Who Told You It Was Okay To Be A Lecher?

In this day and age, I find myself surprised that any man over the age of 18 still thinks it's perfectly acceptable to engage in lechery, but yet I witness it nearly every day. What's worse is I'm not sure many of the guys who do it think what they are doing actually is lechery, or that most women don't “secretly” like it.

Let me back up a minute and explain what I mean by “lechery,” just so we are all on the same page. The dictionary defines it as “inordinate indulgence in sexual activity.” Well, THAT was no help at all. I mean, who defines how much is normal versus inordinate? Furthermore, does anyone besides Priests or Nuns think indulging oneself in sexual activity is bad?

A new and improved definition might be this: Any behavior towards another person using phrases, suggestions, innuendoes, nuances, jokes, banter, gestures, motions, or other that is intended to sexualize the person in a way that makes them uncomfortable. Wait, doesn't that kind of sound like sexual harassment? Why, yes, it really, really does, and that's because “sexual harassment” is the ominous sounding legal term that includes lecherous behavior!!! Ding Ding Ding!

Maybe a few examples would help clarify even further. I had some specific issues in mind when I realized I wanted to do a blog post about it, but I wanted to get some other people's opinions on it too, so when I threw the topic out to the Twitterverse, some interesting stuff came up.

One of the issues at hand is that women have grown so used to this behavior from men, we simply pretend it's not happening. Guy at work makes a weird joke about your pantylines? Ignore. Facebook friend makes creepy comments about wanting your body, or wanting to see your body in leopard print jeans? Ignore. Why do we do this? A few reasons. One of which yes, I'll be frank, on SOME occasions SOME women might find it flattering. But for the 99.999999% of the time we do not want attention this way, women ignore lechery for a lot of reasons. 

We hope the person will never ever again say something so embarrassing and behave themselves. We hope their wife/girlfriend catches them at it and whomps them upside the head so we don't have to. We don't want to draw further attention to the comment by acknowledging it in any way. We don't want to banter back because we don't want to encourage the person. We DO banter back because we want to make light of it, or not seem prudish or uptight. We don't know WHAT to say, or do, so maybe we say or do nothing. AND DOING NOTHING ISN'T WORKING.

A women who got involved in the discussion said for years she always got groped in bars and she always ignored it. Finally she got sick of it, and when a guy grabbed her, she grabbed him back, right in the face, forced him to look at her, and told him in no uncertain terms, to STOP IT. He backed off, bleary eyed and drunk as a skunk. That guy, by the way, was not just trying to touch her back, or even her breasts...

Another women said when she used to waitress, she would experience things like her male co-workers blocking the doorway while she was trying to get inside to clock in, and they'd make crude comments to her. She had an owner of one place tell her to wear less clothing if she wanted to make some decent money. The outfit in question was already a tank top and shorts and the restaurant was supposedly a family dining establishment, not a dive bar or a Hooters. She said lots of times she'd be jogging and a car would slow down and drive right alongside her, and the guy(s) inside would whistle, catcall, say things like “work it” or the like.

That has also happened to me, and it's scary, because you don't know how to react, and what the guy(s) might do. I've responded to these behaviors by ignoring them. Other times I've tried a more aggressive approach like giving them the finger, or saying something like “Yeah, keep dreaming, buddy.” The thing is...their response has almost always been the same regardless of whether I've ignored them or responded verbally. I've gotten the nasty laugh and then they gun the engine or squeal the tires as they drive off. I've been called a “Bitch” or a “C-nt” and then they gun the engine or squeal the tires as they drive off. So if I ignore their advances, I'm obviously an ungrateful Bitch and deserve to inhale their exhaust as they drive off, but if I try to defend myself from their neanderthalic advances in any way, I'm an ungrateful C-nt and deserve to be mistreated for that too. Interesting.

Let's look at some less physical examples. I have this attractive friend, and at least once a week, I hear someone making a comment to her that soundly qualifies as lechery. One example I overheard was “You give guys wood.” Um...really? Wow. Who SAYS that?! And the leopard print jeans comment I mentioned earlier? Yeah, someone I went to high school with a million years ago and barely know posted that on my facebook wall. “I'd like to see you post a picture wearing those leopard print jeans.” Leer leer, wink wink. Huh?

