend more time doing "X". I should eat my vegetables, I should be vegan. I should eat meat. I should clean my house (ARGH!). I should do laundry (sigh). I should feed my dogs (ok, that one's necessary and the boys are quite vocal if I'm more than 10 minutes after feeding time, so no real danger of missing it).

SHOULDING is messy. And stupid...and it doesn't actually do the psyche any good.

When I'm SHOULD on (by myself or others), I'm given an obligation. I'm imposed upon. I'm not choosing. SHOULDING is the act of imposing values or actions instead of CHOOSING those values or actions. I'm done shoulding on myself, and I'm done allowing others to should all over me (because seriously, that's gross).

That doesn't mean I don't do many of the SHOULDs anyway: I actually enjoy a lot of them. I feel calmer when my house isn't a disaster. I feel better and have more energy when I work out regularly (particularly when I do something I think is fun). My brainpan has needs to express via writing and calm via meditation. I (GASP) LIKE vegetables. 

The freedom and responsibility of choice is far more fun, exciting, and fulfilling. Therefore, I have no resolutions, because resolutions are just SHOULDs in devious disguise.

I choose to work, because I generally like getting a paycheck, I like the environment, and I'm pretty decent at the work itself.

I choose to spend time with friends, family, my husband because I LOVE them all and (even when I'm lazy and cranky) I'd rather be with them than anywhere else.

I choose to eat better and work out because I FEEL better when I do so, and in doing so I improve my physical appearance, my creativity, and my psyche.

I choose to do yoga and meditate, for the obvious (and a few less obvious) benefits.

I choose to write more, because working at it is rewarding and I want to nurture that talent toward my ultimate goals of how I want my life to work. My first book is about half done...and I greatly anticipate the accomplishment (and ROCKING celebration) I'm going to have

I choose to do household chores more often because I sneeze less and feel less anxious when my house isn't a disaster.

I choose to stop SHOULDING and change my mindset to embracing opportunities and choice, even when the choice is the unpopular one.

My gut isn't broken: I choose to listen.

And Thus I Consider My Blog a Win.

Search term that produced my blog today:

"trampled by Xena"

Win. I'm proud.

I'll probably do a real post tomorrow. Today I'm basking in Xena-ness.

And So, I Embrace Google's Opinion Me

Remember how everyone tells me their sex and relationship issues? Did you know my husband is moving to Texas for 11 months next year for school (I am not, for financial and practical reasons...meaning, I'd like to keep my job until I get to the point they'll let me work from home full time, I can't afford to commute between MN and TX weekly, and we'll likely move when he's done with school anyway)? Did you know back in the day (ie 2005 and earlier) I sold "Romance products" through one of those in-home party gigs?

This all goes together, I swear. 

I've decided to re-start my sex toy romance business. I need something to keep me occupied while he's in school...and you know, a way to help PAY for school. Plus, I have no shame and thoroughly encourage people to have healthy fun sex lives. I think it's important to well-being in a long-term relationship.

I won't advertise here after this post, although I may share entertaining stories here and there. After all, I have a reputation to uphold with Google Ads (because I'm lewd). But if you're interested, you can find the business on Facebook at www.facebook.com/shadowayn

My Party Gals website (for products, booking online parties, and likely some immature giggles): www.partygals.biz/shadowayn or www.tabooessentials.com/shadowayn

And finally, to coincide with the toy business I decided to pair it with an advice column: http://shadowaynlove.blogspot.com. I'd love some guest-posts there, my bloggy friends!

Are you sensing a theme? 

Back to NaNoWriMo. Because I'm clearly attempting to kill myself with all the THINGS to do.

PS: I sort of find my labeling scheme amusing today.

Writing about Writing (WARNING! Han Pictures!)

Thank you, all of you who encouraged me to keep going. Honestly, my couple-week-hiatus wasn't a plea for attention or validation, nor was it to wonder whether the person in question was right: I KNOW he's wrong. That's not the point. HE'S not the point. Ultimately, that friendship was killed by an entirely different subject (after all, I may be pretty damn flexible and accepting, but there are a few topics on which I do not bend).

HE doesn't matter in terms of this blog, because ultimately it's my blog. If no one reads it at all, I'd still write it (which is the #1 reason the premise behind the comment was in error: I don't write to publish. I write for me. If I entertain or inspire argument/thought/reflection, well neat. But it's not my reason for writing).

I took a couple weeks to really think about where this blog started (with NO readers other than very occasionally my husband, who already knew all the stories) to where it is now, and what I want to do with it. I DO have a quick temper and at least enough bare minimum skills with words to cause harm if I'm not careful. I also have a responsibility to myself to balance editing (for the protection of subjects as well as for clear writing) and self-censorship.

Here's the deal, I originally intended this blog to be about my random silly life, and that's how it's going to remain.

