Latisha's Rants and Raves

On loathing internet people, and why being a Mod sucks gigantic ass.

2006-08-24T07:48:27Z

It's funny how just ocassionally you will come across someone online that just makes you insane. When I say insane, I mean full on psychotic rage induced pounding at the keyboard in impotent fury whilst wishing that it came equiped with a Kill button, insane. I have met that person today and it actually startled me, the level on which I suddenly and absolutely despised her.

The reason I despise her is so seemingly petty, it's idiotic, I *KNOW* it's idiotic. Opinions differ and yadda yadda yadda etcetera. Yet it doesn't change a good goddamn thing. Should I ever meet her in person I'd be hard pressed to avoid throttling her. Every word out of her mouth is like nails on a chalk board, her every opinion now makes me want to contradict her even when I agree. It's maddening and frustrating and funny as hell when I'm not so mad I could chew nails and spit bullets.

I run into one major problem however. A moral quandry of sorts. I head the community to which this girl belongs and the place in which she squashed my last nerve. I run it, I have absolute power over what is done...and this is the part that sucks. I'm fair, or at least I try to be. I may want to skin this bitch and use her tanned hide as a bath mat but I can't ban her from my community because that would be unfair and in the strctest sense of the rules, she hasn't broken one. It would be an unfair abuse of power and GODDAMN but that sucks harder than a Hoover up a camels ass.

I'd love to ban her, to piss on her parade, I'd love to stalk her through LJ and troll her like a 13 year old. Yet because I am a mod, I can't. If I expect other people to live by the rules I set I have to put on my big girl panties and suck it the fuck up.

.....but that doesn't mean I can't whine in my LJ about it, so Nyah Nyah.

To my Sweetie

2006-07-25T18:44:01Z

Hey. Made it to Canada in once piece, am very tired. Will hopefully see you soon.

*collapse*

the_13th_muse @ 2006-05-04T01:12:00

2006-05-04T05:13:27Z

The_13th_muse

A gift for you

2006-04-16T10:21:19Z

To part no more.
Oh! Muse, but for thee, my love, for thee,
Alas! this day — O how shall I repay
Thy matchless truth, thy tenderness, thy love?

The Things I Hate

2005-12-21T19:58:49Z

I hate with a burning fiery passion people that abuse others, be it children or animals or the elderly or even eachother. It's wrong, it's wrong to hurt someone else through neglect or malice or anger for no other reason than the fact that you're stronger than them...so you can. I think most people would agree with me on this. Yet I take this hate a step further, I also hate the people that make that kind of abuse possible. The people who sit back and feel guilty but say nothing. The people who let the abuse go on and on, let irreparable damage be done while they twiddle their thumbs and debate doing something, notifying someone. Soothing their conciences with the thought that they'll call soon, just a few more days..just another week, nothing bad can happen in that time right?

I hate people who make petty excuses for doing something so fucking open handedly evil. I hope Karma jumps up and swallows their lives whole, I hope they have misery for the rest of their goddamn lives because knowing something is wrong and standing by and letting it happen is as bad as doing it yourself. That's even how the law sees it, if you stand by and watch someone kill someone, it doesn't matter if you pull the trigger yourself, you're just as guilty.

I don't care how hard you think your life is at the moment, I don't care if the one doing the abusing is your Father, Mother, Sister, Boyfriend ,Girlfriend, Best Friend or your fucking Great Aunt Trudy. You don't wait to report things like this, you don't wait to do something because if you do you run the risk of having someone's death on your concience forever. Someone helpless, someone who couldn't make it stop alone who needed you to helpl them..and you didn't. You just let it happen because you were too big of a coward to stand up and say STOP.

I'm a murderer.

In my heart and for the rest of my life I will always know that I am a murderer, I didn't hold the bat that sent her ribs through her lungs, I didn't rape her myself but I killed her none the less because I didn't say anything...because I knew what he was doing to her and I didn't say anything to help.

I had a friend in high school, she was wonderful..this tiny sweet girl with the biggest smile you ever saw and these big brown eyes that would turn you into goo if she looked at you funny. She was so tiny, she was my age and stood exactly at my shoulder and weighed maybe 90 pounds soaking wet. She was the sweetest person I ever knew, she loved pokemon and cheesy anime and she liked the square school pizza best the same as me.

We'd share headphones at lunch and finish eachothers sentances and one day she told me an awful awful secret. Her father hurt her, he hit her and did things to her and she was so scared sometimes she couldn't sleep. She showed me her scars and bruises and I held her and petted her hair and I kept that fucking secret..until one day she didn't come to school. She kept not coming...and I finally called her house after 4 days, just like she told me to if I got worried. Her mother told me that she was dead...and how she died. I didn't say anything and she died and it was *my fault* because I knew..I knew and didn't stop it.

I'll carry that with me the rest of my life. She was my best friend and I let her die, so don't you DARE fucking tell me that I don't understand. I don't need to, I know the consequences of standing by and saying nothing while something so evil happens. " Evil Prospers when good men do nothing" isn't that the quote? I know what I did, but I also know that I'll never do it again. I've reported people since, once I actually cornered a woman at the bus stop long enough for the police to get there and take her son from her. You never expect someone to do something evil, but it happens...it happens and kicking yourself later doesn't make it right.

Letting someone suffer because you're too chickenshit to do something about it is so wrong it burns me up inside and every time I hear of someone that does it it eats me up until I'm so angry I think I just might crack and go postal on someone.

I'll settle for this though.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-10-16T23:10:00

2005-10-17T03:19:17Z

There are only three real things people can do online to really hurt me. Just three. It seems lately that the world has decided to make me hate the people in in. Three people in the past month have done this to me. Just dissapeared one day, or started ignoring me...people I considered friends. It's hurtful and I wonder what posesses people to do it. Is it really so hard to just outright TELL someone that you don't want to be friends anymore? Is it hard to say...

" Look, dude..you're cool and all but not really the kind of person I want to talk to. Leave me alone, kay? " It's easy, then I don't feel dumb and hurt and wonder what's going on. I don't feel concerned or paranoid wondering if it's sopmething I've done. I understand that the friendship is over and I don;t bother you again. Simple.

But no. People won't do this. They Block your SN, so you can't see them even though you know that they're online. Which hurts, because you wonder if they're okay or if you said something to hurt their feelings.

Alternately if they DO come online, they still pretend to like you but ignore you after a reply or two. It feels like shit, like suddenly you just arn't good enough anymore. It's hurtful and I hate it.

Or, they'll say that they're your friend, then snark about you behind your back to other people.

So stop it. Really. Just stop. If you don't like someone anymore, just say so. I know in my case I won't wig out or loose my mind. I understand that people grow apart and so do intrests. But what I don't understand is being treated like crap by people I consider friends. THAT , I hope I NEVER understand.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-10-11T00:06:00

2005-10-11T04:34:45Z

If anything lately my life has fallen into a sort of ambivelent drone. One day is pretty much like the next, and the next and the next after that. I've been depressive for most of my life and over the years I've learned to pretty much spot when the bad times are coming. It's like watching a storm roll in on an august night. You can feel the hot wind on your face , smell the ozone in the air but there's nothing you can really do about it but go inside and hope it doesn't damage anything too badly. I can see it coming, I can anticipate it's arrival but I still can't do a goddamn thing about it.

It's scary, watching the sands in the hourglass of your sanity run out, it feels like having your energy slowly sucked out by some gigantic vampire; leaving you a withered up husk of the person you used to be. I feel it happening and I can't stop it. It's a little like drowning really...only you know it's happening and if you're like me, and have had it happen before you know what's on the other side. The storm itself isn't a pretty place to be, especially for me...I have more problems than just severe depression. For all you guys out there going "WTF, It's just feeling mopy for a while..no big deal." Deperession isn't a simple thing, it's..a loss a terrible, soul crushing loss, you loose your ambition, your energy, your creativity.

It even crushes your will to be anything appoching human. All you do is exist, exist until the pain of existing is simply too fucking much and then you try and end it. It kills. Over the years I've learned to pretty much time my hospital stays so that I can't hurt myself. That's all I can do. That and hope that there's light on the other side. I have to batten down the hatches of my soul and lash myself to the wheel and hope to navigate my way through one more storm, all the while knowing that even if I make it through this one, there is always going to be another just on the horizion. So I sail on, I face the storm and hope I make it. My mother didn't, she put a gun to her chest and blew a hole in her heart. My three uncles didn't, each one killed themselves. My family is littered with the people who crashed on the rocks of their own personal killing reef, people who never made it back to the other side.