And therein lies the crux...some guys seem to think it's okay to make sexual comments to women BECAUSE they've never met, and aren't likely to, or because they live thousands of miles away. For some people, the greater the physical distance in miles, the more acceptable they seem to think it is to make offhand or pervy comments. I've seen lots of married guys or ones who are in a relationship, make sexual comments to other women and they think that lets them off the hook in some way, because “I am spoken for and they know I'm just joking.” Guess what, it's NOT OKAY even if they DO “know you are joking.” Adding a grinning winky face or a “JK” after a lecherous comment doesn't make it any more okay than if you say it to someone's face. If you wouldn't say it to their face while your grandma and their grandma is sitting right there, as well as your wife or S.O., then it's not okay to say it at all via social media when you think no one is looking. Telling someone on twitter that you'd like to blankety blank their blank is not okay. Telling someone on Facebook you'd like to “ride their merry go round” is NOT OKAY (unless they actually have a Carousel, in which case, hook me up 'cause I love those things).

I won't even get into the number of times where a woman has to deal with some guy stalking her with his eyes and doing the lascivious look-down/undressing-while-licking-his-lips thing - like you are walking around the grocery store just for his personal viewing pleasure and sexual satisfaction - Meat selection, ground beef or female flesh, yum. You just haven't LIVED until you've thrown up in your mouth a little because you know exactly what he's thinking about doing to you, right?

For the record, to be completely clear, I'm not talking about males and females who have the kind of relationship where they BOTH find it acceptable to make crude jokes and comments to each other. That's their business, and more power to 'em. I'm also not talking about flirting. If you find someone attractive, then ask them out on a proper date, don't make crude comments about their body parts or other such nonsense before you are absolutely certain they are fine with you doing so.

What I'm talking about is behavior that one person thinks is funny and entertaining, and their right to dole out, while the person on the receiving end is disgusted, humiliated, scared, confused, and hurt by the one doing it.

For everyone who is the recipient of lechery, I think we need to do things a little differently from now on. Let's not ignore it if someone says something to us that makes us uncomfortable. Let's call the person out on it. Let's tell them straight up, “Hey, I don't find that comment appropriate.” “That comment made me uncomfortable.” “Please don't make any more jokes like that, thanks.” To the drive-by cat-callers? “Your conduct is disrespectful,” and keep walking away. Etc. Etc. Be direct. If you know the person, say it's a friend or acquaintance, let's say what we need to in a private message, or pull the person aside...most people respond better and more respectfully when not admonished in public. If they continue making comments after you've asked them in private, by all means, shine the spotlight down and call that sh*t OUT, such as on social media or the breakroom. Block them, unfriend them, file a complaint, whatever you have to do. You don't need to put up with it. There is a HUGE difference between flirting and being lecherous, and it's up to us to draw our comfort line between the two.

Rape Culture teaches women to be afraid to stick up for themselves. We don't like to offend, we don't like to create waves or cause tension, we don't want to be called a Bitch or a C-nt, nor do we want to be thought of that way. But you know what? Enough is enough. Either we tell someone it's not okay for them to be a Lecher or we are basically saying it is. If it makes you uncomfortable, it's not okay for the other person to be doing it and you have the right to say so. Will this stop everyone? No. Bottom line, there are still neanderthals among us, no question. But no one should have to stay silent and just take it, and there is still power in saying, “No. This is not okay. Stop it.” And you know what? The more people who say it, the more powerful it gets. Pass it on.

Perfection and Lies, a.k.a. Using Photoshop

So the first is a picture of myself unedited from the original except for cropping, and small amount of smoothing of skin. 

Second picture is me with a digital nose job and even more smoothing.

Which is funny, because I think my nose looks more like the second image in real life, but in pictures, weird angles and "flaws" are captured, and I seem to have my Italian grandmother's large beak (Thanks, Grandma! :D )

Anyways, I thought it was interesting how I've come to recognize basically every professional picture any of us see now days in any media image has been altered. Think your favorite celebrity is "perfect?" Not even close, baby!

As a graphic designer and artist, it's my job to do this stuff. But I hope I never lose sight that beauty comes in many shapes and forms, and to stay proud of my real and darling shnozzy nose. Not only does it suit me just fine, but it works very well...I can detect odors with practically superhuman ability! :D

What Kind Of Writer Are You, Anyways?

There are many ways to describe a garden...or, we could call it finding your Voice...some people may disagree, but there are absolutely right ways to write and wrong ways to write. Perhaps "right" and "wrong" are misnomers. Words you'd be terribly bored by and would never want to read, or find extremely tedious- those are the “wrong” ways to write. Words that pull you in, and make you want to know what's going to happen next, that is the "right" way.