That means some days, I'm feeling like this:

I am SO GODDAMN HAPPY!
 (That's right, my nephew Han is FUCKING ADORABLE. SUCK IT, Prince George!)

And some days, maybe not so much.


DUDE! I'm not sure WTF just happened, but I am SORELY unimpressed. STOP LAUGHING!
(In case you're wondering, his mom gave him the squeeze tube of baby food. OF COURSE he squeezed it...and was slightly horrified at the result. Or, at all of us laughing at him...)

I suppose the best way to put my final decisions on manipulation is: I see a clear difference between attempting to manipulate someone versus entertaining and/or openly influencing someone. I won't lie to get someone to do what I want them to do. I won't arrange situations and people to try to change the outcome.

But I WILL report when situations are funny as hell (or, as is often the case with me, utterly fucked up). And I won't hide when depression hits, or when I'm particularly emotional about something.

So yeah, I'm back.

Now, I'm off to put the Cone of Shame on Chewy. Sigh. One more week of this hell and my house goes back to normal. Just in time for Renaissance Festival to start.

I could do a whole series on THOSE dramas...after the Townhome Twits are finished. Next one tomorrow! 

A Snippet of Paganism - Feel Free to Skip This Post

So, I read a LOT of Spirituality, Religion, and Mythology texts: Wiccan, Pagan, Christian (although the "begat" section of the Bible is irritating, and the King James version is just terrible...it was heavily edited for "decency" and there are much better, more complete, versions out there), Hindu, Ancient Egyptian, Sumerian, Celtic...yeah. It's a long list people.

Anyway, I found the equivalent of the Wiccan Rede* or the 10 Commandments* when reading about Norse Paganism* (there are a few varieties) the other day. I thought it was interesting...so I'm sharing. Like I said, if this bores the crap out of you or offends, feel free to ignore this post. Townhome Twits returns tomorrow.

Disclaimer: I'm in no way, shape, or form any sort of expert on Heathenism, Odinism, Astaru, or any other Norse based Paganism (or any religion, really). These are my current interpretations: if you ARE an expert, feel free to elaborate. I'm always interested.

And so: the "Nine Noble Virtues" (with my personal...severely boiled-down for space...definitions added):

1. Courage: Everyone is scared. Many people allow fear to rule their actions, instead of pushing through the fear and fighting it back, and so they stay stuck. "Luck will often find a man, should his courage hold." Bulwyf, The 13th Warrior
2. Truth: I actually see Truth and Honor as hand-in-hand virtues: Honesty in words and intentions is important: a liar is untrustworthy.   
3. Honor: If you give your word, keep it. Act with honorable intent and treat others respect. Even when it's really fucking difficult. Honor is in actions and results, the way Truth is measured in words and results.
4. Fidelity: Loyalty to your family (and I mean the loosest and most important definition of family: the family you CHOOSE. That can include blood relations or not: the people deeply important to you are family).
5. Discipline: Control of yourself (physical, emotional, rational) prevents others from controlling you, but it takes consistency and work.
6. Hospitality: NEVER turn away someone in need. You don't know when you'll be on the one needing. Cautious generosity and kindness are often returned in kind, and you never know who that person is that needs it.
7. Industriousness: Nothing in this world is free: that which seems free has a cost somewhere. Work. Work your ass off. CONTRIBUTE somehow to the tribe. Laziness gets nothing done and provides no value to yourself or your tribe (and I use "tribe" loosely here, as it could mean your family, your friends, your coworkers, your society, your country, your Earth).
8. Self-Reliance: YOU are responsible for your survival and success. Period.
9. Perseverance: You can give up, after you die. Pretty simple, really.

I actually think quite a lot about these 9 virtues. They make sense to me in many ways (although I do have some trouble with #5 and #7...laziness is a personal vice of mine...sigh), and combine well with the idea that the energy you expend is what you'll get back (spread kindness, you'll likely see it returned. Don't believe me? Smile at everyone you see tomorrow and say hello).

That led me to the Astaru Folk Assembly's variation of the Nine Virtues (also found on the Wiki link), with which I agree completely EXCEPT for #9.

1. Strength is better than weakness
2. Courage is better than cowardice
3. Joy is better than guilt
4. Honour is better than dishonour
5. Freedom is better than slavery
6. Kinship is better than alienation
7. Realism is better than dogmatism
8. Vigor is better than lifelessness
9. Ancestry is better than universalism  Not for me. I think humans are the same everywhere: there are compassionate ones, nasty one, selfish ones, beautiful ones, ugly ones, generous ones, violent ones, peaceful ones, dramatic ones, practical ones...and every other description you can probably think of, everywhere in the world

This post isn't some big revelation, nor is it an attempt to convert anyone. I think the similarities between world religions are fascinating, and so I shared. Feel free to leave opinions in the comments.