I'm waiting on my horizon.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-10-02T21:53:00

2005-10-03T01:59:24Z

What kind of pirate am I? You decide!
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Krazeh Korner

2005-09-29T21:36:53Z

Hiya everybody! It’s time for another magical and fun filled trip to Tisha’s Krazy Korner. I’m Tisha and I’ll be your guide to the wild and wacky world of the clinically insane. Remember to keep your hands and arms and other body parts inside the vehicle at all times. Here we go!

The year was 1997, the Macarena was still cool, two toned hair was all the rage and you were pond scum if you didn’t wear Tommy Jeans. I was a trendsetter…my purple shoes and fuck you ‘tude soon won my entire school over to the stunning charm of my secret personality.

Okay, not really.

I was a freaky nerd girl who played on the computer far too much and wrote bad fanfic, but that’s hardly the point now is it? Anyway, after yet another attempt to end the spiraling OMFG EMO!!! shithole that was my life I was confined yet again to the Loony Bin. I was 13 and flush with the hormonal joy that was adolescence…and unfortunately so was a boy named Skyler. Now, Skyler was a really really hot kid. In my 13 year old brain he was just short of a sex god, but Skyler had a ..problem. Evidently Puberty hit him hard...WAY hard, and all he wanted was sex. Every time you LOOKED at this kid he was either walking the one eyed wonder weasel or humping something or TRYING to hump the girls….not that we minded. Skyler would do anything that moved, literally. His mom committed him because she caught him fucking the family dog. I’m sure Fifi the poodle was never the same again.

Now…we were all pretty goddamn crazy. But that level of crazy just squicked us right the hell out when it came out in a tearful confession in group. Some things I never, never wanted to know. However, there WAS a girl who had a big thing for Skyler. Her name was Tamara, she was a really hot chick, literally so. She was in because she tried to kill her step dad in his sleep by lighting him on fire. Now, you’d think that fire wouldn’t be your ideal method of murder, being painful and hot and all but evidently it made sense for Tamara. Tamara was a charming girl, sweet natured and nice…until you caught her staring at you while she thought you weren’t looking with that “ I wanna set you on fiiiiiiiire “ look in her eyes . That was shades of freakiness I do not EVEN want to contemplate.

However, These two nut jobs managed to get together and become an “item” which meant that Tamara, when no nurses were around would let Skyler put his hand down her pants and beat off as quickly as possible. They had absolutely no qualms about doing this in front of god and everyone, so we were frequently witness to some pretty explicit stuff. None of us told however because A. They would stop. B. They would STOP and C. We wanted to live, and they’d have killed us in our sleep if they HAD to stop. So we all guarded their little secret with the furtive need of hormonal teenagers deprived of any and all privacy and wanking material. They were our sliced playboy channel and by GOD the cable company wasn’t gonna take our porn away.

Well, all was well until SHE arrived, little miss Ice Princess Of Stickupherbuttylvania. Her name was Courtenay and she was without a doubt the most snobbish crazy-bitch I have EVER met. I don’t even think she was really crazy, I think it was just that her rich daddy was tired of putting up with her prudish ass while he boned his new girlfriend after he divorced her heifer of a mother. Anyway, the first time she saw Skyler and Tamara start going at it…she screamed blue murder. Now, up until this point it was only myself and Tamara as the sole representatives of the female sex. So, I was forced to take action.

I socked that snooty bitch right in the mouth and told her that if she ever did that again I’d shove my fist so far down her throat she’d chew her meals with her asshole. ( I was a violent young girl and given to fits of temper) and since I was in there anyway she KNEW I’d do it too. Now, this rendered her blessedly silent as one of the nurses arrived . The other boys covered for me and said that there had been a spider and Courtenay had tried to get away..and had fallen on her face, which was why Her Majesty screamed.

Now, everyone knows that crazy people and kids are some of the most sneakily intelligent people around. Combine the two and you have a hive mind that would put Doctor Moriarty himself to shame. In less that ten seconds we had a solid cover story and stood united against the Ice Queen….and we triumphed, her ravings were ignored, she was Papoosed and stuck in the butt with a tranq and we were once again able to enjoy our porn in peace.

The irony is that Skyler and Tamara didn’t last more then a week…and his next wank buddy was guess who.

Courtenay.

Tamara and I and the rest of the group took great joy in outing the both of them to the nurses.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-08-11T10:20:00

2005-08-11T14:20:52Z

Welcome Back everyone! For yet another fine edition of Tisha’s Krazy Korner. Today I’m gonna elaborate on one of the patients we all know and love. Melina and her Chair of Doom. I hope you enjoy this installment as much as you did the last.

Now, You all know Melina’s anger issues, The words “ Sweet as a rabid badger in a sack” certainly come to mind as I think of her. Then again being strapped to a chair and forced to try and glare people to death through sheer force of homicidal will would probably frustrate any of us. Yet Melina was special, not just for her homicidal rage but for the multitude of ways she would express it.

Of course, where a healthy person with her…issues would have been frightening, Melina was more like an object lesson. See everyone? God DOES have a sense of humor! Look at the platypus, and Melina! So of course we being the vicious and absolutely amoral species known as children, tormented her as much as humanly possible without getting caught ourselves. Sticking your fingers close to her mouth then yanking them away was a favorite. It was like the loony bin version of playing Chicken, the more times you did it without getting nailed, the cooler you were. Another was locking one wheel of her chair and then running around her in circles until she made herself dizzy trying to spin around to catch you.

Of course we never had very long, Melina’s cursing and snarling generally brought the nurses after she didn’t quit in a while or say “ Die you honky Bitch/Bastard” which was how she closed Every. Single. Conversation. But one day, a mistake was made. See, we had this kid with ADHD, I’ve forgotten his name but we can just call him Speedy , And when I say “ bad ADHD” I mean this Kid had BAD FUCKING ADHD. This wasn’t that bullshit diagnoses that just regular bratty fucking kids get, this kid was nearly fucking crippled by it. Nothing could hold his attention, his brain would just...misfire if he saw anything like movement out of the corner of his eye, heard something interesting. No matter what he was doing he couldn’t just do ONE thing. He was also never fucking still and always had to be doing something with his hands. He was worn to the nub of his skinny lil‘ redneck ass, you could see it in the big bags under his eyes...but he couldn’t stop.

One of Speedy’s favorite games was Melina baiting, he’d stick his fingers close to her mouth then yank them away before she could bite him over and over again every chance he got. Unfortunately one day while he was doing this something happened. I dunno if a gnat farted somewhere in the room, if he saw something shiny or there was something neat going on , on TV but what I do know is that his attention wavered...and she nailed him. She sunk those big white teeth into the first joint of his pinky and bit that fucker off.

Oddly enough Melina though in the stone cold silence that followed looked as surprised as Speedy did in that one moment before he began to scream. I will never forget the absolute shock on his face. That look of utter WTFness before the fact that he’d just let himself be maimed by a little crippled girl hit him.

There is no way to make that sound cool to your friends on the outside, because only the biggest dipshit to ever breath would have been that stupid. I still think that wherever Speedy is now he passes the loss of his pinky tip off on a accident with power tools as a kid. ( If you’re reading this Speedy, I hope you learned your lesson about not sticking things you like in girl’s mouths .) At any rate, snack time being over they were both confined to the Quiet Room. Speedy was taken to a medical facility and Melina was well, they parked her in the quiet room a while to try and figure out what the hell to do. Seems, there’s no protocol for loss of appendages on the children’s ward. When they finally got the whole story from us they decided that she as actually pretty justified, so they let her out again.

That was the first day I ever saw Melina really smile, evidently her version of Prozac was biting the fingers off of little redneck white boys. Who knew?

I never ever played bait Melina again, I like MY fingers Y’all.

While I was there in the Cracker Barrel valentines day came, and if you think that Valentines day is funny on the OUTSIDE? You should see a bunch of pre-teens and children trying to clumsily say that they didn’t want to smother one another in their sleep with a dirty sock.

