In the little over a day that I've had my tongue pierced, I have gotten the same questions over and over again from different people. So in an effort to clarify the experience in the minds of everyone, here is the answers to some of the questions I keep getting asked.
1. Did it hurt? No, it didn't hurt when it happened. I could feel it going in, and it wasn't pleasant, but it didn't really hurt. It hurt after, but not badly. Now it's just sore. It's not a bad pain, just constant.
2. What possessed you? It was something I had thought about doing for a long time. Like, since I was 18. I've always liked how they looked, and I wanted to get one, but I never thought I would.
3. Isn't it weird having something in your mouth all the time? Yes, of course. But I imagine that like everything else, you get used to it. I think I'd forget it was there sometimes now, except for the pain.
4. What if it gets infected? I suppose that's always a possibility, but I think if I follow the aftercare instructions implicitly, that won't happen. People get piercings all the time without their appendages swelling up and falling off.
Monday, May 29
Sunday, May 28
Of Piercings and Things
So, I got my tongue pierced yesterday. Reactions amongst my friends and family have run the gamut. Robbie: "I do not approve." My mother: "I don't understand." My brother: "That was stupid." My father: "I don't approve or understand, and it was stupid." Then there was the "cool," "I think you'll like it," and of course, the pervy comments from certain male types.
I'm sore, but content. I like it. I have always liked tongue rings and how they look. I don't know why. I just do. I've wanted one since I was 18. I started thinking about it seriously on Friday. I read up about it. I asked Jeanne about her piercings. I googled it. I told myself and whoever would listen "I want to, but I'd never do that, I'm too much of a wuss."
Jerry finally said he'd take me. After that, I could chose to do it or not, as I saw fit. But that I should at least have the opportunity. Jerry and I went to Icon, on Broadway in Nashville, which was were Jeanne recommended. I looked at the tattoo books, was nervous, and walked out.
I texted Jeanne and told her that I had indeed gone to Icon as she suggested, and wussed out of it. What followed was a text conversation and an actual conversation between me, her, and her friend Beth, telling me to just do it, it won't hurt, don't be a wuss, etc. etc. Jeanne suggested that I go back, see if Betty Ann was there, and if she wasn't, take it as a sign to not do it. Finally, Jeanne and Beth are all "We're going to Icon now, so if you want emotional support, get over here!"
So we go back.
The woman at the counter notices I'm looking to see if they're there and I tell her I'm waiting for my friends to show up that are trying to convince me to get my tongue pierced. She goes "You should! It doesn't hurt, I just had both my nipples done twenty minutes ago." They get there, Betty Ann is available, I sign the paperwork, next thing I know I'm in the back with Jerry holding my hand and clamps on my tongue.
She had me rinse with mouthwash, then with latex gloves on, she had me stick my tongue out and grabbed it with a cottony cloth and made a mark on the top and bottom with a pointy stick with ink on the tip. Then she had me lay down and stick my tongue out and put the clamps on. Then I hear her getting the needle ready, taking it from the autoclave, her talking about how it's sterile and everything, then she's drying off my tongue with cotton again. She told me to relax, rest my shoulders on the table instead of having them all tensed up, and take several deep breaths, then take one big deep breath and I feel the needle go in. It didn't really hurt, maybe a tiny bit, it just felt weird, and unpleasant. Then she says "The hard part's done. The jewelry is in. Now I just have to screw on the balls." Then it was over.
Jerry said I didn't flinch or squeeze, until it was already over. When I walked out, I was all "Owww..." and Jeanne asked if it really hurt and I said "Yes." But then when I stopped and thought about it, no, not really. I just thought it would, but it wasn't that bad. Things we fear do tend to hurt less than we thought they would, afterwards, I think.
So now I'm sore, a little swollen, and talking like I'm "special," but I'm happy. Instead of doing what I thought I would do, and wuss out, I went through with something I always wanted to do. I told one of my friends that I was tired of being the sort of person that always wanted to do something, never did it, and just wondered about it instead of just doing it. If I don't like it after it's healed, I can take it out, let it heal up, no harm done. But at least I'll know instead of wondering. Personally, I think I'll like it.
I already like how it looks, aside from being all swollen. But that'll pass in a couple or three days. Until then I'll keep chewing my ice, drinking my ice water, and trying to eat without moving my tongue. Hooray for soup and milkshakes.
I'm sore, but content. I like it. I have always liked tongue rings and how they look. I don't know why. I just do. I've wanted one since I was 18. I started thinking about it seriously on Friday. I read up about it. I asked Jeanne about her piercings. I googled it. I told myself and whoever would listen "I want to, but I'd never do that, I'm too much of a wuss."
Jerry finally said he'd take me. After that, I could chose to do it or not, as I saw fit. But that I should at least have the opportunity. Jerry and I went to Icon, on Broadway in Nashville, which was were Jeanne recommended. I looked at the tattoo books, was nervous, and walked out.
I texted Jeanne and told her that I had indeed gone to Icon as she suggested, and wussed out of it. What followed was a text conversation and an actual conversation between me, her, and her friend Beth, telling me to just do it, it won't hurt, don't be a wuss, etc. etc. Jeanne suggested that I go back, see if Betty Ann was there, and if she wasn't, take it as a sign to not do it. Finally, Jeanne and Beth are all "We're going to Icon now, so if you want emotional support, get over here!"
So we go back.
The woman at the counter notices I'm looking to see if they're there and I tell her I'm waiting for my friends to show up that are trying to convince me to get my tongue pierced. She goes "You should! It doesn't hurt, I just had both my nipples done twenty minutes ago." They get there, Betty Ann is available, I sign the paperwork, next thing I know I'm in the back with Jerry holding my hand and clamps on my tongue.
She had me rinse with mouthwash, then with latex gloves on, she had me stick my tongue out and grabbed it with a cottony cloth and made a mark on the top and bottom with a pointy stick with ink on the tip. Then she had me lay down and stick my tongue out and put the clamps on. Then I hear her getting the needle ready, taking it from the autoclave, her talking about how it's sterile and everything, then she's drying off my tongue with cotton again. She told me to relax, rest my shoulders on the table instead of having them all tensed up, and take several deep breaths, then take one big deep breath and I feel the needle go in. It didn't really hurt, maybe a tiny bit, it just felt weird, and unpleasant. Then she says "The hard part's done. The jewelry is in. Now I just have to screw on the balls." Then it was over.
