soror mystica

So, you think you’re a Republican.  Or a Democrat.  Right-wing, left-wing, centrist, socialist, fascist, anarchist, nudist:  so many parties, so little time! 

Here’s something fun (and revealing)… the World’s Smallest Political Quiz.  Only 10 questions.. takes 2 minutes.  Find out where you stand!  How did you do?

Here are my results:

Here’s one of the poems my son wrote:  amazing - he’s only 15! But he’s been writing poetry for years…

Shower Scene Spiraling

Shower scene nightmares spiraling the drain
Droplets of my innocence circling with pain
Losing my mind in the warm blooded rain
I’d give everything to forget your name

Whispering echoes and screaming at silence
Touching my heart the world loses its vibrance
Running emotion and pushing away violence
Quitting the fight with frustrated compliance

Spiraling shower scene runs through the night
Drains all emotion and kills what feels right
Swollen eyelids and tears that just might…
Running my shower scene fall through the light

Gazing at porcelain dreams like a knife
The scent of shampoo and the essence of life
Stealing my heart like the world’s biggest heist
Screaming matches like a young lover’s strife

Shower scene nightmares run fast through my head
Another five minutes and we would have been dead
Screaming frustration with the life I have led
My eyes playing tricks as the shower runs red

OK, you may be thinking, "OMG that’s so dark, that poor kid is tortured."  Well, I can understand that.  I was pretty alarmed too.. I told him, "Uh, wow. That’s kinda dark, Seb!" And he laughs goodnaturedly and says, "I know."  The truth is, he takes after his mom in that way - we are both very sensitve, passionate, intense personalities.  We feel things very deeply. I’ve talked to him about this, and he understands that this is the way we were born. And that it’s OK, but that it’s important to find an positive outlet for the overwhelming emotions.  He has always been wise beyond his years, to the extent that at times, I wonder just who the adult is here!  At eight years old, he would come out with such amazing philosophical observations that I just listened in stunned silence.  I think he’s an old soul. 

I had the greatest compliment in the world yesterday.  My son Sebastian, who will be 16 in a couple of months, had a buddy (17  y/o) over.  Seb kept telling him:

"My mom is so awesome, my parents are so awesome!"
"I have the best parents in the world."

And he would constantly come up to me and throw his arms around me and tell me he loves me.  The two of them were mostly on the computer, talking about all sorts of wacky things that teen boys talk about.. I would butt in the conversation at times.  At one point, Seb showed me some lyrics he had written and I talked to him about it.. and then his buddy looked at Seb with this amazed look on his face and said, "Geez, your mom is like your friend!" Seb said, "I TOLD you, my parents are great!"  His buddy said, "I just annoy my mom." 

Now, just a few days ago, Seb was upset because his father and I refused to allow him to go to CA with his friends for spring break. We figured at his age, no way is he going on a 4 day road trip with no supervision. He wouldn’t even kiss me goodnight that night.  But he apologized the next day.  What’s truly awesome about this is that, we can have such a great relationship with our kids,  but we also exercise our parental authority, and while my kids don’t always agree and get upset about it at times, they always respect our decisions. 

They say that parents should be parents to their kids, not try to be their "friends."  Well, I’ve never tried to be my kids’ friends.. but they view me that way anyway.  I’ve had many compliments about them, how respectful they are, what great kids they are.  In my opinion, it’s about treating children with respect.  Even though they know who’s in charge, I’ve always treated them as equals, from birth.  Just because they are younger, doesn’t mean they are "lesser." By my actions and words, I’ve tried to convey to them that they are just as important and valuable as anyone else, adult or not.  But that they still have to respect their elders.  I guess it paid off! 

OMG.  I cannot BELIEVE this.  I was sitting having lunch today with 2 coworkers, and one of them was reading aloud an article in the newspaper regarding new developments in the case of the 5 people (including 2 children) shot to death in an apartment in Mesa two days ago.  Apparently, one of the victims was Steven Duffy, who worked for William Craig Miller, the owner and operator of Puroclean (a disaster and damage clean-up company). 

There were new developments in the story today:  Miller had been arrested on Dec. 1 of last year for arson - he’d told Duffy that he was having financial problems and needed the insurance money, so he had Duffy assist him with the arson of his home. 

The court documents indicate that a female had reported the arson incident to the police, and that she identified her boyfriend as Steven Duffy. The court documents also state that Miller was armed, and that Duffy and his girlfriend were concerned for their safety.  The victims of the shooting were Steven Duffy, his girlfriend Tammy Lovell, her children Jacob, 10, and Cassandra, 15, as well as Duffy’s 18 year old brother.  I expect that this William Craig Miller character will be named as a suspect. 