We could give valentines to whoever we liked. I sent one to a nurse and one to Clayton, because the other girls were still pretty sore at him about the whole puking thing, but I’d had my revenge and he still had the bruises to prove it…so all was right with the world, at least in our eyes.

To my complete and utter shock I received two valentines in return. One from Clayton…and one from Melina , it was red and black and dusted with enough glitter to have killed two fairies somewhere in England that read and I quote. …

“ I luike U luike A Grrlfrend; Di U hoky Betch “

Ahhh, them were the days.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-08-10T15:17:00

2005-08-10T19:18:32Z

Welcome all to Tisha’s Krazy Korner, I will now regale you with yet more tales of the Loony Bin. In today’s Edition we’ll talk about Clayton, the furtive puker and the havoc he wreaked upon the girl’s dorm.

Now, Clayton was someone I met on my second day in the ‘ Bin. Now, he wasn’t the kind of kid that you’d expect to be as crazy as he was, in fact he was always well dressed, spoke clearly….was intelligent. All around charming kind of kid. Though now that I think back on it though he kind of reminds me of a tiny Norman Bates. Ahh, indeed hindsight is twenty-twenty…especially when it comes to future serial killers.

Now , it was after I got there and had been there 24 hours that I discovered that a plague was sweeping the Children’s Ward, especially the Girl’s Dorms. Someone was puking in their underwear drawers, then leaving them flowers. Now, the flowers would have been okay and probably won whoever it was some major points, but it was that little something extra that just rubbed us the wrong way. It was Melody, the girl in the bunk next to mine that was struck next after I arrived. She awoke in the morning and went for her usual pair of sparkling fresh unmentionable delight, and was greeted by the gastric carnage that littered the prone bodies of the fallen soldiers of The Battle Of Underwear Hill. No one had been spared, neither cotton nor silk, nor rayon nor even spandex were free of the puke that littered the drawer. I will never forget the words that came out of this ten year old’s mouth when she saw this grisly sight.

“ Goddamnit, Hey y’all bitches wake the hell up!! The Phantom Puker Struck again! And he got my motherfucking Hello Kitties! “ she said, her hands on her hips and her dark eyes snapping Crazy Rage. Y’see…Melody was in The Bin for an interesting problem, she cussed. A lot, creatively and fantastically. This pretty little girl could have given sailors lessons in gruesome with some of her combinations, and she also had the lung strength to go a LONG LONG time. This made her an entertaining roommate indeed.

We all crowded around to look, even Samantha who had to leave after a minute or two to slather herself with a bottle of what she thought was antibacterial spray, but was really water. Her mom was smart enough to make the switch early…so Sam was allowed her comfort sprayer and bothered everyone by spraying everything before she touched it.

I swear to god y‘all the contents of that drawer was the worst thing I ever saw…hospital food really CAN look worse the second time around, I wouldn’t have BELIEVED that unless I saw it myself. Now, it seemed that the Puker had been doing these dastardly deeds for nearly a week now, unseen. The girls and I resolved that we would locate whoever it was and punish them for violating the sanctity of our undies. Days passed, yet we waited, and sat watch in our hidey holes, until at last…we saw him. The fiend who had been ruining our panties.

It was Clayton. Smart, sweet clever Clayton who was hacking up his lunch in Sydney Reynolds’s panty drawer. After the throwing up was done, he placed a tiny bouquet of dandelions right on top, the icing on his puky cake. Now, any of the other freaktastic crazies we’d have thought of…but Clayton? We weren’t sure weather to kill him or be flattered.

Our deliberations were unfortunately cut short though by the call for Group. Now, Group is what we fondly called the “ Who’s a Bigger Freak” hour, because it seemed like the more you went, the freakier things you found out about people. Like, to this day I’ll never forget this one thuggish little shit admitting to sniffing his mom’s underwear and…liking it. I was scarred for life y’all . At any rate, whoever does the best that day in group got to sit in the special Bear Chair and have a cookie. Now, this was a coveted honor, the Bear Chair was this hard red plastic chair shaped like a hugging bear. Now, this was seriously heavy duty plastic…we got some real porkers in there on a regular basis. It seemed like the crazier you are the fatter you are there for a while. So The Chair had to stand up to some pretty big butts. Well, I had come to a decision, Just a few days before my stuffed bunny, Mr. Cuddles had been violated by Clayton…so it seemed only right that I avenge his honor.

I calmly waited until everyone was seated, then I picked up the Bear Chair and hit Clayton with it as hard as I could, knocking him backwards out of HIS chair to stare dazedly up at the ceiling as I whacked him a few more times. Then I calmly set the chair back down and took a seat.

I still giggle when I remember Samantha pointedly spraying Clayton in the eyes as he lay dazed and helpless, let no one say the girl didn’t have good timing.

This didn’t last long because Clayton, bleeding and very unhappy started to cry when he was doused by the Water o‘ Doom, which galvanized the nurses to action. I was apprehended and pappoosed yet again then put in the Quiet Room to sleep off the new shot of drugs I was given. Later, when all was calm and the situation sorted out they pulled me aside and asked why I didn’t just tell them what happened.

Now, a sane person MIGHT have done that, but this was my answer.

“ He puked on my bunny….I can forgive lots of things. But he puked on my bunny. He’s lucky I didn’t beat him to death. I don’t see him trying too hard to sit in the Bear Chai for a while ....I think he‘s had enough Chair for a lifetime.“

This is our lesson for today boys and girls, Hitting people with a big red plastic chair solves all your problems. Clayton and I were best friends after that until he left.

Ahhh, crazy people….

Attack of the Crazy Sproggen

2005-08-09T23:43:12Z

I was reminiscing today and it occurred to me that perhaps my F-list would find some humor in my recounting some incidents from my childhood confinement to the loony bin. Yes indeed folks, I’m genuinely crazy as bugfuck, or at least I was when I was a kid. All crazy people were once SMALL crazy people. Remember that if you decide to have kids, they could come out crazy.

I shall start with my earliest confinement, I was 9 and blush with the newness of clinical depression and an unholy chemical imbalance.

And this is my story.

I had just arrived, and because of that I was still confined to booties and clothing from the Safe Room. I also had to eat On Ward with the rest of the Newbs or the really crazy kids that COULDN’T leave the ward. One of these crazies was a little boy named Timmy. He was….special. He also had a thing about sticking random objects in various bodily orifices and swallowing weird things.

This trait will come in again later.

The other batshit insane guest at the table was Melina. ( There will be more on her in later issues ) Melina was a tiny little black girl in a big fucking electric chair with the sweet and loving temperament of a rabid badger. She was completely homicidal, but some quirk of a laughing god had cursed her to have to survive with only the use of her left leg, her mouth and her right hand. So she would determinedly motor herself around and try and ram you to death with her chair, or she would kick you under the table, all the while glaring daggers with her eyes and occasionally calling you a Honky Cracker Ass Bitch…or Bastard, depending on gender. Evidently being white was a Very Bad Thing in Melina’s mind.

Melina was determined, I’ll give her that. Even crippled and confined to a chair I have no doubt that if you held still long enough she’d chew your throat out, but as she was so disabled that you‘d have to actually have to have a death wish for her to actually kill you, it was more funny than dangerous. Unless you stuck your fingers too close. One kid lost the tip of his pinky that way while I was there. He learned his lesson, and no one stuck their fingers close to her mouth after that again. Though it remained funny to put one of her brakes on and watch her spin ‘round and ‘round in circles trying to catch you.

Ahhh, those were the days.

Back to Timmy. There are numerous incidents involving Timmy, but the one that sticks in my mind the most is the Peas Of Doom, which happened my first night. Timmy was eating his slab-o’-unidentified-meat like the rest of us, but unbeknownst to all but myself he was also stuffing his peas up his nose. Lots and lots of peas. I watched in fascination as little green soldier after little green soldier disappeared up the seemingly endless cavity of Timmy’s sinuses. I lost count of how many he actually put up there, but I know that I gave him MY peas when he ran out of his own, out of sheer curiosity to how many he could stuff up there. He’d half finished THEM when he realized, that with the Pea blockage…he couldn’t breath through his nose.