Styles also vary by genre. There seems to be a formula between genres, of how to write about something, because HOW you convey the mood is vital to your reader, not just the subject matter. Understanding these subtleties is important.

I read across all genres. Some people only prefer one or two genres (boring little trolls!) and that's fine.

But here is the truth...if you make something really interesting, and I mean REALLY interesting, you can break as many rules as you want to, and readers will still love you. (I'm not claiming to be able to do this, I'm just stating an opinion I like to call a fact)

Just for fun, I've written several different paragraphs about a garden and a tomato. Each is a different mood, or “genre.” Can you spot the terribly boring, bad, DO NOT DO THIS paragraphs? And it hardly matters what genre they might be lumped into, because they are BAD and WRONG and BORING!!! 

I'd like to think it'd be super easy for anyone to pick out the crap paragraphs, but to my dismay, I've seen stuff written quite similarly in recent works. Amazing writing transcends genre, as does horrible writing. I may not be in the category otherwise known as “Amazing” but I sure as heck know boring when I see it.

(Have fun reading these, for they are meant to be taken with a side helping of salt. Wait. I wasn't intentionally trying to make a pun about putting salt on a fresh sliced tomato....oh never mind!)

~The garden was in front of me. There was a tomato growing in it. The tomato was red. I walked over to it and picked it. It was heavy for a tomato. There was a small spot near the stem. The stem was dark green but the spot was brown. The garden was nice. The tomato will go in a salad later.

~I wasn't sure why the sprawling garden beckoned to me so, until I spotted the ripe, luscious glint of red peeping out from behind the vine. Before I could stop myself the plump fullness of the tomato was pressing itself into in my hand. I shuddered, overwhelmed with my longing to taste its succulent flesh and feel the juices dripping down my chin. I bit down, and moaned with pleasure as the explosion of tangy sweetness erupted on my tastebuds.

~The greenery of the garden was dark and forbidding. The metal spikes of the vine trellis leaned toward me in a vaguely threatening manner, as if to say, do not come closer, there is nothing good here for you. I jumped as the sudden screech of the rusty windmill indicated a fierce wind was rising. The sky loomed over me, full of grays and jagged clouds. A storm was coming in fast, and the dilapidated barn ahead was the only shelter for miles. I ran for it as the first raindrops pelted my face, hearing my mother's warning voice echo in my head as I tugged on the door handle. "Never mistake opportunity for destiny..."

~The tableau was strange to her new eyes, a haphazard tumble of greens, yellows, and reds. There. The brightest orangey-red caught her eye and she made her way towards it. A small spherical shape was growing from a vine as thick as her index finger. “Classification: Food. Edible fruit called a 'toe-may-toe, and sometimes a 'toe-mah-toe,'” chimed the electronic identifier in her ear. “Toe-may-toe. Toe-mah-toe.” She repeated out loud. She touched its skin, smooth and poreless, and utterly foreign.

~Once upon a time, there once grew an enchanted tomato. The legend of her beauty and plumpness had spread far and wide across the land, and many had tried to rescue the beautiful fruit, but alas, it was not to be. The surrounding garden protected the fruit with savage ferocity, thick vines that strangled any man that came too close, and vicious thorns that punctured him unto death. The tomato longed for freedom and had begun to despair of her rescue. “I shall wither on my vine and perish,” she thought. “I shall turn brown and my skin will crack.” As the tomato continued to muse, she began to understand. “If no one can rescue me, I MUST find a way to escape. I must rescue myself!”

~The small boy skipped across the lawn and into the garden where he wandered around for several moments before spotting a tomato that his mother had asked him to bring inside because she was preparing lunch for his father who was coming home early from work to to eat lunch and then he had to drive to the airport to pick up his sister who was flying home from college on her summer break. The airport was almost an hour away from their house and he wanted to go with his father to watch the planes because he thought maybe he wanted to be a pilot when he grew up but also maybe a fireman and he didn't really want to spend more time than necessary with his sister because she always picked on him and it was bad enough she was going to be home for almost 4 months straight so adding the extra hour it would take to get home was not such a great idea after all.

Please write your own version of a garden tomato descriptor in the Comments section...you know you want to! And definitely poke fun at the paragraphs I wrote ;)

Body Lies

     This morning, I was reading a popular fashion magazine. Each month, they feature a brief highlight on fashion ideas for “big women in a skinny world.” One word jumped off the page and struck me right across my face. The article used the word “curvy” to describe the author and other women like her. The problem is this women is not “curvy,” she is obese. I don't use “obese” as a pejorative; she is a beautiful women, obviously intelligent, creative, and her use of accessories is inspiring.