Jerry said I didn't flinch or squeeze, until it was already over. When I walked out, I was all "Owww..." and Jeanne asked if it really hurt and I said "Yes." But then when I stopped and thought about it, no, not really. I just thought it would, but it wasn't that bad. Things we fear do tend to hurt less than we thought they would, afterwards, I think.
So now I'm sore, a little swollen, and talking like I'm "special," but I'm happy. Instead of doing what I thought I would do, and wuss out, I went through with something I always wanted to do. I told one of my friends that I was tired of being the sort of person that always wanted to do something, never did it, and just wondered about it instead of just doing it. If I don't like it after it's healed, I can take it out, let it heal up, no harm done. But at least I'll know instead of wondering. Personally, I think I'll like it.
I already like how it looks, aside from being all swollen. But that'll pass in a couple or three days. Until then I'll keep chewing my ice, drinking my ice water, and trying to eat without moving my tongue. Hooray for soup and milkshakes.
Wednesday, May 24
The Master Slayer - Story for Writers Group; Topic: 3 AM Television
Night time.
My time.
I toss my head back and stare at the sky as a cool night breeze brushes at my hair. My long coat flutters around my legs. The night is dark, which was odd; there was supposed to be a full moon tonight. Oh well, so much the better. Too bad for the hunted.
I smile ferally, feeling the sharp points of my incisors press against my lips.
I walk to the edge of the roof and peer down. My current prey is huddled in his beggar’s rags, jealously guarding a bottle as if it contained liquid gold. I step off the roof, pushing away from the building to avoid any protuberances and land lightly next to the man, letting my momentum push me into a crouch. The prey looks at me, huddling defensively over his bottle. But it’s not the bottle I’m after.
It’s him.
A look of confusion spreads across his face. I step forward and the dim light from a streetlamp hits my face. His look of confusion is rapidly replaced by dawning terror as his eyes take in my face. My eyes.
My teeth.
I smile viciously at him, knowing the light on my face only enhances the effect of my sharp, white teeth.
"Wha... what do..." he stammered. He paused. Licked his lips.
He tried again. "What... do you... want?" he managed to say. His voice sounds thick and raspy. His eyes dart around, desperate for aid. Or escape.
I let him cower for a moment. I inhale deeply. Fear. Fear so strong I can taste it.
Delicious.
"I don’t want much," I finally answer him. "Just... your life. It’s not much to ask for. You don’t seem to be using it."
His fear finally overcomes him and he takes a deep breath to scream. At that moment, I lunge forward, faster than any human could possibly attempt, and pin him to the wall. My hands grasp him and my mouth goes for his exposed neck. As my teeth tear through his throat, the only sound he manages to make is a wet gurgle.
As his life’s blood fills my mouth, I am assaulted with images. Emotions. I let his terror and confusion wash over me. I can feel the exact instant his awareness parts.
I let his lifeless form drop to the concrete, reveling in the feel of his blood as it roars through my veins. This man was not the reason I am out tonight, however.
Tonight, my sights are set on bigger prey.
I do mercenary work. Assassinations, if you prefer. I am an esteemed warrior. A Slayer. A hunter. But, please, do not think me cruel. I do not hunt for hides, nor heads, as do so many hunters on your world. I hunt only for the satisfaction of hearing the poor fool that has the fortune, good or bad, of being my prey scream. I hunt for survival. My own.
A few nights ago I was contacted by a mysterious man. He wished for me to take care of a little problem he had with a little rich boy that had made off with the man’s wife. He wanted revenge.
Very petty, if you ask me, but he didn’t.
It may amuse you to think of a Slayer with scruples, but I am not in the business of revenge. However, the rich man lived in a mountain chateau with state-of-the-art security. I simply could not resist the challenge. Plus, I was to be paid a ridiculous amount of money on completion of this mission.
The security system had been embarrassingly easy to bypass, and in less than an hour the man was... disposed of.
Predictably, I was never paid for my services, and the mysterious man "disappeared". It’s not as easy to disappear from a Slayer as he thought. It was not that I needed the money. I did not. But he was fool if he thought we could strike a bargain, and he could back out of it that easily.
Tonight, the hunt begins anew.
Having little trust of anyone ruthless enough to hire my services, I had tracked the man the night he hired me. It was all unbeknownst to him of course. They never see me coming. Unless I wish it.
I went back to his abode tonight, to collect my… payment. It’s going to cost him more than he was planning. A lot more.
It’s late now. Almost 3 a.m. But I know he’ll be awake. I studied my prey well.
I enter the house noiselessly, through a window in the bedroom and stalk silently to the living room where I know he will be. I can already smell his scent, confirming what I already knew. He is home.
I enter the den, and I can see the back of his head just over his overstuffed leather recliner, facing the television set.
A cheerful voice is in the middle of exclaiming, "...removes all types of stains, including chocolate and blood! Even blood that’s been washed and dried before!"
Ugh. Infomercials. Apparently only idiots and halfwits watch television at three in the morning, if this sort of drivel is what they find amusing.
"It’s amazing, non-toxic and environmentally friendly!" the perky voice continues.
"I hope you have some of that product on hand. Your cleaning staff might need it… when I’m done with you," I say coolly, from behind him.
He gasps, startled, jumps up and turns around.
"You! What are you doing here?" he asks, rather stupidly I feel.
"I’m here for my payment. Plus interest."
He starts edging away, trying to find a way out of his inevitable fate.
"Just... let me get my... checkbook," he manages to say.
I say nothing. I just stare at him, waiting for him to move.
I can hear the blood of my prey. Hot, boiling, racing through my mind. I can feel its heat in my soul. My very core burns with the desire to hunt… to kill.
He stares into my eyes and he knows. And he fears for his life. I can see his face and I can sense it as cold passed over his soul.
He breaks eye contact and runs.
After an hour or so, the man is reduced to a sniveling wreck, cowering in fear and begging for his life at my feet. However, I must give credit where credit is due. He was not so passive at the beginning.