This disturbed Timmy deeply, though why the stupid little shit didn’t think of THAT before playing hide the veggies I’ll never know. Anyway, he stood up and began to paw franticly at his face in genuine panic crying out “ Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas! In my ‘dose! Peas! “ Now, a more kind hearted child might have been concerned….fortunately this is ME we’re talking about. There for I could contain myself no longer and started to laugh. (I think part of what helped me get better was laughing at people crazier than I was. )

Timmy ran franticly around the room, shouting about the peas in his nose while several orderlies and nurses tried to catch him. Lemme tell you, trying to catch Timmy must have been something akin to trying to catch a greased pig, because no matter how sure they were of their grip the moment someone said “ I got him!“ the little butterball would always get away. Finally, after about ten minutes of playing Catch The Crazy they caught him and took him to the medical bay, screams of “ Peas! Help me Peas!” echoing down the hallway as they went .

I myself was hysterical with laughter at this point and could no longer breath, and when I couldn’t stop laughing on command of the head nurse, who was very angry that I hadn’t aborted little Timmy’s Pea Adventure she decided that she was sick of the entire incident and had me carted to the Time Out room, Papoosed and stuck in the butt with a sedative.

To this day, I cannot eat peas without giggling, thank you Timmy wherever you are, I hope you have lots of objects to stick in funny places so that you may share your freaky magic with the world.

The End…..sorta.

Things to do...also called "Oh God, Kill me now."

2005-07-11T03:34:13Z

Another Day another Update….

Things to do before I leave for Canada once more.

1. Do Laundry. So MUCH laundry, I’ve bought an assload of nice new clothes to go in and I’d like to have them CLEAN and wearable.

2. Find my *motherfucking* PASSPORT since I haven’t seen it since I got it and I have NO idea where it is.

3. Clean my room so nothing crawls out to maim people and/or destroy my hometown while I’m gone. I wouldn’t want to miss action like that dontcha know.

4. Get a bathing suit that doesn’t suck or make me look like a beached manatee. I hold out little hope for that though so it looks like it’s T-shirt and Cutoffs again this year.

5. Attempt not to panic at my wakeup time of 4 AM and departure at 6 AM.

6. Find my luggage. I refuse to go anywhere else with luggage of Kroger bags and Duct Taped coolers with my name on them in magic markers.

7. Practice my French accent at saying that I don’t speak French . Can’t go around sounding BAD while admitting you don’t know a language.

8. Get my eyebrows waxed, Chewbacca isn’t going to Canada, *I* am.

9. Have my hair trimmed, the dead ends are overwhelming me and my bangs have decides to so awry .

10. DO NOT PANIC.

Whew. That really is a lot to do, and I have no fucking idea on how to do it all in FOUR DAYS. But then, I shall be free of stress and misery for 12 blissful days with one of my bestest friends EVAR. Gah I’m so proud, I saved up the money to go ALL on my own , no help from anyone. Tisha is not ALWAYS a money tard! Yay me!

Now if I can only survive until then…

Personal Reflections

2005-07-10T02:58:19Z

So. It’s been a while since I actually wrote a decent update. I guess I’ve kinda been a slacker for a while, but it was slacking time well spent. Once again it is Time for another internal Self-check. I think I’ve grown as a person in the past few months. I no longer depend on Computer People for friendship, I’ve learned how to conserve money and be...well, Adult is the only word I have for it.

If people don’t talk to me? I honestly don’t care now. If they want to they will, if they don’t why would I care anyway? I’m grateful for the time I have and move on more easily instead of clinging and feeling abandoned or hurt. It’s an ..odd feeling to wake up one day and go. “ Huh, I grew up while I wasn’t looking. “ I look into my recent past and…a good chunk of the things I used to do don’t make much sense anymore. I look back and go buah? Was that me? What crack was I ON dude!

You never really expect to grow up, and when it suddenly happens you’re left looking back at childhood and young adulthood and feeling...oddly bereft. I’ve lost something and I can’t get it back. I guess it might be innocence, self illusion maybe. I can’t blame anyone else for my own failings anymore. I don’t have any excuses left. I...am who I am. All my flaws and all my failures. I know them intimately now, I KNOW when they’re leading me in the wrong direction, and now I can put the breaks on.

I’m too trusting.
I hold a grudge far past the time when it should die.
I enjoy vengeance far to much to be healthy.
I can be cruel at heart.
I get angry too easily.
I am a very bitter human being.
I am emotionally damaged.
I do not know how to love anyone, not even myself.
I do not WANT to love anyone.
I do not believe in Romantic Love in real life but I love it in stories and books.
I am cold in parts of myself that I don’t even understand much less know how to fix.
I like to gossip and enjoy observing drama if not causing it.
I am afraid of being close to people.
I am more happy alone most of the time than with other people.

I’ve accepted all these flaws. They are a part of me that I cannot change, and honestly I don’t really want to. I have good points too. Many, I’ve learned those too and it’s been a very long time in coming.

I can admit when I’m wrong.
I love my friends past what’s smart.
I have a wicked sense of humor.
I can make people laugh.
I stand up for what I believe in.
I would do anything to make my friends happy.
I’m not ashamed of myself any more.
I make a fucking awesome Lasagna.
I am creative, if not talented.
I enjoy reading and in an age of people who hate it I am not afraid to admit it.
I can admit when I don’t know something and ask for help.
I know when to admit I know nothing at all.

So many things make me who I am. But Good and Bad they don’t define me, instead they’re just a part of me. No one is perfect, least of all me. But I have learned that I don’t have to be. I don’t have to hide myself or twist the truth to make people like me. I can be myself and let the chips fall where they may, because in the end it works better that way. Admitting each of these things cost me something. Something I can never get back. I think That’s part of the growing up thing. Admitting hard truths to yourself and others and being, if not happy about it…then at least being okay with it.

I think I’m gonna be okay.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-07-02T15:00:00

2005-07-02T22:01:16Z

New Story By L. Kenney

She’d always enjoyed scents, had sat at her grandmother’s feet and drank deep of the richness that spilled from the hundreds of tiny precious bottles of oils and decoctions of plants that were housed in the cool dark of Grandmother‘s workroom. Themyriad of smells settled into her skin , into her heart and child’s mind and instilled in her a need to use them, to evoke the things that Grandmother did with only a few drops of oil and a knowing smile.

Lily Of the Valley for sweetness, for the innocence of springtime with a hint of spearmint for the cold of late snow, vetiver to add tang to bite like cold dawn frost, The Countess of Auverian’s favorite scent, cold , and stark like the lady herself and sharp as a dawn wind. Scents could be people, and people scents, The baker who smelled of yeast and smoke and sugar, the woodsman who smelled of green and dark and the loam of the forest with an undertone of sweat.

There was honesty in the sense of smell that could be found nowhere else. The innkeeper’s wife who carried with her the aromas of beer and smoke and kitchen herbs, a heavy, worn and unhappy woman but still somehow...beautiful ,unique in her scent. Everything had it's own smell, and she learned them, hoarded them close like treasures. Soaked up the scent of her grandmother, complex… as if her precious oils were ingrained into her weathered skin. So much so that only occasionally did one fail to blend with the rest. She hoped that one day she would have such a richness as well.

She learned, different blends of scents and how to draw the essence from the hearts of plants. She made her own soon enough, lost herself in the cool dark of the workroom. Fame grew, and Grandmother died on a winter morning leaving her the work, the shop and it’s memories and history as well as the treasure trove of tiny phials that made up her small universe.

They came bearing gold, each wanting her gift for themselves. Wanting the scents she hoarded, the sense-memories that they could ingrain on their skin for other's to read and remember. She gave them all they desired; found *their* scent, that which would make them stand apart, remembered. Scent is such a visceral thing…you might forget a face, but Scent would remain, along with the memory and emotion.

For the Marquise de Tureville...Essence of opium blended with black plum and ginger, a hint of rose for sweetness, they called her the greatest beauty of her age and yet all who described her mentioned the scent of her first. For the Duke of Rowland came a dark musk, civet mixed with cedar and pine, the elusive smell of dark loam and the memory of the forest, he was a hunter and the scent she crafted for him made him remember the home of his childhood even in the midst of the City. Others came, each seeking...something, and she gave, gave them all they asked and more.