     I joined the growing ranks of obese women when I was about 23 years old. I had never been an active child, or teenager, preferring to read instead of forcing my uncoordinated and clumsy body to play a sport of some kind. My parents were never into sports, and as they led active lives in their professions, the last thing they wanted to do during “down time” was more physical activity. I never struggled with my weight as a young person, and assumed I never would.

    As many people do, I found myself with a desk job. As my adult metabolism started to slow, the pounds started first creeping, then piling on. Never having the foundation of an active lifestyle left me unaware of where to begin. I had the vague notion one needed to “eat healthier” and “get moving” to lose weight, but knowing the formula and putting it into practice are two very different things. To complicate matters, I didn't eat all that unhealthily. I ate out maybe once a month, ate vegetables and fruit daily, and while I certainly enjoyed a good Doritos nosh, I wasn't pigging out on junk food regularly, so what exactly was I supposed to change?

    I knew that a “diet” was not going to work for me. I also knew enough about weight loss to know that most people gain back not only the weight they lost, but an additional 10% MORE weight within one year of going off a diet. I listened to friends complain about their weight more and more and list every excuse in the book about why they couldn't exercise.

    “I don't have time.” “I'm too busy.” “My kids/spouse/pets/job makes it impossible.” “I'm overweight, but I'm still pretty healthy, so it's fine.”

    That last one was my excuse, until I began realizing I wasn't very healthy at all. I couldn't climb my stairs without feeling out of breath. I certainly couldn't jog around my block. Having to carry my groceries and laundry baskets up to my second floor apartment was a chore I dreaded. I didn't even like taking my dog out to play because it felt like too much effort to run around for 5 minutes. I developed plantar fasciitis in both my feet. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the leading cause contributing to the development of plantar fasciitis is carrying extra weight on your frame, and the best way to get rid of it is to lose the excess weight. I had severe acid reflux disease and had to take nearly double the amount of medication than what is standard to treat the condition. Guess what the best treatment for GERD is? Yeah. Losing weight.

    Nobody actually told me I had to lose weight, not even my physicians. In fact, everywhere I went made it easy to stay heavy. Clothes for bigger women are available in all department stores and most chain boutique stores (unlike the old days where you had to go to “specialty stores” for plus sizes.) In fact, I technically wasn't wearing plus-sized clothes anyways, so that meant I was fine, right? Everyone (except airlines) makes public seating bigger nowadays, so one barely even notices their bum getting wider. “Curvy” has replaced “Heavy” or “Full-Figured” as the descriptive term for bigger women, and who doesn't want to be curvy? Curvy is sexy!

    Except...let's be clear about something vitally important. There is a world of difference between “curvy” and “obese.”

    Obesity is defined by the American Medical Association as having a BMI (Body Mass Index) of 30 or more. I am aware that BMI doesn't take into consideration a person's muscle mass, and so, there is SOME leeway in this number. (You can figure out your own BMI using the following formula:

(your weight in pounds)

(height in inches) x (height in inches) and multiply by 703 = BMI

Underweight- Less than 18.5
Normal Weight- 18.5 to 24.9
Overweight- 25 to 29.9
Obesity- 30 or greater

    It would be easy to take comfort in the fact that the average woman in American is now a size 14. As long as we are amongst the average, there is nothing really wrong with us, is there?

    Except, there is a LOT wrong with us.

    Curvy is an undefined term adopted by the masses to make women feel better about being overweight. In a culture that is striving to shame no one, we've instead managed to invent a term that keeps us sick and unhealthy and feeling okay about it.

    I'm not writing this because I'm perfect. I'm writing this because calling someone who is obese “Curvy” is a lie, and being lied to infuriates me. I'm writing this because over 60% of Americans are medically overweight or obese. Over 500,000 women succumb to heart disease every year. Type II Diabetes is the fastest growing ailment among Americans. Billions and billions of our dollars are spent each year by our Insurance Companies to treat our obesity-related ailments. Foot injuries, back injuries, high blood pressure, GERD, and chronic pain are some of the “less important” medical issues facing obese people.

    I didn't want to be one of those people anymore. I didn't want to stay unhealthy. I started doing the only thing I thought just MIGHT start me down the right path - walking for 20 minutes every day.

    A year later, I don't feel unhealthy anymore. It's not about vanity. Sure, I want to look good and feel sexy, but I refuse to give that more importance than the fact that I've been able to cut my acid reflux medication need in half. The plantar fasciitis is gone. I can run around, and carry laundry, and play with the dog. I feel capable. I ENJOY exercising (most days, ha). Sometimes I eat dessert and pizza and I still nosh on Doritos and I refuse to feel guilty about it.

