Swashbucklers AND Samurai!! Hip Hip Hooray!

So I walked over to the local comic book shop, Main Vein Comics, yesterday at lunch. I haven't been in a few weeks, because I have sooo many comics that I haven't read, all sitting in the tidy little bags I carried them home in. I need to catch up, but I'm always looking for something new to read. I'm so bored with X-men, the Black Panther/Storm miniseries I was reading is over, and I'm just kind of sick of X-Men in general. I liked what I read of Wormwood: Gentleman Corpse. Actually I liked the artwork, and what I remember of the story was clever. I could read some of the husband's comics, but, nah.... And there was something I picked up that I meant to read, I even got a TPB, but I can't even remember what it was. It's somewhere in a tidy little bag, waiting for me to find it again, and go, "Oh yeah! I wanted to read that, but...."
So why the heck was I in the comic book store anyway? Well, I had to say Happy Birthday to Moose, the owner, and it's always fun to chat with him about kids and comics. I wanted to check to see what Living Dead Dolls he had so that I could get an idea of what I might get my little budding Goth kid for Christmas. And to see what I might like to read if I ever get around to sitting down to read a comic.
And there it was: Samurai. I was originally attracted to the artwork on the cover. Not too busy, there was a beautiful woman, and a handsome samurai on the cover. I thought about the Sorcerer game we're playing, and my tragically forgetful, teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown character, Shizuka, (the name of a Chemistry professor at my alma mater/former employer. Prof. Shizuka is not forgetful or on the verge of a nervous breakdown.) and her homicidal demon husband, Taietsu. (An intentional bastardization of the name Taitetsu, who was one of my Religion professors in college, and definitely not a homicidal demon). This could be interesting, I thought. So I snapped it up, along with another (yawn) X-Men, just so I could finish the mini-series, not that I cared.
The art rocks. The story so far is interesting. Lost love, blood and gore, swashbucklers, cool costumes. Right up my alley. Yayy! I love comics again!

Julia's Dream

Thursday night (Thanksgiving), I had a terrible dream. It started out as a standard post graduate anxiety nightmare, where I was back at school, and forgot to attend a crucial class. Had that part of the dream continued, I eventually would have discovered that I never attended the class and thus couldn't graduate. But this one was a little different. When I got to class I saw my mom standing in the doorway, and I went over to talk to her. She was dreamily cryptic, telling me I knew why she was here, smiling but sad looking. Then I heard her mumble something, which my dreaming brain interpreted as "I have Cardiac Amorphism." I tried to remember what I had learned about Cardiac Amorphism in nursing school, and I didn't think it was a good thing. So I asked her what she was going to do. She said there a surgery that might help, but it had an incredibly low survival rate ("One Tenth of One percent"). She was not going to have the surgery. She would live with the illness and die from it soon. I cried, she cried, and she told me had accepted this, so I should, too. The rest of the dream is a little sketchy. I woke up incredibly sad and heavy hearted.

So this part is real and not a dream: Yesterday my mom had an EKG at her appointment with a cardiologist. The EKG detected an abnormal heart sound, and given my mom's family history of heart disease, the cardiologist recommended she go in for a cardiac catheterization, to see if the abnormal heart sound indicated a blockage or other defect. She asked if I thought she should have the catheterization done. I told her yes.

I dream in color, I have vivid dreams, and I remember a great many of my dreams. When I was growing up, I frequently had nightmares (Bea does, too). As an adolescent I learned how to alter the course of my dreams. Basically I realize I'm dreaming and then I can do what I want, like fly, make the bad things go away, etc. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. I frequently have deja vu, so much so that I don't pay much attention to it. Dead relatives visit me in my dreams all the time, although they generally don't have much to say. They just kinda check in. And I've had dreams that seemed to tap into real events. In 1995, I had a dream that I was in an elevator, looking out a building across the street, and that building suddenly exploded and collapsed. I woke that morning to news that someone had detonated a bomb in a building in Oklahoma City. In 2001, I had a similar dream, where I saw people jumping out of a building and the building exploded and collapsed. That was a couple of days before Sept 11. I've had similar disaster dreams before high casualty earthquakes. I assume this happens to all of us, and some of us are more open or tuned in to it.