Then came the Cardinal, for him...for him came her greatest creation. She worked near a year to perfect it, then presented it with all the meagre grace she was able. The scent she created for the cardinal was his Truth…all her scents were the truth of the people who wore them, they had to be. The sense fo smell did not lie, and neither could She who would bend it to her will. For the Cardinal came thick black currant with the darkest, deepest myrrh, a drop of bitter mimosa carried by the slightest touch of mandrake dust. Dry in the mouth, warm and skin prickling, it spoke of betrayal and ambition. It spoke also of hidden sensuality, of ruthlessness and mysticism. One smell and he had flung it back at her, drenching her skin in the precious oil, a look she could not read in his eyes.

Witch, he named her, as he crossed himself and backed away from her. The heavy scent of her creation clinging to her own skin now, out of place and wrong as if he sought to hide the truth of himself on her. She knew nothing of his fear, of the terror she had breathed into him with that simple blend of oils and perfumes. Each flavor, each undertone evoking a memory in the Cardinal’s mind, black current, the wine he favored while he sat before the fire and aspired to papacy. The dark myrrh that his mistress wore, mimosa the scent of his childhood when he’d watched his mother dressing…that had clogged his mouth the night he’d slain her and had broken her perfume bottle. Each flavor assailing him, sure as a slap, a conviction of scent and memory.

He could not silence the memory, but he could silence Her and he did, he put her in a dark cell that smelled of bitterest misery and lichen covered stone. Yet she still had her memory, and she filled her mind with the sweetness of night blooming cerus and moonflower to drive bleak misery away. Yet when the armed men came for her, fear filled her senses with the taste of Black Anise in the back of her mouth and the smell of bitter almond. To court she went, and stood silent in a room full of those who wore her truth on their skin, reveled in the honesty of it and said nothing at all. More silence as they led her to the pyre that smelled of cedar and oak and straw. Rough green hemp rope to bind her hands, and her fearful mind fabricated a scent for this moment, this truth too among all the others. Black Anise for their fear, hemp for the ropes that bound her, cedar and smoke for the wood that would blaze and consume and make them feel safe again, a soft hinting blend of cardamom and myrrh for the censor that swung glinting in the sunlight and made her smile as it coated her with it's smoky, thick perfume. Bitter almond for her own fear, narcissus for loss, for all the scents she would never make.

She wasn’t afraid anymore, so she let the scent coil through her warm and soothing as she speaks the words to them, her last formulae, treachery and bitterness and truth all coiled into one last creation. Her own truth, no screaming now as the pain came, as bright and burning as raw cinnamon, electric as ozone and laughter then the Nothing.

They buried her ashes at a crossroads and the men that laid her to rest swore they could smell a strange and beautiful scent coming from her ashes. The cardinal was found poisoned not long after, and the hint of Myrrh clung to his skin and his wine carried the faint aftertaste of bitter almond. His mistress lived well afterward, her and her child, a daughter that sat at her feet as she dressed in silks and jewels and fine perfumes and who conjured new scents in her young mind. Who loved the one her mother kept and never used, safe in the back of her jewel case. The one that smelled of cedar and smoke and incense and strange flowers that made her throat ache with unshed tears.

Her mother called her Catherine, after her older sister despite the whispers of ill omen. The first Catherine after all had been burned as a witch before she was born for creating scents that spoke the truth too loudly. Little Catherine smiles as she dreams of the day when she can speak the truth as well.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-05-18T16:11:00

2005-05-18T20:11:49Z

Title: Penance
Author: Latisha
Pairing: Balian/Baldwin. Balian/his wife.
Rating: R due to subject matter
Warnings: Mentions death and suicide, darkish.
Summary: Balian thinks on his life and the people he has loved.
Fandom: Kingdom Of Heaven

At times I fear that I must be cursed, cursed to love the brightest and most beautiful ..but also the briefest stars that this world has to offer. My wife, Alys was one of the bright ones…she was so beautiful, her hair like a dark cloud and her beautiful gray eyes that were always laughing. Gray like a storm cloud, and a temper to match that made them go as steely as the metal I worked in my forge. She was my precious one , my beautiful treasure and I loved her beyond all bearing and sanity. She loved me too, I who was nothing but a bastard...and she chose me over all the other finer suitors that she had, she chose *me*, a penniless Blacksmith with no family and nothing to offer her but my love because my heart matched hers.

So many happy days, our wedding, the birth of Rys, our son the summers that she would drag me berrying with her to protect her from whatever it was in the forest she could think of as being fierce.

I remember her weeping as she held our son while his fever raged, my helpless anguish that I had not the money to send for a great surgeon or physician to save him. She held him and wept and begged for god to save our child …and when the gurgle of his breath stopped at last she screamed. She screamed for hours, I can still hear it ringing in my ears, her screams as she rocked his tiny body in her arms and refused to let me touch her, her eyes filled with such...hurt and accusation. She screamed until her throat bled, until all she could do was rasp, and then she rocked his cold little body in her arms as the life drained from her eyes. Those gray eyes that I had so loved had gone empty as she spoke silently to our child and grieved… and in my weakness I left her alone with him, to bear her grief alone.

I did not weep even then, I knew if I did I would loose all hope of sanity, and I was a man...a man has no right to weep not even when his world is being destroyed around him. Yet instead of true grief I raged, I stoked the fires of my forge and took my rage out on metal and flame and when I returned …she lay in our bed, our son in her arms, and her blood dripping onto the earthen floor of our hut. I did scream then I did weep. I picked them up…and I remember nothing more. Nothing until I awoke in the monastery, tied to a bed with a sea of terrified faces around me. They said that I had gone mad, That I had carried my family to the church and demanded to god that he take my life and spare theirs.

They said that when he had not answered my demand that I had started to destroy the church., it had taken ten strong men to wrestle me into submission. They said that some demon of grief had possessed me, because I had screamed in my madness that there was no god, for no god could be so cruel.

This must be my punishment for blasphemy, that I should find such sweet love again and it be only with a man, which will damn me to hell as surely as my wife’s sin. Not only this, but a man condemned to die a horrible death as leprosy eats away at his body. Oh bitter irony that I should love him so and be condemned to loose him as well.

He seems so ..fragile when he sleeps, so very small. He really is quite little for man, yet when he is awake his presence makes him seems so much larger despite his frailty. But when he sleeps he looks like what he is ..a boy. A brave, beautiful boy who faces his death with a strength and dignity that makes me burn with shame. I hope when my time comes I have such…grace.

He allows me so few touches, and there is so little that I can do for him to ease him. He asks so little, does my brave one and what he does ask is small and always takes into account my safety. There is not a selfish bone in his body I fear, and I also fear that that goodness in him is what will rob the world of him so soon, such goodness is not meant for mortal men.

He sleeps in my arms most nights, though I flee before dawn, his only vices chess and long discussion.He asks no great liberties, only small touches with his fragile bandaged hands. He allowed me to remove the bandages once, allowed me to see the ruin of his hands. He forbid me to touch them , but he allowed me to look. The bones were swollen and looked painful, the ulcerated skin made my own flesh shrink in sympathetic agony. I wanted nothing more than to gather him into my arms and weep for him, for he refused to weep for himself.

Instead ask asked him to play chess with me, and the smile in his eyes was reward enough.

If it is my penance to love only those doomed for a bright but short life, then I accept it and gladly. I would take an hour, a day with them and the love in their eyes than ten years with any other. My dreams are painted in shades of palest blue and stormy gray and I will carry them with me always. I will strive to be a better man for them, I will try to be as good as the man they saw in me, and perhaps…if I am very lucky, I will see them again one day, when my own eyes close and death comes for me. I pray that I can love with as free a heart as my Alys did, live with the nobility and goodness of Godfrey and face my death with the grace of Baldwin.

If this is my penance, so be it…I would not trade it for all the gold in Jerusalem.

Another KOH Fic

2005-05-10T00:14:26Z

Title: Unclean
Author: Latisha
Email: Ofrodandweal@aol.com
Pairing: Godfrey/Baldwin Baldwin/Balian

Rating: PG

Summary: Baldwin was not always a leper, and in his final days he remembers the boy he used to be.