Of course, I could have captured and killed him immediately, but I always did love the chase… the thrill of the hunt. It’s so much more enjoyable when they think they can actually escape. Then again... I like to play with my food.
I suck his life’s blood from his throat and his body shudders as his soul escapes to whatever deities he believed, or didn’t believe in. I doubted they would show any more mercy than I had.
The sound of his blood as it drains from his throat and his death-cry as it finds it’s own death on his blood-spattered lips is quite... enjoyable.
No one stands before my fury.
The Vampire lives.
The prey dies.
My time.
I toss my head back and stare at the sky as a cool night breeze brushes at my hair. My long coat flutters around my legs. The night is dark, which was odd; there was supposed to be a full moon tonight. Oh well, so much the better. Too bad for the hunted.
I smile ferally, feeling the sharp points of my incisors press against my lips.
I walk to the edge of the roof and peer down. My current prey is huddled in his beggar’s rags, jealously guarding a bottle as if it contained liquid gold. I step off the roof, pushing away from the building to avoid any protuberances and land lightly next to the man, letting my momentum push me into a crouch. The prey looks at me, huddling defensively over his bottle. But it’s not the bottle I’m after.
It’s him.
A look of confusion spreads across his face. I step forward and the dim light from a streetlamp hits my face. His look of confusion is rapidly replaced by dawning terror as his eyes take in my face. My eyes.
My teeth.
I smile viciously at him, knowing the light on my face only enhances the effect of my sharp, white teeth.
"Wha... what do..." he stammered. He paused. Licked his lips.
He tried again. "What... do you... want?" he managed to say. His voice sounds thick and raspy. His eyes dart around, desperate for aid. Or escape.
I let him cower for a moment. I inhale deeply. Fear. Fear so strong I can taste it.
Delicious.
"I don’t want much," I finally answer him. "Just... your life. It’s not much to ask for. You don’t seem to be using it."
His fear finally overcomes him and he takes a deep breath to scream. At that moment, I lunge forward, faster than any human could possibly attempt, and pin him to the wall. My hands grasp him and my mouth goes for his exposed neck. As my teeth tear through his throat, the only sound he manages to make is a wet gurgle.
As his life’s blood fills my mouth, I am assaulted with images. Emotions. I let his terror and confusion wash over me. I can feel the exact instant his awareness parts.
I let his lifeless form drop to the concrete, reveling in the feel of his blood as it roars through my veins. This man was not the reason I am out tonight, however.
Tonight, my sights are set on bigger prey.
I do mercenary work. Assassinations, if you prefer. I am an esteemed warrior. A Slayer. A hunter. But, please, do not think me cruel. I do not hunt for hides, nor heads, as do so many hunters on your world. I hunt only for the satisfaction of hearing the poor fool that has the fortune, good or bad, of being my prey scream. I hunt for survival. My own.
A few nights ago I was contacted by a mysterious man. He wished for me to take care of a little problem he had with a little rich boy that had made off with the man’s wife. He wanted revenge.
Very petty, if you ask me, but he didn’t.
It may amuse you to think of a Slayer with scruples, but I am not in the business of revenge. However, the rich man lived in a mountain chateau with state-of-the-art security. I simply could not resist the challenge. Plus, I was to be paid a ridiculous amount of money on completion of this mission.
The security system had been embarrassingly easy to bypass, and in less than an hour the man was... disposed of.
Predictably, I was never paid for my services, and the mysterious man "disappeared". It’s not as easy to disappear from a Slayer as he thought. It was not that I needed the money. I did not. But he was fool if he thought we could strike a bargain, and he could back out of it that easily.
Tonight, the hunt begins anew.
Having little trust of anyone ruthless enough to hire my services, I had tracked the man the night he hired me. It was all unbeknownst to him of course. They never see me coming. Unless I wish it.
I went back to his abode tonight, to collect my… payment. It’s going to cost him more than he was planning. A lot more.
It’s late now. Almost 3 a.m. But I know he’ll be awake. I studied my prey well.
I enter the house noiselessly, through a window in the bedroom and stalk silently to the living room where I know he will be. I can already smell his scent, confirming what I already knew. He is home.
I enter the den, and I can see the back of his head just over his overstuffed leather recliner, facing the television set.
A cheerful voice is in the middle of exclaiming, "...removes all types of stains, including chocolate and blood! Even blood that’s been washed and dried before!"
Ugh. Infomercials. Apparently only idiots and halfwits watch television at three in the morning, if this sort of drivel is what they find amusing.
"It’s amazing, non-toxic and environmentally friendly!" the perky voice continues.
"I hope you have some of that product on hand. Your cleaning staff might need it… when I’m done with you," I say coolly, from behind him.
He gasps, startled, jumps up and turns around.
"You! What are you doing here?" he asks, rather stupidly I feel.
"I’m here for my payment. Plus interest."
He starts edging away, trying to find a way out of his inevitable fate.
"Just... let me get my... checkbook," he manages to say.
I say nothing. I just stare at him, waiting for him to move.
I can hear the blood of my prey. Hot, boiling, racing through my mind. I can feel its heat in my soul. My very core burns with the desire to hunt… to kill.
He stares into my eyes and he knows. And he fears for his life. I can see his face and I can sense it as cold passed over his soul.
He breaks eye contact and runs.
After an hour or so, the man is reduced to a sniveling wreck, cowering in fear and begging for his life at my feet. However, I must give credit where credit is due. He was not so passive at the beginning.
Of course, I could have captured and killed him immediately, but I always did love the chase… the thrill of the hunt. It’s so much more enjoyable when they think they can actually escape. Then again... I like to play with my food.
I suck his life’s blood from his throat and his body shudders as his soul escapes to whatever deities he believed, or didn’t believe in. I doubted they would show any more mercy than I had.
The sound of his blood as it drains from his throat and his death-cry as it finds it’s own death on his blood-spattered lips is quite... enjoyable.
No one stands before my fury.
The Vampire lives.
The prey dies.
Saturday, May 20
Ren Fair Pictures
Robbie getting Renfaire off to a good start.
Robbie looking like a pimp.
Robbie with some friends of his we ran across.
Jerry, and his two beardless dwarves off to the side.
This is the lady that drew the following pictures that I bought to frame and hang on my wall.
Thursday, May 18
Stupid People are Like Cats...