    I'm not skinny. It's never been about that. I don't want the women of the world to be skinny, I want us to be healthy. If you can't climb a set of stairs without getting winded, you are not healthy. If you can't jog around your block without feeling like you are going to keel over and die, you are not healthy. If you can't actively play with your kids for 20 minutes, or your pets, you are not doing them or yourself any favors, and you aren't healthy.

    I don't want a world full of women hiding behind a false sense of security because they are “average,” and meanwhile, their lives are being cut short by ten or twenty years. That magazine, as well as any other that hides America's worst health epidemic behind a misleading term, ought to be ashamed. We shouldn't accept being lied to and told we're okay when we are actually dying. We're worth way more than that.

Collaborations and Collusions

Remember the Three Word Challenge from way back when? (If not, you can read about it over here and here too ) Well, I'd been wanting to have author duo CL Raven do a guest blog for me and tell you all about their cool stories and webisode series, but I wanted to make it super fun and super special. I asked them if they would be willing to accept a Three Word Challenge of their own, and since they are brilliant, funny, and excellent eggs/team players, they graciously accepted!

CL Raven's work is full of dark humor and the kinds of flavor you might find in works of Alfred Hitchcock and Edgar Allan Poe. Here they are (aren't they gorgeous?! Uh, the girls, not the dead old man writers ;P)

 

You can join them on twitter and facebook  (I try to stalk them daily at both locations, I won't lie!)

Facebook

Twitter

 

 

 

So I gave them the words "blackjack", "cistern", and "braid" for their Three Word Challenge...

Without further ado, here is what they came up with for your entertainment...

 

Blackjack

He's coming for me.

I know him only as Blackjack. The press adopted this nickname because he kills women on their twenty first birthday. Mine's tomorrow. A week ago I received a birthday card.

 

 To Seren. Thinking of you. Blackjack x

 

Inside was an ace of spades playing card. As cards go, it wasn't the creepiest I've ever had - that accolade belongs to one my ex gave me. 'To my girlfriend. You is well hot'. I'd tolerated his smelly feet, love of football and his insistence of dyeing himself to the colour of an Oopma-Loompa for the summer, but that card was the last straw. He's lucky he didn't join it shredded in a bin bag.

I should've phoned the police, but they'd have just put a squad car outside my house. They did that for his last victim - I was in that car, watching the street while he gave her the key to death's door.

If Blackjack wants my life, he'll have to fight me for it.

***

I wake, surprised I haven't been butchered; my organs dangling from some "21st!" balloons, my fingers used as substitute birthday candles. That would really spoil my cake. It's sunny outside - not the weather you'd associate with a serial killer's imminent arrival like the worst birthday entertainer ever. At least he's not a clown.

I dress and head downstairs, strangling my braid with a band topped by a black bow and a skull. A card sits on the hall floor, looking as innocent as a politician caught in a brothel raid.

I open the envelope. The card has an adorable puppy on it wearing a party hat.

 

To my favourite girl. Have a great day. It will be your last. Blackjack x

Paper falls out and I pick it up. It's a page from a diary - today's date. Seren's 21st birthday is scrawled on it with a balloon. I suppose I should be grateful he remembered. My ex rarely did. I turn the page over. A week after my birthday he's written Seren's funeral. My gratitude vanishes faster than a snowman in a heat wave. I'll boycott my funeral. I don't have anything to wear.

Every time the door knocks, my heart dies. It's hard enjoying presents when you're convinced each gift will contain methods of execution. It's almost anti-climactic to receive gift vouchers.

Night falls as swiftly and silently as a guillotine blade. The phone rings. I answer it to hear a musical card playing 'Happy Birthday'. I slam the phone down. Those cards are always out of tune.

The door knocks three times. I pull the knife from my waistband and creep forwards. Death knocks three times. I look through the spy hole, my heart racing.

An eye stares back.

I leap backwards, swearing. I know he can't see me, but it feels like he stared straight at me. I risk another look.

He's gone.

I hurry to the kitchen window and switch on the lights outside. Shadows emerge to dance in the spotlight of the garden stage. He's not there. I lean over the sink to check the blind spot. He appears at the window, hands pressed against it as he peers in. I drop to the floor, squeezing myself as close to the cupboard as possible without climbing in and hiding amongst the fabric conditioner. By switching on the lights, I've told him I'm home.