Fandom: Kingdom Of Heaven

I was beloved by all as a child, my tutors sang my praises and my sword master said that I was the best he had ever had the privilege to teach. I was ..golden then, young and as innocent as it was possible for a child of my rank and station to be and all the world lay before me, a great and wondrous treasure full of beauty and wonder. I was beautiful too then, I remember that I had dark blonde hair and blue eyes…I remember that I was a handsome boy. I do not know if I would have been a handsome man.

I never noticed the changes in the beginning ..the deadening of my flesh was so slow, it never caught my attention. I discounted the infrequent appearance of the sores that would one day destroy my body as injuries, the life of a boy training to be a king is not an easy one. Until one day, during sword practice with Godfrey…his blade slipped and cut my arm, and I did not notice. I had not felt the pain, and though the wound bled freely and was deep … I did not notice until Godfrey called my attention to it.

The moment I saw the horror and agony in his eyes… I knew. I needed no Churgeon to tell me with what I had been afflicted, I knew. It was leprosy , most dreaded of all sicknesses…thought to be the realm of only the weak of character, the perverted or the dishonest. Leprosy was a disease of those lost to God, it was not a disease that struck Princes.

Yet, I was a leper.

Courts were held, demands made that the law be upheld, that no exception be made for me, royal though I was, King-in-name though I was, the argument was made that the morbidity of my flesh should take my right to rule from me.

The laws of god and man were clear on the subject, and I heard them quoted to me often enough in those first, miserable days and weeks that they were burned into my mind and heart forever, this fate that by some miracle I was spared but who’s possibility haunted my every waking thought.

Within the church let a black cloth . . . be set upon two trestles at some distance apart before the altar, and let the sick man take his place on bended knees beneath it between the trestles, after the manner of a man dead . . . and in this posture let him devoutly hear mass . . . The priest then with the spade will cast earth on each of his feet saying: "Be thou dead to the world, but live again unto God."

The priest will then led him into an open field and forbid him to enter churches or houses; wash his hands or clothes in springs or streams; wear anything but a leper's cloak; touch anything he wishes to buy; enter taverns to buy wine; or to lie with any woman but his wife. The priest will tell him never to talk to people unless down wind from them; never to touch railings without gloves; never touch children or give them gifts; and never eat and drink with people other than lepers.

He must always wear the gray or black mantle of a leper that all know on sight of his condition, and never use the dishes and spoons of others. He must warn people of his miserable presence with horn, clapper or bell; and beg for alms with a bag tied to the end of a long stick, crying ; “ Unclean Unclean Unclean. “

At length, through much suffering and examination on my part and politicking by my supporters, who then, flush with victory still yet called themselves my men it was decided that in lieu of my victory at Karak I would be allowed to retain my throne. I defied the laws then. I went bare-faced to the world while I still could, I wore blue and white and never any black or gray. Yet I feared for the safety of those around me, and clothed myself carefully. I did as many tasks pertaining to my body as I could myself, wishing the growing horror of my condition on no one. I learned to bind my own wounds, and the uses of mercury and healing herbs and salves that none would see me unclothed, my affliction bared to any horrified eyes save my own

Though I was aware then of the growing fondness in my heart for Godfrey, who still came to me and treated me as Baldwin, not The King or The Leper I never voiced it, my secret love for him. I could not...the pain of that thought was too much to bear, for I would never inflict my disease on another, and was not the very fact of my affection ..the desire I held for Godfrey proof that it was no mistake that I was leprous? My sin, my desire had made me vulnerable to this disease, and I would not open Godfrey, noble, good Godfrey to it as well.

I drew myself slowly from the court as my illness progressed, only a few coming into my presence for anything but State business. The chess games I shared with Godfrey then were the one thing that let me keep my sanity. Our talks on Jerusalem , of what she could be in the right hands giving me the hope I needed to soldier on through the pain and weakness that began to dog my days and nights. When the first sores appeared on my face and I donned a shroud…the sorrow in Godfrey’s eyes was near too much to bear.

Yet it was his gift to me, a mask of beaten silver , cool against my heated, hurt flesh that gave me some small solace. It was beautiful, my face...a man’s face crafted from the memory of the boy I had been. It was Godfrey’s un-fearing hands that placed it upon me, and never again did I remove it in the company of another while he yet lived.

When he left me, to find the son he said would be his heir I mourned, but counted the days until his return, until I could share with him my plans for the city’s walls, her new defenses, my ideas for reform…when word came to me of his death I thought I would go mad with grief. Not even gentle Tiberius could ease my pain then. His kind words were no comfort to me as I raged. When word came again, that his son and heir, for whom he had sacrificed his life had arrived in my city…I was prepared to hate him.

What a fool I was.

The son was a distilled version of everything that I had loved in Godfrey, his fearless clean heart drew me like a moth to the brightest flame. I would have given anything then, done anything to see him on this throne, to see Jerusalem safe in his untainted hands.

But he puts me to shame now with his earnest dark eyes and fervent appeals to my better nature. Using my own high-minded words against me and the fell deed I ask of him. How proud I am to know him...to have had some small hand in helping him become what he is. How can I fault him, if he were the kind of man that would trade a human life for a throne he would not be Balian, he would not be a man I would see as king. I my desperation I forgot the very thing that drew me to him…that won what shattered bits of my heart I had left. His goodness.

Oh that he could be a little less noble…or I hard enough to order him to do this thing that I desire. I lay here dying, and he says those words to me, sweet words that sooth the thought of my final hours. “ You have my love, and my answer. “ I do, and though it is not what I would have wished, I know he will not let all be lost. I must have faith in him that he will salvage what he may.

They said that I was unclean, but I defy them again now as I did then, I have passed the test and kept my honor…his love and faith has made me pure once more, and I may meet god now with a clean heart though there will be no mass for me, no last rites read over my body. Such a gift he has given me, I wish I could give him something in return, but all I have left is my heart, and he has had all along.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-05-07T15:03:00

2005-05-07T19:03:49Z

Title: The Dearest Price

Pairing: Baldwin IV of Jerusalem/Balian of Ibelin, a hint of Baldwin/Godfrey.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Not mine, never were...though I’d sacrifice body parts to pagan gods if they WERE.

Summary: An introspective piece, a moment in the mind of a fading King and the price one pays for dreams.

Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven

When they brought him to me it felt as if the breath had been driven from my lungs. Pain forgotten I was taken aback by the sight of him, Godfrey’s Heir, I had been prepared for anything but what walked into my hall. The years fading away for me for just a moment, back to when I first laid eyes on Godfrey of Ibelin. Younger and stronger then, full of pride and ideals. Shaggy dark hair and that almost unbearably hawkish nose. He was a pauper Knight with naught but his ferocity and bloodlines to recommend him, Yet there was a brightness to him that made one forget all his imperfections, making one...grateful to simply bask in the light and force of his presence. For all that he was but a man and a sinner like us all...I think that perhaps Godfrey was closer to God than most priests.

My most loyal Baron

He was certainly closer than I am right now, because god forgive me but I have never seen aught so lovely as Balian of Ibelin.

I have many sins and failings of character, least of them all in the eyes of many; being my love for beautiful things. Perhaps it is the lack of beauty in my own person that makes me crave the sight of it in objects and in others. Yet, though Balian is as lovely as a desert dawn it is not his angels face that wins my favour so. Some of it is perhaps that he does not shrink from me nor dismiss my words as the ravings of a diseased man as others do. For all my infirmity I am not mad yet, though my court may soon drive me so.

I think though, it is his lack of arrogance that charms me best. For all I bear the title of King, many come to me and seeing my affliction think themselves my better, for their flesh is whole and healthy while I who wear the crown am stricken so cruelly. For all that they play the part of loyal servant they are naught but vipers , waiting for the moment when they can strike at what the see as a feeble man. Many of these men have ended their days on my wall, a noose about their necks.

Never let it be said that I am not a ruthless man.

I would be long dead if I were not, and this Kingdom I have fought so hard to build all gone to ashes and dust. Yet in Balian of Ibelin I see all that Jerusalem could be, in his heart and ernest loyalty I see what a Knight was meant to be…and am ashamed. Would that I a hundred Knights like him, I could hold this city and make it into the Kingdom that it should be, a Kingdom of Heaven...not merely a city of greed and avarice. My dreams are what keep me alive, the desire to see them fulfilled…and the knowledge that once my heart stops all could be lost, for my sister and heir is wed to a viper who would destroy all I have done in search of false glory.