*Yes. I used Wikipedia as my sources. Why? Because it is non-religious and as equally objective (and really, as fact-based as possible when looking at 3 completely different religions) as I could find. Feel free to research further if you choose: there about 10 quadrizillion websites and book on Wicca, Paganism, Norse Paganism, and Christianity out there. And that's probably a low estimate.

Merida, she is NOT (a teaser-trailer for the Demented Disney Princess post)

This is not a real post. I'm going to sunny gorgeous Cancun tomorrow for a week with the recovering husband (dude, after the horrible fall/winter we had, it's time for a fricken cocktail on the beach!). Depending on his vice-grip on the iPad, I may or may not have an opportunity to post rude pictures from my balcony.

By rude, I mean sun/sand/ocean postcard-quality pictures (or the blurrier kind, which is more likely, although whether the PICTURES are blurry or it's just my drunken eyeballs...well, that may be up for debate). I do not mean the sort Go-Oogle* uses to say I'm too lewd. 

I'm a little ADD this afternoon, counting down minutes until we leave, so this post is likely shit. Sorry!!

Anyway, since we'll be gone** and my posting opportunities will be stymied, I'll wait to post anything on the Demented Disney Princess until I get back. Although she HAS made a point of looking ever day at my next-door neighbor's tulip garden (that's not a dirty euphemism...she really DOES have a lovely garden of multi-colored tulips) every goddamn day.

Yesterday she said "I wish I could figure out how she (neighbor) keeps the rabbits/squirrels/chipmunks from eating the bulbs in the fall!"

I did NOT say "she doesn't fucking FEED them every day, you twit."

But I REALLY wanted to.

*My readers (and commenters) are AWESOME, and I'm likely to start using Go Oogle instead of Google all the time now. Thanks!!

**My mother in law is dogsitting at our house, burglars, so don't bother robbing us. Between the three of them I'd be afraid to even knock on the door. And I say that with love: my MIL is pretty awesome.

I am unamusing. You can skip this post.

I think I lost a close friend last week. Not in a sock drawer or to circus. Not to any nefarious creature or mob hit: just lost him. Stubbornness may have been involved.

And temper. I'm sure you're shocked and astounded that my temper would successfully push someone away. I am decidedly not shocked. Nor astounded. But I'm sad.

The loss aches. The list of people who truly know almost everything about me isn't long. The people with whom I feel comfortable being "me" without any pretense or mask...well, I can count that list on my fingers. I've been feeling not-enough for some time now, like I'm a fixer-upper with attic bats and cobwebs who could be a great best friend/love/wife/coworker if I could just be a little...better.

If I could be less of a "girl" and never let my emotions get the best of me. (God that is so unbelievably sexist and idiotic. As though men aren't just as irrationally emotional...hiding it and suppressing it doesn't mean feelings aren't there. Belittling and dismissing women for their emotional connection is just...ridiculous.)

If I could always be the rational one and stay in control. If I could keep myself separated enough to never get hurt again.

And the danger of that is to feel nothing. And in feeling nothing, you begin to care less and less about how those around you feel. And loneliness becomes all-encompassing, and your relationships suffer or fall apart.  And depression weasels in, ready to pull you into the pit.

I've been thinking obsessing some about this for days, mostly because I don't do cut-off-all-communication very well. Finally I finished the argument in an email that will never be sent, because it had to come out somewhere. Sigh. It took a while to put the twisted, convoluted mess of anger, regret and sadness into conscious thought.

I've felt...easy to walk away from, easy to disregard...for a while.

And then a most excellent blogger I follow (This Is How The Apocalypse Starts) posted a link to THIS (another fabulous blogger I now follow). I read it. I re-read it. I cried that unstoppable sobbing, gut-wrenching, snot-producing unpretty cry that leaves you exhausted but emotionally clean afterward. And then I read it again, and shared it everywhere I could.

Because I'm a little broken. I have bouts of depression that leave me watching tearjerker movies and balling for no reason. I randomly giggle until I actually wheeze, unable to breathe. I can be a responsible mid-30's person in one moment, an enchanted 5 year old the next, and a dirty-minded 14 year old the next. I'm overweight and too-often lazy. I'm terrible at saying "no" when it comes to money, energy and time. I have long patience on most things that drive people nuts and absolutely no fuse at ALL between happy and utterly incensed if you push certain triggers. I feel AND I think on a spectrum that varies, and I won't apologize for it. My emotions are an integrated part of my psychological makeup. I live with them day in and day out. They color my dreams. They flare and fade a thousand times a day, and most of the time I don't act upon them.

If that makes me "not enough" well, that's really not my problem, because perfection isn't my goal. Putting on the "right" face to interact with people who are supposed to be close to me isn't my goal.

Authenticity, in all its messy/joyful/miserable/awful/ecstatic glory: that's my goal.