That's not to say that cats are like stupid people however.
What I mean to say is that much in the way that cats have a perverse way of picking the one person in the room that hates or is allergic to them and sitting on their lap, stupid people have a way of picking out the one person in the room that hates them the most. In other words... me.
Two examples:
Two weeks ago I went to the movies with Robbie. We were the first people in the theater. The entire rest of the theater was empty. We get a seat roughly in the middle of the theater, middle of the row. Another couple comes in, looks around, and sits right next to us. What the hell? You could sit anywhere in the entire theater and you had to sit next to me? And I mean next to me. Not one or two seats over. Right there.
Two days ago I went to the movies with Jerry. We sat at the top row at the isle. My bag is in the seat next to me. The theater is by no means crowded. Two women and a baby come up, and sit the baby in the seat right next to my bag. And I don't mean baby like, hold in your arms adorable when they're little baby. I mean like, maybe, two years old? One and a half? I dunno these things. It was old enough to have it's own seat and stand up and shit... erm... well, not literally "shit"... Ugh. You know what I mean. Anyway, the rest of that entire row was empty, and they had to sit their baby right next to me where it proceeded to stare at me, cry, kick the seat, etc. throughout the movie?
At one point the woman said to the baby, after I had glared at her because she wasn't controlling her child, "Do you want to sit over here?" indicating the seat to the other side of her, away from me. "No!" said the child. And that was the end of it.
I'm sorry, why are you asking a small child where it wants to sit? Pick the kid up and move it. Who's the parent here?
Ugh. Don't get me started on parents that don't control their children.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes. Stupid people flocking to me much in the way cats flock to cat-haters out of sheer perversity. There is a difference though. I don't think stupid people flock to me for the perversity of it. I think they're just stupid and don't know better. Cats however, they do it intentionally, just to piss you off. Which is why I like cats.
What I mean to say is that much in the way that cats have a perverse way of picking the one person in the room that hates or is allergic to them and sitting on their lap, stupid people have a way of picking out the one person in the room that hates them the most. In other words... me.
Two examples:
Two weeks ago I went to the movies with Robbie. We were the first people in the theater. The entire rest of the theater was empty. We get a seat roughly in the middle of the theater, middle of the row. Another couple comes in, looks around, and sits right next to us. What the hell? You could sit anywhere in the entire theater and you had to sit next to me? And I mean next to me. Not one or two seats over. Right there.
Two days ago I went to the movies with Jerry. We sat at the top row at the isle. My bag is in the seat next to me. The theater is by no means crowded. Two women and a baby come up, and sit the baby in the seat right next to my bag. And I don't mean baby like, hold in your arms adorable when they're little baby. I mean like, maybe, two years old? One and a half? I dunno these things. It was old enough to have it's own seat and stand up and shit... erm... well, not literally "shit"... Ugh. You know what I mean. Anyway, the rest of that entire row was empty, and they had to sit their baby right next to me where it proceeded to stare at me, cry, kick the seat, etc. throughout the movie?
At one point the woman said to the baby, after I had glared at her because she wasn't controlling her child, "Do you want to sit over here?" indicating the seat to the other side of her, away from me. "No!" said the child. And that was the end of it.
I'm sorry, why are you asking a small child where it wants to sit? Pick the kid up and move it. Who's the parent here?
Ugh. Don't get me started on parents that don't control their children.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes. Stupid people flocking to me much in the way cats flock to cat-haters out of sheer perversity. There is a difference though. I don't think stupid people flock to me for the perversity of it. I think they're just stupid and don't know better. Cats however, they do it intentionally, just to piss you off. Which is why I like cats.
Wednesday, May 17
People are Weird...
This is an actual conversation that I had thru IM here on this site. I dunno if the guy was a bot, or bored, or WHAT was going on, but this was totally random and weird. I'd never talked to the guy before and he was someone I don't know. Literally. Some1idontknow.
Him: "be that way i dont give a shit its all good you can go and play go hide and fuck yourself ok you sorry fucking ugly bitch you can rott in hell for all i care! i hope someone rapes your sorry ass and beats the fuck out of you you trick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Me: erm, what brought that on, i don't know you, so do you normally verbally assault random people?
Him: oh man you are so sweet i cant even say it in words you are the most wonderful girl i know and i send you my love to you
Me: gee, talk about your mixed signals.
And him: im sorry you fucking trickster bitch! i realy love you and would like to fuck you in the ear
And me again: thats nice dear, why dont you go tell mommy its time to take your meds.
Last thing he said was "oh thank you you are so nice i dont think i will never meet someone so sweet as you"
Then I got bored and blocked him.
I dunno, maybe some people are easily amused. I know I am!
Him: "be that way i dont give a shit its all good you can go and play go hide and fuck yourself ok you sorry fucking ugly bitch you can rott in hell for all i care! i hope someone rapes your sorry ass and beats the fuck out of you you trick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Me: erm, what brought that on, i don't know you, so do you normally verbally assault random people?
Him: oh man you are so sweet i cant even say it in words you are the most wonderful girl i know and i send you my love to you
Me: gee, talk about your mixed signals.
And him: im sorry you fucking trickster bitch! i realy love you and would like to fuck you in the ear
And me again: thats nice dear, why dont you go tell mommy its time to take your meds.
Last thing he said was "oh thank you you are so nice i dont think i will never meet someone so sweet as you"
Then I got bored and blocked him.
I dunno, maybe some people are easily amused. I know I am!
Saturday, May 13
Little Red Riding Hood
I was cleaning my room today (stop laughing) since I had a big pile of stuff from when I moved out of the house that I needed to find somewhere for besides the middle of my room where I'll trip over it. I found a notebook with a story in it that I wrote an English class in high school. We had to write a children's book, and if I recall correctly, the assignment was something about retelling fairy tales. I think I got the idea from a cartoon I saw once... I can't remember.
Anyway. This was written and turned in on February 8, 1993, so I was 12 when I wrote it. So it's probably not that great.
Introduction to Little Red Riding Hood
Little Red Riding Hood is about a little girl going to see her grandmother. According to Little Red Riding Hood, the Wolf gobbled up her poor, sick grandmother. Then he crawled into bed disguised as her grandmother. When Little Red Riding Hood came to see her grandmother, that mean ol' wolf chased her around and tried to gobble her up, too.