But, there is hope yet…while Balian of Ibelin lives I think all shall not be lost, for though my heart craves that I keep him here and close to me, where I can see the truth of myself in his dark eyes, see what true loyalty should be…perhaps even love, I shall send him away. I shall send him where he will have time to learn the Knightly Arts, where he will have time to become what it is I see in him to be without the poison that eats my court infecting him. I shall send him where he will be safe. I shall sacrifice yet again for my kingdom, though none will ever know how dear the cost of this dream that I have cherished.

I shall send him far from me, to Ibelin and hope that when my time runs short he will be ready to take up the mantle I place on him. I shall hope that my heart does not lead me astray in this, though I have faith that it shall not.

After all, I loved Godfrey of Ibelin too.

Big Fat Me

2005-04-14T00:23:03Z

the_13th_muse @ 2005-04-13T17:56:00

2005-04-13T21:56:37Z

Fat. Woman. Fat woman. fatwoman. Fattie. Fatass, lardass, chubby, chubs, two ton Tess, fat cunt, fat bitch. Worthless fatass, elephant ass , warthog. Big Mama. Ten thousand hurtful words for one person.

I am fat.

I am a fat woman. I am your worst nightmare, I am the thing that dogs you as you spend hours at the gym . I am the thing that chases you as you run miles on the track. I am the laughed at “ What if?”. I’m the miserable girl in the supermarket trying to decide between the slim fast or the diet pills. I’m the girl that sits alone at the food court. I’m the one you laugh at and say “But for the grace of god“ about. I am the thing you fear. My waist, my legs, my breasts my thighs, I am the thing you’d rather starve and work and sweat than be. I am the one you look and laugh with your friends at but secretly wonder about as your hold your slender wife or girlfriend. I am fat, I am a woman. I am a Fat Woman and all that that entails.

I’m the one you giggle and turn away at, I’m the one you avoid staring at but talk about later. I am the one who can’t shop in your stores or go out to eat in your restaurants without making you uncomfortable. Am I eating too much, did you really need that cake? don’t want to end up like HER ..god no.

I am a Fat Woman. I am the thing that you hate and fear because you know it could be you.

I come in all shapes and sizes and colors, I come from all walks of life and all sexualities. I am black and white and Asian and Latin. I am rich and poor and in the middle and every shade in between. I am single and married and young and old . I am a mother , I am a grandmother I am an aunt, I am a sister , I am a daughter. I am generations of tears. I am laughter and ridicule and angry pride. I am resignation and hopelessness, I am joy and love and comfort. I am helplessness and I am bravery. I come from all times and places . I have always been, loved hated feared desired and reviled.

I am fat. I am a Fat Woman.

….but you’d better smile when you say it or I’ll slap the taste out of your mouth.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-02-21T17:29:00

2005-02-21T22:37:48Z

Okay, so..it’s been a while since I put up a half decent update. So I figured I’d start off on a high note. Or maybe a low one depending on your viewpoint. Today boys and girls we’re going to talk about gender and queer culture and something I’ve noticed within the queer community and common ideas.

I’m a lesbian, this is pretty much old news to anyone who gives a shit, but over time I’ve noticed that a good chunk of my gay male brethren seem to view us Lesbians as just a step above heterosexuals on the Boring -as-fuck-o-meter. Lesbians and the gay boys don’t hang out together. We don’t even have the same freakin’ bars for gods sake. Am I wrong? Tell me I’m full of shit, but I’ve noticed that a lot of gay males assume that while lesbians might be fun for a little while eventually we all went to settle down and play out the American dream of two kids a picket fence and a fucking dog.

The only thing changing being the fact that we have to do it with a nice butch dyke or someone sweet and Femme alternately instead of a man. Then according to script we are supposed to live out our lives in a rosy haze of commitment and childcare and PTA meetings with only the occasional foray into the gay community for old times sake, barring of course the required political activity.

Um, ‘scuse me?

Does anyone else think this is utterly and totally FUBAR?

I don’t want that and it pisses me off that I‘m expected to, I want to party until I am old and gray and the young people are giving me funny looks for being in THEIR spaces. I don’t want to settle down, I don’t want a picket fence and I have a dog already. I certainly don’t want kids and I don’t want to date anyone WITH kids. I don’t wanna do the parenting thing and I have no fucking interest at ALL in what seems to be the Lesbian Lifestyle.

Because I’m a chick I can’t party just as hard as someone with a dick? Bullshit.

I’ve also noticed that unless you fit into a noticeable Lesbian category you couldn’t get pussy if you chased it screaming and wearing a gay pride flag as a skirt *unless* you’re in a gay friendly bar. And people are really really SURE it’s not just a colorful piece of clothing

The hell do I have to do to get a date?

I have long LONG hair, therefore I am obviously not butch, I am loud and opinionated and don’t usually wear makeup unless I wanna feel pretty, therefore I am not Femme. I have no category thus people don’t know quite what to do with me.

I’m getting sick of this category within category crap. Frankly from what I’ve seen of the lesbian scene I’d rather be a gay man anyway, because our shit? Is fucking boring. Why are there no wild lesbian clubs where we can enjoy ourselves and dance until we pass out without having perverted Hetero males watch us and jerk off? Why does nearly every fucking het chick I know say she’s bi just to fucking impress the guy she wants to bone?

I’m getting fucking sick of having my sexual preference pissed on by Het girls who just want to show their boyfriends how wild and crazy they can be.

I’m getting fucking sick of telling people I’m queer and then having them automatically assume it’s just until I find me some good dick.

I’m tired of the surprise on my gay male friends faces when I tell them this shit.

What’s up? Can someone fill me in? or can I just get an honorary membership to the Gay Men’s club..

’cause lemme tell ya, I’m not seeing much future for me in the Lesbian scene, because obviously I am a mutant.

the_13th_muse @ 2005-02-19T14:01:00

2005-02-19T19:06:29Z

Title: Fathoms Deep

Fandom: Splash ( Yes, that mermaid flick with Tom Hanks in it)

Author: Kai

Rating: R

Warnings: Well, it's creepy, read and know y'all..read and know.

Summary: Mermaids are not human, and there was a reason the salors feared them once.

She always knew he’d choose her. It was never in question, pretty tears and goodbyes aside she always knew in her fathoms deep mermaid’s heart that he would follow her to the sea. They always did, the men the mermaids brought Below to give them their swift viciously bright children with their sharp teeth and treacherous smiles.

Her Allen called it love, what he did not know what that Madison had no capacity to love him in return, but his love was soothing to her and bound him tight with gilded chains to her, it urged him to follow her Below...and once he was there he could never return. That was what Madison knew of love. Yet he never questioned her swift seeming devotion, which was just as it should be as well, for Mermaids are consummate mimics.

Mermaid children are not children at all. They are what the Mermaids are, before the almost human mind awakens, before the rouse begins, the mermaids are the lie, the Children are the truth.

They eat their weaker siblings in the womb. Then , those that are left emerge scarred and battle tested before their first breath and they see the world with hungry eyes and already know the taste of fear.

Allen had no idea how lucky he was that his Parents pulled him away from Madison when she was a child, she would have lured him in with sweet shining smiles, the ripped the flesh from his bones after she drowned him . She was a child, and he was Prey.

When the need awakened in her to find her mate, and the cycle started anew she sought him out. The sweet gullible boy with the clouded eyes and wide open Human heart, and she lured him in again..this time with new promises of pale flesh and love forever ever.

There was a reason the men of ages past had feared the Mermaids, but men in these times have forgotten, so they no longer must steal Sailors from their ships nor use their voices to force their mates below. Now they come willingly into the darkness and the wonder of Below, never suspecting the Truth behind sweet fiction.

Caught in the dark of Below, in the Ruined city they called home Allen knows now why men feared the mermaids in those long ago days, because even when she comes to him, her eyes fathoms deep and dark with all the secrets she never told him and all the words he has no meanings for he cannot turn her away.