I crawl out of the kitchen, my heart pounding out my own funeral track as I huddle against the wall. His footsteps clump as he searches for an entrance. My shaking hands grip the knife and my pepper spray. I've seen what he did to those other girls. I won't let him do that to me. I will not be one of his victims, my name known only for the brutal way I was murdered. That will not be my legacy.

The front door clicks. I scream in silence, my mind voicing what my mouth can't. I curse leaving the spare key behind the drainpipe. I try calming the tempest in my brain. His shadow slinks along the wall then he appears. And smiles.

"Happy birthday Seren. You're going to get the best present - to stay twenty one forever."

I squirt my pepper spray into his eyes. He yells and rubs them.

"You'll suffer for that." He lifts the hand holding a parcel. "I got you a present."

"I hope you kept the receipt."

It's the same present he bought the other girls - a traditional 21 key that was stamped so hard onto their backs it had to be prised off, the wound unhealed as they died. That was before the twenty one different wounds he inflicted on them.

"The only key I want is the one to your funeral home."

I thrust the knife into his chest and twist it. He gasps and glances down, stunned by the sight of his own blood. He grabs me, flinging me against the wall. I bang my head, blue lights dancing in my vision. He unwraps the present as I crawl towards the kitchen. He grabs my leg. I kick, struggling and screaming. He drags me towards him so I press my toes against his stab wound until he lets go. I scramble up and run for the downstairs toilet. I wrench the cistern lid off and rescue the sharpened 21 key hidden inside. The only thing this will open is his jugular.

He stands in the kitchen holding his key and a bag.

"It's very ungrateful to refuse a present."

"I'm giving myself a present." I raise the key. "My life."

I swing the key at him, anticipating his duck. I stab it into his neck. I wrench it free as blood spurts over my kitchen. He clutches the wound, gurgling as he drops to his knees. Once he's on the floor, I hack his shirt off, grab my knife and carve my parting gift into his back.

21 or BUST.

 

 

Were you nibbling your nails or chewing your lip while reading that?!! Cause that's what I find myself doing all the TIME when I read works by these lovely ladies! If you want more CL Raven (and I kind of can't help myself, honestly...I'm not usually a fan of horror, but there is something more than a little addicting about their work...) check out "Gunning Down Romance" (a collection of short stories about love gone terribly, horribly wrong) "Disenchanted", (a collection of fairy tales retold in the cleverest ways possible) and their full length novel, "Soul Asylum." (Mystery and Death live side by side in an ancient mental asylum! Who will survive? Who won't?)

 

Gunning Down Romance for Amazon   Gunning Down Romance for Smashwords

 

Disenchanted for Amazon                      Disenchanted for Smashwords

 

Soul Asylum for Amazon                       Soul Asylum for Smashwords

 

In addition to their written works, the duo is two thirds of the hilarious web series Calamityville Horror. The girls and their handsome and goofy sidekick Ryan wend their way through historical and haunted properties located in Wales. Check them out over here!

 

Calamityville Horror on Facebook        and    Calamityville Horror on Twitter

 

For all updates on works in progress, Gimpic Game Adventures, Animal Army foibles, and other awesomeness, please check out CL Raven's Blog

 

Big thanks, cwtches, and high-fives to Cat and Lynx Raven for being on my blog today!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Liebster Award (otherwise known as...Do it because you love me!)

I'm very honored that CL Raven has nominated me for the Liebster Award! (I don't know what it is, but I want it!)

The fine print:

• When you receive the award, you post 11 random facts about yourself and answer the 11 questions asked by the person who nominated you.
• Pass the award onto 11 other blogs and let them know they’ve been nominated
• You write up 11 NEW questions directed towards YOUR nominees.
• You are not allowed to nominate the blog who nominated your blog!
• Paste the award picture into your blog. I stole mine from wherever CL Raven got theirs ;)
  

And here are my questions from CL Raven :

1. What is your superhero name, power and costume? Mind Control, of course! If I had unlimited control over people's minds...I wouldn't have to be super strong, fast, wealthy, breathe underwater, etc. I could make other people do it FOR me, or THINK I was doing it, which amounts to the same thing. Also, I guess I'd leave my name the same. This is one of those superpowers that might be best not to go around advertising, lest some chump figure out a way around it that I haven't thought of first. Costumes...I'd have unlimited access to whatever clothes I wanted to wear, or wanted people to think I was wearing. The possibilities are endless. Now, please give me those pretty, pretty shoes in that window...