Little Red Riding Hood screamed. The wood-chopper heard her. He came running in to save her. Little Red Riding Hood said she told him about how the Wolf ate her poor, sick grandmother. She also told him how the Wolf tried to eat her, too. The wood-chopper got his axe and cut open the Wolf's stomach. Fortunately, the Wolf swallowed Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother whole. Then the wood-chopper called the police. They came and arrested the Wolf. This is the continuation of Little Red Riding Hood. The Wolf is before the court and presenting to them his testimony.
Little Red Riding Hood: As Told By the Wolf
I, Poor Little Wolf, promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I submit to the jury my side of Little Red Riding Hood.
I was coming home from Sunday School and looking at the pretty little flowers, when I decided to take some flowers to Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother. Her grandmother and I are very close.
Little did I know that Little Red Riding Hood was already at her grandmother's house. And, that she was cruelly abusing her. And, I also didn't know that she was planning to hurt me, too.
When I got to grandma's house, grandma didn't answer me when I called. That was highly unusual. Grandma was sick and confined to bed. Naturally, being a good little wolf, I decided to go in and see if grandma was all right.
I went in and found little grandmother out cold on the floor. I picked up the phone and called the paramedics. I told them to get here as soon as possible.
Pretty soon after the paramedics left, Little Red Riding Hood came to the door disguised as a sweet, innocent little child coming to see her grandmother. But in her evil mind, she was planning to kill me.
Now, not wanting to alarm the child (whom I thought was just a sweet, innocent girl), I dressed up as grandmother and crawled into bed. I imitated grandma and told her to come in.
But, of course, she knew it was me the whole time. She pretended to think that I was grandma. Then when she came close to the bed, she pulled out a gun (an axe would have been too heavy for her).
She chased me around the house. I started calling for help. That's when the wood-chopper heard me. He came running into the house. That's when Little Red Riding Hood started to tell him those big, fat lies about me eating grandmother.
Now, everyone here knows that I wouldn't even try to eat poor, defenseless granny. You humans have it all wrong about us wolves. We really aren't the big, mean bullies you picture us as. We can't help that our died consists of cute little bunny rabbits. And we never, never attack humans.
I've never told a lie in my life. I'll leave the decision up to the court. But, how anyone could believe that evil, deceitful, mean, cruel Little Red Riding Hood is beyond my comprehension. I lay myself at the feet of the court.
And, as I said before, how anyone could believe that deceitful person, I can't understand. She has "GUILTY" written all over her face. How could you believe the word of that criminal above the word of a cute little wolf like myself? And, if I'm lying, may lightning strike me!
-----Kaboom!!!!!-----
Okay... Maybe I exaggerated just a little...
Anyway. This was written and turned in on February 8, 1993, so I was 12 when I wrote it. So it's probably not that great.
Introduction to Little Red Riding Hood
Little Red Riding Hood is about a little girl going to see her grandmother. According to Little Red Riding Hood, the Wolf gobbled up her poor, sick grandmother. Then he crawled into bed disguised as her grandmother. When Little Red Riding Hood came to see her grandmother, that mean ol' wolf chased her around and tried to gobble her up, too.
Little Red Riding Hood screamed. The wood-chopper heard her. He came running in to save her. Little Red Riding Hood said she told him about how the Wolf ate her poor, sick grandmother. She also told him how the Wolf tried to eat her, too. The wood-chopper got his axe and cut open the Wolf's stomach. Fortunately, the Wolf swallowed Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother whole. Then the wood-chopper called the police. They came and arrested the Wolf. This is the continuation of Little Red Riding Hood. The Wolf is before the court and presenting to them his testimony.
Little Red Riding Hood: As Told By the Wolf
I, Poor Little Wolf, promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I submit to the jury my side of Little Red Riding Hood.
I was coming home from Sunday School and looking at the pretty little flowers, when I decided to take some flowers to Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother. Her grandmother and I are very close.
Little did I know that Little Red Riding Hood was already at her grandmother's house. And, that she was cruelly abusing her. And, I also didn't know that she was planning to hurt me, too.
When I got to grandma's house, grandma didn't answer me when I called. That was highly unusual. Grandma was sick and confined to bed. Naturally, being a good little wolf, I decided to go in and see if grandma was all right.
I went in and found little grandmother out cold on the floor. I picked up the phone and called the paramedics. I told them to get here as soon as possible.
Pretty soon after the paramedics left, Little Red Riding Hood came to the door disguised as a sweet, innocent little child coming to see her grandmother. But in her evil mind, she was planning to kill me.
Now, not wanting to alarm the child (whom I thought was just a sweet, innocent girl), I dressed up as grandmother and crawled into bed. I imitated grandma and told her to come in.
But, of course, she knew it was me the whole time. She pretended to think that I was grandma. Then when she came close to the bed, she pulled out a gun (an axe would have been too heavy for her).
She chased me around the house. I started calling for help. That's when the wood-chopper heard me. He came running into the house. That's when Little Red Riding Hood started to tell him those big, fat lies about me eating grandmother.
Now, everyone here knows that I wouldn't even try to eat poor, defenseless granny. You humans have it all wrong about us wolves. We really aren't the big, mean bullies you picture us as. We can't help that our died consists of cute little bunny rabbits. And we never, never attack humans.
I've never told a lie in my life. I'll leave the decision up to the court. But, how anyone could believe that evil, deceitful, mean, cruel Little Red Riding Hood is beyond my comprehension. I lay myself at the feet of the court.
And, as I said before, how anyone could believe that deceitful person, I can't understand. She has "GUILTY" written all over her face. How could you believe the word of that criminal above the word of a cute little wolf like myself? And, if I'm lying, may lightning strike me!
-----Kaboom!!!!!-----
Okay... Maybe I exaggerated just a little...
Tuesday, May 9
Robbie Pictures
Two pictures I took of Robbie when I was at lunch with him and his folks on Sunday. Giving me an evil look... but I'm used to it.
Sunday, May 7
As the Flame Burns
Join us, once again, for another episode of...