She comes to him and he clasps her cold slick flesh close and looses himself in her, her now sharp teeth bringing blood to their kisses and her claws adding scars to his ribs but he cannot care…and when it’s done Madison smiles her sharp Mermaid’s smile and blows him a kiss as she leaves to hunt for them both, for she will bear their children soon, and they will come to Allen, and the cycle will end as they feast on his flesh. ..and there must be plenty to go around for Madison will be a good Mother.

And that is proper too, because no man ever had a Mermaid wife for long, and mermaid children are born sharp and bright and already hungry.

New fic, I wrote somthing productive. yay.

2004-12-09T05:12:31Z

Title: Better Than Me

Author: Kai

Rating: pg-13

Fandom: Blade

Warnings: Language, Spoilers for Blade Trinity, implications of HOMOSEXUALITY, Pay attention to the warnings here this is a Abigail/Somerfield fic. Though not explicit if it squicks you out do not READ IT.

Summary:
After all is said and done, Abby takes time to mourn while they rebuild.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

CRASH!.

“ Damn..”

Rumble, squeak, hiss, clang.

“ You was better at this than me….couldn’t see a fuckin’ thing and you was still better at this shit than me.“

Clang, bang, scrape, clang.

“ You designed it.. He built it, I used it. It all used to be so fucking *simple*. “

SLAM, crash clang, bang.

“ I’m not good at this mommy shit either. “

Squeak , sniffle.

“ I’m Tryin’ ..but I don’t do it right, I don’t know the stories she likes or what the fuck I’m gonna do when we get done with the Oz stuff or how to get her to do kid stuff and just,…stop giving me helpful suggestions on how to make a better projectile-fucking-weapon.”

Sniffle, CRASH CLANG.

“ *FUCK*…It shouldn’t be like this. She oughta go to a foster home or somthin‘ with normal people and school and shit, not stay here and be raised by a bunch of fucked up vampire hunters learning how to kill people before she learns how to fucking drive. “

Silence.

“ Shit….Blade taught her how to drive a stick last week. Said she better know how to in case she ever had to get away somewhere fast. No one expects a little kid to drive. ”

Click, Snap, Squeak.

“ Why’d you have to make me promise to keep her? I can’t look at her eyes and not see you in there, laughin’ at me for bein’ such a fuckin’ pussy. Like you did when she was born, you bitch. “

Sniffle, clang.

“You were the one having the baby but I took it worse than you did. Oh yeah the heap big vampire hunter passed out cold when she started comin’ out. “

Click, pop, bang.

“ You never let me live it down. I never wanted to. “

Sniffle.

“ I miss you. “

On being Me...

2004-07-25T21:16:26Z

Life is never simple, not even when it seems to be. Sometimes your perspective of things can be shifted out of all proportion, until you forget how it feels to be yourself and you exist in a strange sort of half life, neither awake nor asleep, yourself or someone else. Maybe it’s better to call it being a shadow. Because that’s what it feels like, being a shadow, without substance or reality… yet moving and existing in the semblance of life around you.

That’s what depression in like, being a shadow and when you fall far enough into being the shadow the color of life starts to bleed away, leaving the world and everything around you a drab, miserable sort of gray. It gets harder and harder to be around people, because you’re afraid that they’ll notice that you’re just a shadow, not really there in any important way …that you’re merely pretending to be yourself for a little while, or at least how you remember yourself to be.

Slowly it gets harder and harder to act like yourself to play the part of You, it’s like the script in your mind is fading from too much use, because you see it’s been so long since you WERE yourself and not the shadow that you’re starting to forget who you really are, what it’s like to smile for no reason at all or wake up happy just to be alive and able to go out and enjoy a day. You’re forgetting your lines and people start to notice and comment, and that’s when it gets worse, and you fall farther and all the light fades away into nothing but hopeless darkness.

Sometimes people choose to die at that point, my mother did, so did all three of her brothers. I didn’t, for some reason I looked for a reason to live to go on living and to admit what was wrong and get the help I needed, I didn’t do it because I thought life and being myself again would be easy or because there was some grand explosion of faith in the cold reaches of my black little heart, it was simply because there were books I hadn’t read yet, things I hadn’t felt or seen. Things I wanted to be around to try out, and well...being dead sort of puts a crimp in your style doesn’t it?
.
So I sat down and I made a list of ten things I hadn’t done, and never would do if I died.

1. Get married and smear my partners face with wedding cake.

2. Have a house of my own, that I can decorate and love because It’s mine and I earned it.

3. Go to a party.

4. See my 21st birthday

5. Find out what the hell happens next in my favorite book series.

6. See my dogs grow up.

7. Have a real vacation , somewhere nice with a pool and hotel.

8. Live in Britain, like I wanted to when I was six.

9. Have someone love me, and be brave enough not to run away from it and give them my whole heart in return.

10. See all the movies that haven’t been made yet, and that I’d probably hate missing.

Ten things, some small, some big…but I had to decide if dying was worth giving them up, and you know what? It wasn’t. I wasn’t not ready to die yet, I wasn’t fucking ready to give up and let the world kick my ass. I got up, I got dressed and I checked myself into the local mental Health Hospital and spent a week and a half being tested and dosed with meds and sleeping, until one day I woke up, and the day wasn’t so bad. The next day was better, and the next and the next, ideas started to come back, creativity too…and suddenly I remembered myself. I remembered who I’d forgotten how to be, and I decided that I wouldn’t forget her again if I could help it.

Because you know what?

I’m kind of fond of being Me.

cackle On the topic of the below story...

2004-07-13T23:48:32Z

Thsi popped up in an IM convo with a friend, I couldn't resist shareing the hilarity.

Of Rod and Weal: I'll post it on my LJ and hope for sanity.
Viri : heh
Of Rod and Weal: and not "OMGWTFBBQ !!111!!! U pervarted my Riligon!!111!!"
Of Rod and Weal: People tend to get testy about little things like that
Viri: People are such wimps.
Viri: My mom has become a God-freak and spams me with it all the time.
Of Rod and Weal: Hey, I live in the bible belt. I 've actually been stoned, and not in the good way.
Viri: ::petting::
Of Rod and Weal: heh, I did manage to freak out the idiots though.
Of Rod and Weal: I got word they were planning on pelting me with " holy water" (I.E Creekwater they'd prayed over, ew )
Of Rod and Weal: So I brought an alkaseltzer to school with me, and when they doused me I went into convulsions and started Frothing.
Of Rod and Weal: *snerk*
Of Rod and Weal: I rightiously scared the piss out of them.
Viri: Good!
Of Rod and Weal: It made my little 13 year old black heart squee
Of Rod and Weal: They never did anything stupid again, they were convinced I was posessed by the devil.
Viri: My mom lived in the northeast all her life and was cynical about religion. Now she's 55 and living in Arizona and it's all in God we trust.
Of Rod and Weal: *snort*
Of Rod and Weal: People who move strange places get sucked in to the Bransucking Hole that is religion.
Of Rod and Weal: *brainsucking
Viri : At least with bransucking they get fiber.
Of Rod and Weal: *cackle*
Of Rod and Weal: And regular bowls!
Viri: Regularity is a key to good health.
Of Rod and Weal: don't forget to have your Religion O's!
Of Rod and Weal: *snicker*
Of Rod and Weal: it's fiber for that constipated soul!
Viri: Is Satan gripping you like a bad bout of constipation?
Viri: Cleanse the bowels of your soul!
Of Rod and Weal: With God! The laxative Drink!
Viri: Purge and be free!
Of Rod and Weal: And don't forget our special way to stay regular! With the Mary and the Saints bar!
Of Rod and Weal: *cheesy TV announcer Grin*
Of Rod and Weal: And all this for 19.95$
Of Rod and Weal: Pledge your soul by dialing 0
Of Rod and Weal: *cough*
Viri: ::going to hell::
Of Rod and Weal: *will bring the weinies to roast with you*
Of Rod and Weal: *cackle*
Of Rod and Weal: We are so bad, I sprayed my soda yo'
Viri: And marshmallows!
Of Rod and Weal: and SMORES!
Of Rod and Weal: Hellsmores!
Viri: Smores are essential.
Viri: And the marshmallows are a Haethers reference. *g*
Of Rod and Weal: *cackle*
Of Rod and Weal: I'm so keeping you...you don't run away from my rambling.
Viri: I do some rambling myself.