2. Who would you go gay with to save the world? Waaaaait a minute.....how does this save the world, exactly? I guess it WOULD be a good excuse to make out with Kate Beckinsale, Kate Winslet, or Milla Jovovich.

3. Who would play you in a film of your life? Hmm. I'm not sure. I'd like to see how Zooey Deschanel would do, but I'm not sure she could pull off my brooding, dark side. She'd have to try out. Open casting opportunities will be announced when it's time. Ginnifer Goodwin might be good too.

4. Name 5 albums on your death row disc list. Number #1 is Eric Clapton's 24 Nights album...technically it's a double disc album, but it still counts as one. The other four would be....U2's Achtung Baby, the special foreign edition recorded in Berlin and Dublin. The Killers, either Hot Fuss or Sam's Town-I like them equally and they are such great albums, but very different. The same goes for The Black Keys and both the Brother and El Camino albums. If I was able to bribe the Death Row guards, I'd get some Led Zeppelin, Metallica Load and Black, Adele (21), David Garrett's rock symphonies, and maybe some Jewel and old school rap like 2-Pac and Mase, just for good measure.

5. What’s your karaoke song? I've never done karaoke. I desperately want to, but they don't really have any place that does it near me, and I also need some friends who will set aside their pride and do it with me. Although, I should admit, I have performed live with a friend and we did Bad Reputation by Freedy Johnston. That was AWESOMELY fun and I would love to be able to do more performing.

6. If you had to have a hilarious, cartoon-style death, what would it be? Piano falling from a high window and crushing me flat on the sidewalk. No contest. Then I'd get up and walk around all flattened and stretched like the cartoon characters do!

7. What book/film/song do you wish you’d written? I'm not really sure. I do wish I could have stolen the title “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” by Dave Eggers. I mean, come on...who really doesn't want to call their book THAT?!! The fact that he actually got to is very, very admirable. It was, by the way, a very good book.

8. If you could be made into a wax work couple, who would your other half be? Jensen Ackles. But I also have a thing for Ioan Gruffudd and Cillian Murphy, so really, either of them would be acceptable if Jensen were unavailable for some ridiculous reason.

9. What would be your Kryptonite? Pretty, witty men with dark hair, freckles, and light eyes. Wait. That's already my kryptonite. Also, sweets. And chips. And pizza, chinese food, and dyeing my hair way too much.

10. If you ruled the world, what is the first law you’d make? I might outlaw politicians. And make animal abuse punishable by death. I don't believe in the death penalty, but if I did, animal abusers would be the first to get the chair. I'd also make some law that allows less money to public figures, like sports players and entertainers, and channels that money to schools for arts programs and allowing teachers more resources. Also, I'd make all employers treat their employees like humans, not pack mules. Happy people make good employees. I'd make lots and lots and lots of laws. I'd probably get overthrown quite quickly and violently.

11. And who would be the first person you’d execute? The first person to cut into traffic in front of me and then go 10 mph below the speed limit. Those people deserve execution, for sure.





11 random facts about myself-

1. I'm right handed but I play most sports like a lefty would.

2. I'm a trained auricular acupuncturist, and during my training, I discovered my left ear would push out most of the needles placed, while the right ear accepted the needles in a composed and well behaved fashion. My trainer stated this meant my chi was “F-ed up.” HA! He was a great guy.

3. I like figuring out how to recreate really yummy dishes at home I've discovered while eating at restaurants

4. German Shepherds scare me and I wish they would stop being bred and the whole breed allowed to die off.

5. I started drinking coffee at the age of 7. I had to detox from all caffeine at the age of 27, and I allow myself one large mug of half-caf per day now. (I get heart palpitations, major sleep disturbances, and anxiety if I overdo it. Lame, I know.)

6. I've worn high heels since I was like 7 or 8. No, I was not a child beauty pageant queen. I grew up in a church that all the girls wore big poofy hair, fancy dresses, stockings, and heels. So....kind of a pageant, actually, now that I think about it, yes...I rarely wear dresses now, or hairspray.

7. My mother made me take piano lessons every Friday for like five years. I told her I didn't want to, but she insisted I have opportunities she never did. So I simply refused to learn a damn thing. She finally realized $10 a pop to prove her will was stronger than mine was really quite wasteful. I do feel sorry for the teachers I had, though. They must have thought I was truly feeble minded for the extreme lack of progress.