And I scare easily through visual stimulation, much to my husband's chagrin (he loves horror movies). If he gets me to watch a scary movie--one with angry ghosts or evil spirits--I watch it through a screen of my fingers. Scary movies give me nightmares 80% of the time, and I already have a nice little collection of recurring nightmare themes. I don't need any more.

11/29/06--Edit: I'm having an easier time processing the wierd and freaky cardiac amorphism dream as it relates to the reality of my mother's abnormal ECG than I am the uncertainty of the significance of the abnormal ECG. So I hope the 3 or 4 people who actually read this will think of or pray for my mom that her cardiac catheterization goes smoothly.

I Been Good! I Been Bad!

On Thanksgiving Day I did not pig out, but I did eat much.

The day before Thanksgiving, I sat on my parents-in-laws' couch, and worked on Get Away Jordan for a solid hour or so. I made fantastic headway, and can happily say the rules are 90% complete. I will try to write an actual play account on The Forge on Saturday.

The day before we left for Thanksgiving dinner I took Jed for a walk and forgot my neighborly plastic bag. Jed ended up crapping in the yard of the neighbors who let their pit bulls loose all the time and inevitably find their way to our yard and crap in our yard. I did not feel much remorse.

The husband and I are about to check into a hotel near Salem, MA, sans nos enfantes, to celebrate our 8th year wedding anniversary, and we plan to be very, very bad. Well, as bad a two married folks can be with each other.

Dandelions and Exercizing Music

I'm a huge fan of missbhavens. So I'm following the directions from her October 31 entry.

1. Grab the nearest book. If you are currently reading something, that'll be fine too.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your Blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet I know that is what you were thinking!

One ounce of the fresh leaves contains enough large amounts of vitamin A and calcium, as well as substantial amounts of vitamin B1, vitamin C, sodium, potassium, and trace elements.
Dandelion roots are thick and dark brown on the outside, with a milky interior. The crown of the plant, where stem and root meet, can be several inches long when dandelion is grown a deep mulch. The leaves of dandelion plants grow in a rosette form against the ground.

From Growing and Using the Healing Herbs by Gaea and Shandor Weiss. This book was on the floor of the computer room.

Speaking of health, I have been doing my body good for the past two months by going to the Y at least 4 days a week to work out. I'm beginning to see some great results. I've gone down at least one dress size, my clothes are looser (thankfully, I wear mostly hand made patchwork clothes with drawstrings, so I don't have to buy a new wardrobe just yet), I have more energy, I sleep better, my back doesn't hurt, and I feel less stressed out. The husband has been doing the same, and is looking quite the cutie lately. I can even see the early formation of a six pack on his stomach, although he says it's just the way his fat sits. I am forever the optimist, though. I have not lost my stretchmarks, my battle scars from childbearing, but there's definitely less flab in my belly region.

Something that has not necessarily improved is my regular music listening patterns. My usual folk and bluegrass isn't as fun to jam to on the elliptical (I HATE TREADMILLS, btw), but here's what I've found to be my favorite excercise music. This doesn't necessarily mean I love this music, it just has a good beat the keeps me going:

Kodo, the album Mondo Head. I do love this album, and I hadn't listened to it in a couple of years until I went to the Y. The song "Psychopomp" is my favorite. It sounds like being tickled.
The Best of Nina Simone. Maybe not the most upbeat, but it's just so awesome. "Wild is the Wind" and "See Line Woman" are my favorites.
Tool, "Stinkfist", "H.", "Prison Sex", "Undertow". Songs I can't listen to with children around, reminds me of college. I generally only listen to Tool when I'm cleaning the bathroom or excercizing.
Dead Can Dance, Aion
Ministry, "Every Day is Halloween". Reminds me of high school. Makes me want to look for my Skinny Puppy CDs.
Anything by Bob Marley, because I generally listen to anything by Bob Marley at any given occasion.
Random songs by The Smiths.
Random songs by Prince, but only from the 80's and 90's.
Random songs by OutKast.

Ingrid just came up here with a very incorrectly snapped diaper. Must fix it and pick on the husband.

A Letter to James, our "Beloved" Cat

Dear James,
Please believe me when I assure you that Jeddy, the dog, does not give a rat's ass about you. Any lies that your buddy Sal has told you about him are lies. In fact, Sal gets along with him just fine while you're upstairs hiding in our room.