The last time they had "broke up", Robbie had told John that he better not disappear again, not even for an hour, because he wasn't going to put up with it anymore. Robbie last talked to John around 11pm Friday night. When Robbie talked to John, John claimed to be going over to a cousin's house, whose father had just died, to visit the family. He has not heard from him since.
Robbie called John's house this weekend. John's nephew Chris answered. Chris said he hadn't seen John. He also imparted the interesting information that when Chris came home Friday night, there was a man in the house with John.
This is even more interesting because Robbie was talking on the phone to John when Chris came home, and John did not mention someone else being there, nor did the "someone else" make any sounds while John was on the phone.
Is John cheating on Robbie? Is John buying crack again? Is John cheating on Robbie with the crack-dealer? Who knows! We probably will not get the answers in the next episode of...
As the Flame Burns!
The last time they had "broke up", Robbie had told John that he better not disappear again, not even for an hour, because he wasn't going to put up with it anymore. Robbie last talked to John around 11pm Friday night. When Robbie talked to John, John claimed to be going over to a cousin's house, whose father had just died, to visit the family. He has not heard from him since.
Robbie called John's house this weekend. John's nephew Chris answered. Chris said he hadn't seen John. He also imparted the interesting information that when Chris came home Friday night, there was a man in the house with John.
This is even more interesting because Robbie was talking on the phone to John when Chris came home, and John did not mention someone else being there, nor did the "someone else" make any sounds while John was on the phone.
Is John cheating on Robbie? Is John buying crack again? Is John cheating on Robbie with the crack-dealer? Who knows! We probably will not get the answers in the next episode of...
As the Flame Burns!
Thursday, May 4
Regrets - A Shitty Poem
Have no regrets.
Make your decisions.
Do the best you can.
It may not turn out
The way that you planned,
But nothing does.
All that you've done;
All that you've seen;
All that you've said.
Take what you can;
Learn what you can;
Grow from it.
Don't wish to take it back,
Because that is taking back
A part of yourself.
Love the good;
Accept the bad;
Regret nothing.
Make your decisions.
Do the best you can.
It may not turn out
The way that you planned,
But nothing does.
All that you've done;
All that you've seen;
All that you've said.
Take what you can;
Learn what you can;
Grow from it.
Don't wish to take it back,
Because that is taking back
A part of yourself.
Love the good;
Accept the bad;
Regret nothing.
Wednesday, May 3
Rebecca Smiled - Story for Writers Group; Topic: Hula
Rebecca smiled.
She opened her eyes and saw that sunlight was streaming in the bedroom window, between the window casement and the curtains. She closed her eyes and stretched, feeling her joints crack and pop, making her feel every one of her seventy-one years. It had been raining for the past two days, a gentle, steady rain, and she felt stiff and achy; but finally the sun was shining, and she was looking forward to working in her garden.
Her garden was the joy of her life since...
She sighed.
Since her husband had died three years ago, leaving her feeling alone and a burden on her son, Robert. She shouldn't feel like a burden; she knew that. She took care of herself, had her own home, a car. However, her son, ever the efficient businessman, thought it would be more prudent for her to move into assisted living apartments before something happened to her out here, in the country, living on her own.
"He just wants to pack me away to an old folk’s home so he doesn't have to waste his precious time coming to check on me," she thought, injudiciously.
She instantly regretted the thought. She knew he loved her. He was just so practical and so concerned with his own life now; his new wife and newer baby. He had no time for his lonely, old mother.
"Well, I'm not that old, and damned if I'll be packed away to rot surrounded by nurses and cranky old men with nothing to do but watch TV or knit all day! Not while I can still manage here, alone. And besides, I HATE knitting!" she thought.
She shook her head, as if to banish the depressing thoughts from her mind, and turned to the more cheerful thoughts of working in her garden.
She sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side. As she padded over to the window in her bare feet, she enjoyed the smooth, cool feel of the hardwood floor. She swung the window open, relishing the warmth of the bright sun on her face and looked out over what she considered to be her domain.
Bright blossoms bloomed all around her front yard. Wind-chimes tinkled merrily in the summer breeze. Her eyes swept over the lawn, taking in the path that led to the wrought iron table and chairs, a bird-bath, and neatly arranged flower beds separated from the grass of the yard by barriers of bright white and cream coloured rocks. Her son had given her the table and chairs, knowing that she enjoyed eating outside when she could, to take in the sights of her garden, the birds and squirrels.
Rebecca smiled again.
These were her children now; the tiny plants and blossoms that relied on her for the attention they needed to thrive. She loved working in her garden and looked forward to digging her hands into the earth beneath her plants, saturated from days of gentle rain. The day after a good gentle rain was one of her favourite times. The earth was soft and fragrant from being soaked, and she didn't have to worry about her fragile blossoms being torn to shreds by harsh rain-fall.
She turned away from the window and went to the closet to find a light, short-sleeved shirt, a pair of comfortable, worn pants, and a pair of equally comfortable, worn shoes; her typical garb for a day planned to be spent on her knees in the dirt. Finished dressing, she headed to the kitchen, already smelling the fresh coffee waiting for her. She had set it up the previous night to turn on automatically at her usual wake-up time. She'd never been able to get used to sleeping late, after years of getting up to fix her husband breakfast before heading off to her own job teaching elementary school.
She had a quick meal of some surgery, puffy cereal that was more air than sustenance, and a cup of coffee. Her doctor had warned her against too much sugar and caffeine, but she didn't care.
"You're only young once," she thought, and snorted at her own feeble joke. Then she laughed softly at herself, thinking how silly it was to be laughing at herself. "Well, it's not like there's anyone else around to appreciate my sad attempts at humour. Except the cat, and he's not a very attentive audience," she thought, and looked at the cat dozing in the sill of the window near the kitchen table.
She gathered her gardening supplies. She had learned all she knew of gardening from her own mother, and was very old-fashioned in her gardening, preferring to work with her hands whenever possible, instead of using weed-killers and bug sprays, which might make it easier, but would risk harming her delicate flowers. All she took with her today was a knee pad, small shears for pruning dead leaves, gardening gloves, a floppy-brimmed hat that she tied under her chin with a long, bright red ribbon, and a large travel-mug filled with the rest of the coffee from breakfast.
For a couple hours Rebecca worked in her garden, trimming dead leaves, pulling up weeds, checking for unreasonable infestations that may need to be taken care of. As she worked, she idly hummed a tuneless melody under her breath.