8. I am petrified of being sung “Happy Birthday” to in public. Or, anywhere, really, but especially in public.

9. I had imaginary friends named Chester and Garbo as a child. At a certain point, it became apparent my father liked them more than I did, and when he kept asking about them, I finally told him they weren't around anymore. When he pressed the issue about where they'd gone, I told him I killed them off so he would be quiet about them already. I'm continually reminded by how accommodating my parents really were of my lunacies.

10. I won't eat tuna fish or egg salad prepared by someone else.

11. I once had a (short, but it still counts!) conversation with President Bill Clinton. I wish I had asked him what cologne he was wearing.




Here are my nominees for this award -Jamie Demente, London Cole, Allison Brew, Judith Sweet, Xander Buchan, Miranda Stork, Nisha Moodley, and Elise Stephens (if you've already been tagged, please feel free to ignore. ) I know I'm not supposed to tag the blog that tagged me, BUT I really want CL Raven to answer my made up questions!! Pretty please?



New questions for the nominees are -

1. If you were a Superhero, what would your Nemesis' power be?

2. Take three sentences from three of your favorite songs and make a paragraph that may or may not make sense.

3. What do you wished you had been named?

4. What is a book/song/movie you wish you've never read/heard/watched and why?

5. Let's pretend the Zombie Apocalypse is actually going to happen. How are you going to survive it?

6. Would you rather be raised by wolves or penguins?

7. If your life was a song, what would the title be?

8. Do you wake up, or open your eyes first?

9. Magic wand or Lightsaber?

10. What is the speed of dark? What is the square root of purple?

11. If YOU had to have a hilarious, cartoon-style death, what would it be?

The Mountain Trail Adventures

I discovered a trailhead near my house a few years ago. Once, I started climbing it, only to turn back after 10 minutes. It went up, and up, and up...and that was before I had any interest in getting some good cardio time in. Anyways, about a month ago, I remembered the trail and decided to go exploring. I've still never reached the end of the trail, because once you reach the top of the mountain, the trail continues through a grassy meadow...and is clearly marked with about a dozen "Posted" signs. Jerks! I may never know what lies beyond! If you see a public arrest record for me with a trespassing charge, you'll all know why. Here are some photos of the coolness the trail has to offer.

Fairy Forest...life size overhead view

 

 

 

 Stone Walls randomly line the trail, but not in a discernable pattern...I followed one, and found...

 

 

What era is this from? It was lying in the middle of a clearing, right across from this...

 

 

And I have no idea what                      ^^^^^"this" ^^^^^                    actually is...at first I thought a foundation, but there are only three sides, and the size of the trees growing up through the middle of it while no other trees grow in the clearing around it seem to indicate it's NOT a foundation. I then thought maybe a hunting blind, but a friend familiar with these things said, no, it's not likely a hunting blind. So I have no idea what it is. I do know...the area had a creepy feel to it. The longer I stayed, the more I felt like someone, or something was watching me. Herschel kept tracking a ground scent and acting skittish...so we got out of there quickly. I want to go back with company and see if they feel anything peculiar about the area or if I was working myself into a tizzy for nothing.

 

 

This is a drainage culvert, or as I like to call it, the remains of a Roman aqueduct, transported through space and time to a random trail in upstate New York. My explanation makes more sense, obviously.

 

 

A squadron of fungi, attacking a fallen foe.

 

 

Tree Barnacles...The Musical

 

 

This is a larger than life sized photo of a teeeeeeeny little mushroom atop a bed of moss growing off a tree trunk.

 

 

We had a few days of heavy rain. Not only did the handful of streams that cross the trail become raging rivers, a winding swath down the entire face of the trail, still muddy, was evidence the entire trail was flooded, likely the day before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Herschel playing in a waterfall

 

 

 

Last Red Eft of the season...it's so much fun to hold a miniature orange dinosaur. Seriously. Unless they pee on you. Thankfully, this one minded his manners.

 

Last time I went up, the mountain was behaving rather rudely. I had to leap across one of the swollen streams, and when I landed on what appeared to be a solid and stable rock, it began wobbling to and fro, trying to send me flying. I just barely managed to keep a toe hold and leap off before it killed me. Or sprained my ankle, which, on a mountain alone, is tantamount to the same thing. THEN, a tree literally threw a branch at Herschel. It clattered a few inches from his poor fuzzy noggin, and he jumped about a foot off the ground. Being the opportunistic type, he grabbed the branch and began merrily whacking me across the back of my knees several times before I decided that was enough of that and made him drop it. He pouted for a minute or two, then trotted off to find deer poop. Yum.

 

That's pretty much what I've been doing besides school, homework, and sleeping. Ciao!