I understand you've been through a lot in your life, but you have a good home here. You're going to have to adapt and get over this. You managed to adapt when we brought Sal home. I know you've lived with dogs before. We wouldn't have adopted Jed if we thought he would hurt you.

Your little passive-aggressive notions have not gone unnoticed and I demand that you cease and desist shitting in our closet, and get over it. Move on. Embrace life with a dog. If you continue this behavior, you will not be permitted in our room any more. You will have to find another pile of laundry to sleep on, most likely downstairs, where the "big, bad" dog lurks. I do not intend this as a threat. It's a promise.

You have two places you can defecate: the self cleaning litter box on the first floor, and the back up litter box in the basement. Use them, not the closet. This will require that you go downstairs. You'll survive.

With much affection,

Parthenia and family

Another WTF website

Dog Litter?
If you need dog litter, maybe you should have gotten a cat?

But My Husband's Not on There!

I'm not sure how we got on the subject last night, but Meg told us about The Cleaning Hunk website. I just checked it out, but I'm at work, and it's making me laugh so hard I'm crying. So I'll have to delve deeper later.
But this site is flawed. Where's the husband who has scrubbed the toilet maybe 3 times in the nearly 11 years we've been together? I don't think I saw him work a toilet even when we were housemates--when he was really hunky. I mean he's handsome and attractive still, but we've had two children together, need I say more? We're not the hotties we were in our twenties, and I have cleaned many more toilets than he has. Suffice to say, it would be a greater turn on to watch my husband scrub the toilet than one of those pretty boys. I want to watch a real man clean!
Perhaps I'll change my mind after I really look at the website. The husband may not scrub toilets, but he does clean the kitty litter, take out the garbage, change diapers, and do the dishes. I don't see Cleaning Hunk scoopin' cat poo.

Don't Stick Beads Up Your Nose

Ingrid learned a very important life lesson on Saturday, and we had a fun little trip to the local ER, because she put a bead in her nose. It was tragic but kind of funny. Ingrid is a trooper. She slept most of the time we were there, cried very little, and once the bead popped out, she insisted on holding it, ("mine! My bead" quoth Ingrid), and everyone laughed at the end of the ordeal. If this had happened to Bea, it would not have been funny at all. Bea does not do well with medical procedures. She was about 5 years old before she stopped screaming at the sight of a stethescope. And here's another example of how similar we are. When I was in nursing school, I cried when someone gave me a test injection--just saline, sub-acute, and I thought I would pee on myself I was so freaked out.
So how did Ingrid get a bead in her nose? I wasn't there, but apparently she was putting it in her nose, my husband caught her--surprised her, and she inhaled. It was lodged pretty far up there. So the husband brought the girls to JiffyCon where I was playing Best Friends, so Bea wouldn't have to go with us. I went home to get the insurance card, and met them at the ER. They took us in pretty quickly, and Ingrid slept until they started the first attempt to get the bead out. The doctor, Dr. G, looked like he could be my husband's brother or cousin. Tall, long blond curly hair, big nose, Scandinavian looking, very handsome. This just added another surreal dimension to an already surreal morning. I had an urge to touch his hair, which tends to happen when I meet people who have nice hair. My intentions were harmless, but it probably would have been inappropriate.
First he tried using a little vacuum to get it out. That didn't work, and the otherwise placid Ingrid got a bit upset by having a metal vacuum catheter stuck in her nose. Then Dr. G gave us two suggestions. He could either get the bead out with forcepts, or he would give us a very effective method of extracting things from children's nares. But we would have to do it ourselves. He would just kinda peek in from around the corner. Now I'm not sure if this was because the method was one of those tried and true methods that JHACO and insurance companies frown upon. But it sounded intriging, if not a little folky (and I'm all about the folk medicine). So here's what we did. If you or anyone you know, ever stick something up your nose and it gets stuck, you'll save yourself a trip to the emergency room. But please don't take this as medical advice, and this should not be a substitute for seeking medical care from a health care professional. I'm just a nursing school dropout and a mom. We told Ingrid that Papa was going to give her a funny kiss. I held her so she wouldn't squirm, and could feel secure. Papa closed one of her nostrils, made a good seal around her mouth with his, and blew really hard. And out popped the bead!
The whole procedure made Ingrid quite upset, but she was happy to get the bead out of her nose.
I missed playing Best Friends, unfortunately, but Ingrid was happy and didn't seem traumatized by the ordeal. My husband and Bea went to pick up the new dog, and all was right with the world again.