Around noon she stopped to make herself a sandwich in the kitchen and sat outside while she ate. She felt a peaceful serenity as she sat and watched the birds in the bird-bath and the squirrels bouncing from limb to limb, and the tinkle of the tiny wind-chimes strung up on trees all around the garden.
She paused and frowned.
"Wind-chimes? But... that sounds like... music," she thought. "I'm probably imagining things."
Curious now, she got up and tried to fix on the direction of the music. Coffee mug in hand, forgotten in her confusion, she followed the quiet sounds toward her tulip bed. As she drew nearer, she became more certain she was hearing music.
"What the hell is going on?" she wondered, silently. "I don't THINK I'm going senile yet. Would I be aware that I was senile if I really was senile? Mother heard music where there was none when she got old..."
She stopped her mental babbling, put down her coffee mug, and knelt down at the edge of the flower bed, tilting her ear in the direction of the ground. There was clearly music coming from her tulips.
Not knowing what was going on, and wondering what her son would think if he knew she was kneeling at the edge of a flower bed thinking she heard music, she reached out and parted the tall leaves of the tulips.
"Oh... my..." she breathed through pale lips in a face gone white.
She sat back on her heels, shocked, jerking her hands back and almost knocking her coffee over. The leaves of the tulips swung back together. She stayed still as a rock for a couple of minutes.
Then, she said aloud, as if reassuring herself that she was still awake, "I AM senile. Not only am I hearing things, I'm seeing them as well."
She swore she heard quiet, high-pitched laughter after she spoke.
"Right. There's nothing there. I'll just look again, and it'll just be... uh... ladybugs or something," she said. "Maybe I need to spray that blasted bug-spray after all."
She leaned forward again and parted the leaves. What she saw was several tiny faces, all peering up at her through eyes almost too large for their faces, full of child-like amusement.
"You're not real," she said. "I'm imagining you. Go away."
The tiny faces crumpled up into peals of musical laughter. They did not go away.
She peered at them more closely. They looked like little, tiny women, with sharp faces and delicate, pointed ears. And wings! Beautiful, iridescent wings of varying shape, size, and colour. And they appeared to be dressed in...
"My flowers!" she yelped, and the little women looked slightly sheepish, before smiling up at her innocently and twirling around to show off their finery.
They wore dresses of every type she could imagine, sewn from the petals of her most beautiful, brightest flowers. There were gowns of purple tulips, and red roses. There were bright yellow skirts from buttercups. There were tiered skirts of violet petals. There was even what looked like hula skirts made out of the thin petals of daisies strung together around their delicate waists, complete with tiny little leis made of the smallest of wildflowers.
"Erm," she said, not knowing what to say, feeling silly for talking to figments of her senile imagination. "Are you really here?"
They nodded solemnly.
"You're not my imagination?"
They sternly shook their heads, their flowing hair swinging back and forth.
Knowing Robert would think she was a raving lunatic, and would definitely put her in a home if he could see her, she just sat there staring at the tiny little fairies. "That's what they have to be," she thought. "But there's no such thing as fairies. What the hell... if I’m going to have senile delusions, I might as well enjoy it."
"I interrupted a party?" she half-stated, half-asked. They nodded and smiled up at her.
"Well, then, by all means, carry on. Do you mind if I watch?" she asked, hardly believing that she was still talking to these hallucinations. They smiled and the music started again, coming from what she thought were tiny little music instruments that some of them carried. She watched with eyes full of wonder as the delicate little women danced and twirled in happy abandon; some in stately waltzes, some in an almost childish dance with little in the way of thought or planning, and the little hula girl fairies doing what she supposed to be a hula dance.
"I don't care if I AM imagining them," she thought. "They're beautiful."
She sat down on the ground and watched them for a long time, thinking how marvelous it would be to have tiny little fairies to take care of, in addition to her flower garden. She hoped they would stay.
"There's no way I'm letting Robert put me in that old folk's home now! I wonder how long they’ve been here. I wonder why they let me find them. I wonder if they talk. I wonder if the cat will try to eat them. I wonder what THEY eat," she thought, and drifted into speculation about all the possibilities there might be to having fairies in her garden.
She felt needed again and not so alone anymore.
Rebecca smiled.
She opened her eyes and saw that sunlight was streaming in the bedroom window, between the window casement and the curtains. She closed her eyes and stretched, feeling her joints crack and pop, making her feel every one of her seventy-one years. It had been raining for the past two days, a gentle, steady rain, and she felt stiff and achy; but finally the sun was shining, and she was looking forward to working in her garden.
Her garden was the joy of her life since...
She sighed.
Since her husband had died three years ago, leaving her feeling alone and a burden on her son, Robert. She shouldn't feel like a burden; she knew that. She took care of herself, had her own home, a car. However, her son, ever the efficient businessman, thought it would be more prudent for her to move into assisted living apartments before something happened to her out here, in the country, living on her own.
"He just wants to pack me away to an old folk’s home so he doesn't have to waste his precious time coming to check on me," she thought, injudiciously.
She instantly regretted the thought. She knew he loved her. He was just so practical and so concerned with his own life now; his new wife and newer baby. He had no time for his lonely, old mother.
"Well, I'm not that old, and damned if I'll be packed away to rot surrounded by nurses and cranky old men with nothing to do but watch TV or knit all day! Not while I can still manage here, alone. And besides, I HATE knitting!" she thought.
She shook her head, as if to banish the depressing thoughts from her mind, and turned to the more cheerful thoughts of working in her garden.
She sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side. As she padded over to the window in her bare feet, she enjoyed the smooth, cool feel of the hardwood floor. She swung the window open, relishing the warmth of the bright sun on her face and looked out over what she considered to be her domain.
Bright blossoms bloomed all around her front yard. Wind-chimes tinkled merrily in the summer breeze. Her eyes swept over the lawn, taking in the path that led to the wrought iron table and chairs, a bird-bath, and neatly arranged flower beds separated from the grass of the yard by barriers of bright white and cream coloured rocks. Her son had given her the table and chairs, knowing that she enjoyed eating outside when she could, to take in the sights of her garden, the birds and squirrels.