Speaking of new dogs, he has a name, Bea is $10 richer, and we both learned a valuable lesson in creative negotiations and compromise. Our new dog's name is.....

Jeddy, as in Jed + Buddy = Jeddy. And yes, I call him Jed.

What's My Name?

Meet the new addition to our family, Brody, uh, Buddy, no maybe it's Ragnar, no, um, Jed. We're having a naming dilemma in the family. It's mostly between Bea and me. Bea and I are so alike it's painful sometimes, and here's a perfect example of our typical conflicts. She wants to call the dog Buddy. I want to call the dog Jed.
Now I don't know why she likes "Buddy" so much. I admit, it has a nice ring to it, sort of. It's what the foster family called him. According to his vet papers his name was Brody. Buddy is easy to say. He is definitely a buddy. An all around sweet dog with no hang-ups, other than he's not used to being inside. He was a farm dog, now he's a small town dog.
I want to call him Jed, because I love the name Jedediah. If I ever have a boy child, I want to call him Jedediah, but according to my husband, that ain't happenin'. Okay fine. So the name is relegated to pets and role playing game characters. I played a Brother Jed (Jedediah) once, in Dogs in the Vineyard, and he was big and excellent. The other reason I want to call him Jed is that he and I were born in the same part of the country. He was found in Senatobia, MS. I was born in Memphis, TN. (Look at a map. They're close). And when I think of Tennessee, my place of birth, I can't help but think of the Grateful Dead song "Tennessee Jed." I used to queue it up in the tape player when I drove home from college, and once I hit the Tennessee state line, I'd play it.
As it stands now, I will pay Bea $10 for naming rights. She will probably refer to him as Buddy for a while, but just as she called Ingrid "James" for a couple of weeks, I'm hoping she'll come around, and he'll be Jed. If not, I know it's really a bad idea to spar like this with a 7 year old. I know what I was like as a 7 year old. I could learn to live with Buddy.

Huzzah!

The beginning of the week sucked all around. Suck crap at work, couldn't find my Cutie Pie Kitty Cat notebook with all the notes for my game, which I have to type up for JiffyCon on Saturday. The children were grumpy and annoying. (Please note: I adore my kids. I love them more than life itself. But let's be honest. They're human, I'm human, and we can't always get along, we aren't always sweethearts and love bugs. Sometimes our children are annoying human beings, just like we all can be.)
My cousin in Atlanta had a baby, that was fantastic, but apparently she was in a major car accident on the way to the hospital. (And people question why I am big advocate for homebirth whenever possible!) But she and baby arrived safe and sound. So the dark cloud looming over the beginning of the week wasn't so dark.
Anyway....
And then Wednesday came along with the big beautiful political shift. I never thought I'd find the silver lining to my dark clouds in the realm of politics.

We have a Brother for a Governor!
Rumsfeld falls on his sword!
Democrats return to rule the roost!

Now I can go back to being a paragon of optimism and positive thinking!

The Japanese Demon Profile Test

I've always wanted to know my Japanese Demon profile, especially now that we're playing Sorcerer, and my character just happens to be a Japanese woman who bound a demon so she could have a baby. Anyway, I'm (Parthenia) really glad I'm just the ultimate doer of mischief and not something really terrible. Given that I seem to be suffering an acute bout of angry intestinal disturbances this evening (feels like there's a demon in my colon!), I'll take mischief over death and destruction.

Kitsune You scored 16 in Malice and 27 in Chaos!

You are the Kitsune, or "Fox demon," the ultimate doer of mischief. Kitsune belong to a class of demons known as "Henge," or animal shape-shifters, along with the Tanuki, or badger-demon. They are uncanny creatures who are notorious as much for their malevolence as for their wild and unpredictable behavior; a fox demon may help a human, only to betray him in deepest consequence at a later date. Kitsune are known to frequently possess women or pose as humans, causing chaos and catastrophe where ever they go. They are mischievous creatures who take great pleasure in playing terrible tricks on unsuspecting mortals; however, this behavior indicates that they are more perversely playful and apathetic to human suffering than genuinely evil and desirous of harm.