Rebecca smiled again.
These were her children now; the tiny plants and blossoms that relied on her for the attention they needed to thrive. She loved working in her garden and looked forward to digging her hands into the earth beneath her plants, saturated from days of gentle rain. The day after a good gentle rain was one of her favourite times. The earth was soft and fragrant from being soaked, and she didn't have to worry about her fragile blossoms being torn to shreds by harsh rain-fall.
She turned away from the window and went to the closet to find a light, short-sleeved shirt, a pair of comfortable, worn pants, and a pair of equally comfortable, worn shoes; her typical garb for a day planned to be spent on her knees in the dirt. Finished dressing, she headed to the kitchen, already smelling the fresh coffee waiting for her. She had set it up the previous night to turn on automatically at her usual wake-up time. She'd never been able to get used to sleeping late, after years of getting up to fix her husband breakfast before heading off to her own job teaching elementary school.
She had a quick meal of some surgery, puffy cereal that was more air than sustenance, and a cup of coffee. Her doctor had warned her against too much sugar and caffeine, but she didn't care.
"You're only young once," she thought, and snorted at her own feeble joke. Then she laughed softly at herself, thinking how silly it was to be laughing at herself. "Well, it's not like there's anyone else around to appreciate my sad attempts at humour. Except the cat, and he's not a very attentive audience," she thought, and looked at the cat dozing in the sill of the window near the kitchen table.
She gathered her gardening supplies. She had learned all she knew of gardening from her own mother, and was very old-fashioned in her gardening, preferring to work with her hands whenever possible, instead of using weed-killers and bug sprays, which might make it easier, but would risk harming her delicate flowers. All she took with her today was a knee pad, small shears for pruning dead leaves, gardening gloves, a floppy-brimmed hat that she tied under her chin with a long, bright red ribbon, and a large travel-mug filled with the rest of the coffee from breakfast.
For a couple hours Rebecca worked in her garden, trimming dead leaves, pulling up weeds, checking for unreasonable infestations that may need to be taken care of. As she worked, she idly hummed a tuneless melody under her breath.
Around noon she stopped to make herself a sandwich in the kitchen and sat outside while she ate. She felt a peaceful serenity as she sat and watched the birds in the bird-bath and the squirrels bouncing from limb to limb, and the tinkle of the tiny wind-chimes strung up on trees all around the garden.
She paused and frowned.
"Wind-chimes? But... that sounds like... music," she thought. "I'm probably imagining things."
Curious now, she got up and tried to fix on the direction of the music. Coffee mug in hand, forgotten in her confusion, she followed the quiet sounds toward her tulip bed. As she drew nearer, she became more certain she was hearing music.
"What the hell is going on?" she wondered, silently. "I don't THINK I'm going senile yet. Would I be aware that I was senile if I really was senile? Mother heard music where there was none when she got old..."
She stopped her mental babbling, put down her coffee mug, and knelt down at the edge of the flower bed, tilting her ear in the direction of the ground. There was clearly music coming from her tulips.
Not knowing what was going on, and wondering what her son would think if he knew she was kneeling at the edge of a flower bed thinking she heard music, she reached out and parted the tall leaves of the tulips.
"Oh... my..." she breathed through pale lips in a face gone white.
She sat back on her heels, shocked, jerking her hands back and almost knocking her coffee over. The leaves of the tulips swung back together. She stayed still as a rock for a couple of minutes.
Then, she said aloud, as if reassuring herself that she was still awake, "I AM senile. Not only am I hearing things, I'm seeing them as well."
She swore she heard quiet, high-pitched laughter after she spoke.
"Right. There's nothing there. I'll just look again, and it'll just be... uh... ladybugs or something," she said. "Maybe I need to spray that blasted bug-spray after all."
She leaned forward again and parted the leaves. What she saw was several tiny faces, all peering up at her through eyes almost too large for their faces, full of child-like amusement.
"You're not real," she said. "I'm imagining you. Go away."
The tiny faces crumpled up into peals of musical laughter. They did not go away.
She peered at them more closely. They looked like little, tiny women, with sharp faces and delicate, pointed ears. And wings! Beautiful, iridescent wings of varying shape, size, and colour. And they appeared to be dressed in...
"My flowers!" she yelped, and the little women looked slightly sheepish, before smiling up at her innocently and twirling around to show off their finery.
They wore dresses of every type she could imagine, sewn from the petals of her most beautiful, brightest flowers. There were gowns of purple tulips, and red roses. There were bright yellow skirts from buttercups. There were tiered skirts of violet petals. There was even what looked like hula skirts made out of the thin petals of daisies strung together around their delicate waists, complete with tiny little leis made of the smallest of wildflowers.
"Erm," she said, not knowing what to say, feeling silly for talking to figments of her senile imagination. "Are you really here?"
They nodded solemnly.
"You're not my imagination?"
They sternly shook their heads, their flowing hair swinging back and forth.
Knowing Robert would think she was a raving lunatic, and would definitely put her in a home if he could see her, she just sat there staring at the tiny little fairies. "That's what they have to be," she thought. "But there's no such thing as fairies. What the hell... if I’m going to have senile delusions, I might as well enjoy it."
"I interrupted a party?" she half-stated, half-asked. They nodded and smiled up at her.
"Well, then, by all means, carry on. Do you mind if I watch?" she asked, hardly believing that she was still talking to these hallucinations. They smiled and the music started again, coming from what she thought were tiny little music instruments that some of them carried. She watched with eyes full of wonder as the delicate little women danced and twirled in happy abandon; some in stately waltzes, some in an almost childish dance with little in the way of thought or planning, and the little hula girl fairies doing what she supposed to be a hula dance.
"I don't care if I AM imagining them," she thought. "They're beautiful."
She sat down on the ground and watched them for a long time, thinking how marvelous it would be to have tiny little fairies to take care of, in addition to her flower garden. She hoped they would stay.
"There's no way I'm letting Robert put me in that old folk's home now! I wonder how long they’ve been here. I wonder why they let me find them. I wonder if they talk. I wonder if the cat will try to eat them. I wonder what THEY eat," she thought, and drifted into speculation about all the possibilities there might be to having fairies in her garden.
She felt needed again and not so alone anymore.
Rebecca smiled.
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