Link: The Japanese Demon Profile Test written by Maharbal on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Speaking of Collecting...

I noticed today that the little basket where I keep all my hair toys is getting a little crowded. It's not usually so bad, but I'm only missing two. So I took a little inventory. Now before I expose myself as having an excessive number of hair accessories, please note, I probably wear at least one a day, often two to four. With classic length (past the butt) dreads, I don't generally wear my hair completely down before 5 pm on weekdays. Otherwise, I get tangled in stuff, I slam my hair in the car door, I sit on it, it falls in the toilet, gets in my face, other people's faces, entangles children, may get caught in machinery, you get the picture. So here are the fancy little objects that make my hair easier to deal with.
In picture 1:
Top left--Plastic octopus clip.
Top Center and down--Brass Floog, then four vintage kanzashi. The top one might be ivory. I have another one that is like the bottom one, but has rectangular ends of tortoise shell. It's currently MIA.
Bottom row--large bird of paradise fork, titanium fork, large Ficcare.

In picture 2: Left to right-- Green hairstick. I have a purple matching one, but it's MIA; wooden stick, aka "Vampire Slayer stake"; stainless steel sticks; radish sticks from China; blown glass size 11 knitting needles with dichroic twirls on the ends (yes, knitting needles! You never know when a skein of bulky yarn will fall out of the sky, and you'll be forced to knit a hat. Best to be prepared.); two pair of chopsticks given to me by Meg (thanks, Meg!); big sturdy zebrawood sticks made for me by the woodworking guy from the Greenfield Farmers Market.

In picture 3: Top left to right--wooden hair slide, made by the same woman who made the green (and MIA purple) stick; three hair screws custom made for dreads by A very nice lady; the token pony tail holder, much like the ones you find all over the house mostly by husband and kids (I have a great big one in my locker at the Y. I'm not really a ponytail wearer. I like half up-dos, front ends pulled back, loaf-like buns); cool leather hair wrap given to me by Meg (thanks, Meg!).
Sometimes, certain other parents in the household leave the scissors in the hair toy basket. I can think of better places to put the scissors, but one must keep a sense of humor about these things.

Yes, that is a very dirty chair.

How about "born okay the first time" dolls?

I love dolls, almost all types of dolls. I even like Barbie dolls (not so much the Bratz Dolls, but that's another blog entry for another day) I don't collect dolls per se. I'm big into the tactile experience of doll play, and keeping a doll in it's box until it might be worth some money is cool and all, but just won't work in a house with two girls who both share mama's thing for dolls (whether they share my thing about tattoos remains to be seen.)
My favorite dolls growing up were my three Sasha dolls. If I had kept them in the box and never enjoyed them, I'm sure they'd be worth a whole lotta money. Instead, they're worth a whole lotta memories, and Bea loves to play with them when we visit my parents.
My least favorite doll was a beautiful and elaborately clothed doll in traditional Chinese dress. I got her at a tag sale on my street. I don't know what it was about her, but I was afraid of her until I was about 14 and I packed her up and we moved to Memphis. Maybe she carried some baggage from her old house. Maybe she was mad because I never gave her a name.
When I last saw her, she was up on a high shelf in one of the closets at my folks house. I never displayed her when we moved to Memphis, but I did at least take her out of the box. Why didn't I pack her up sooner? Because she was part of my doll family. She was sort of like a scary Auntie Mame to the rest of the dolls. The fashion dolls wanted to dress like her, the baby dolls wanted to be baby sat by her, and only the rag dolls and stuffed animals sensed something was up with her. Next time I visit my folks, I'm going to look for her again, give her a name, and see if she scares my kids as well.
I was all interested in reborn dolls and thought about learning to make them until Meg made a reference to one in our game last night. And now I'm afraid of them, too.

That's what I love about dolls. You can love them, hate them, and fear them. And now you know why I'm okay with my daughter's affinity for Living Dead Dolls. I hope she loves playing with them, and I hope she plays with them so well that they scare her. Because we all know how fun being scared can be.