Anyhow, as my coworker was reading this, alarm bells went off in my head.  "Puroclean???" "William Miller???"  I told her, "That’s the guy who handled the restoration in my townhouse last summer!" I had a water heater that went kaput and caused damage to my walls, and had to call a restoration company to repair it.  William Miller was the one who came by and did the inspection.  He also sat at my kitchen table for over an hour as we engaged in small talk: we were both from NY, we talked about Long Island and baseball, and college.  He came back several times for the job. He even had a key to my house. I’ve emailed him, talked to him on the phone, several times. My boyfriend at the time (who was living with me then) was also there, and insisted that the guy was bad news. I sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Seemed like an okay guy to me, I told him.  He was clean cut, good-looking, dressed nicely, college-educated, etc.

How was I to know he would turn out to be a murderous psycho? 

OMG.  You know, I’ve done an awful lot of research regarding verbal abuse and domestic violence, and also the controlling natures of the (mostly) men who abuse.  Basically, virtually ALL abusers are also controllers.  The story I read this morning however, takes not only the cake but the entire damn bakery..  This guy (Travis Frey) is facing charges of kidnapping his wife as well as for downloading child pornography.  Evidently, this nutjob (there doesn’t seem to be a name I can think of that is quite heinous enough to suit him so "nutjob" will have to do for now) had also drawn up a document he entitled "Contract Of Wifely Expectations" (see image below).  I suggest going to Smoking Gun to read the full contract.  Which includes such laughable stipulations as keeping pubic hair shorn to no longer than 1/2".  Gee, think of all those poor women who passed this guy up!  They are surely kicking themselves now!

Why is it that, for women anyway, bad hair is a fate worse than a 20-pukes-a-day stomach flu?  It’s like, we’ll take the damn flu, as long as our hair looks good.  We could be lying writhing in bed, with a fever of 104.3, too weak and shaky to even get up to drag ourselves to the bathroom to hurl up more water (that’s all that’s left in our stomachs, you see), moaning and shivering in agony, but hey, if our hair looks good? We feel better, emotionally anyway.

But give a woman a bad hair day, and everything else could be coming up roses and she won’t even know the difference.  All she can focus on is her hideousness.  She could have gotten a promotion (including a much-coveted and envied corner office), won a $10,000 shopping spree at Trail’s (she was the 7th caller at KUPD - and she got the answer right when they asked her what Marilyn Manson uses in lieu of toilet paper), AND gotten asked out by the totally shag-worthy, tattoo-infested DJ.  But no matter.  These things mean nothing in the great scheme of things: good hair does. 

Perhaps you are wondering why I am writing about bad hair?  You guessed it.  Except that it’s not just a bad hair DAY.  It’s going to be a bad hair week, at the very least.  I went to get my hair cut and highlighted today, by a wonderful lady whom my nail tech recommended.  She did a great job with the cut, and even the spacing I wanted in between streaks. Except that I feel like a photo negative. My hair used to be 90% blonde. Now it’s 90% mahogany.  Ewww.  I cried hysterically when I got home. I called my new hairdresser after calming down some, and explained the tragedy.  "Oh, don’t WORRY about it," she said. "I told you, your hair is very porous because of the blonde, and it will lighten up so much that you won’t even believe it. You’ll wonder where all the color went!  But call me if you have a problem!" Gee, and I thought that’s what I was doing in the first place.  But I decided to give it a try and wait and see.  She said it would be about 4 washes.  So, between now (Saturday night) and Monday morning, I am going to attempt to wash and dry my hair 4 times.  Good thing I don’t have a date or anything.

OK, so I’m reading this book called “The Circle” by Laura Day.  I picked it up at Bookman’s yesterday (along with 5 other books - including the autobiography of a woman who was married to a convicted child molester, but that’s for another post).  Anyhow, I started reading it last night.  It’s kind of like one of those “manifesting” books. But more profound.  You almost sense a reverent hush while you’re reading it.  A sense of awe. Of Importance.. with a capital “I”.  And you’re compelled to read it very very carefully, lest you miss a single sacred Important word.

Well, I’m not very far into it, but it’s not the first time I’ve studied the concept.  The manifesting your true desires stuff:  creative visualization, affirmations, replacing “lack” thoughts with thoughts of prosperity, being a co-creator with God/the universe/your Higher Self.  But this one wasn’t much of a how-to. And she (she being the author, Laura Day) insists that ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.  That’s right: ANYTHING.  Well, no sooner did I read that than I start thinking, “Ohhhhkay. Well, maybe not ANYTHING…” and as if she read my mind (oh, and did I mention she’s a professional psychic?), in the next paragraph, she emphatically re-insists: “YES, ANYTHING.”  oKAY, lady!  And well, I’m sure those who know me very very well could probably guess my secret little wish (oh yeah, and Ms. Day calls them “wishes”).. but I’m thinking, ‘Crap, I can hardly manifest THAT!’ 

And then I think, “Oh come on, Laura!” Who are we kidding here with the ‘anything’ stuff?  You mean to tell me, that some short dude can decide, “Okay, very well, I’m going to be tall then!” Or, how about a 55 year old arthritic lady deciding she wants to be a principal dancer with the NYC Ballet?  Some things just aren’t possible!

Of course, my turbo-vivid imagination starts to get away with me.  I start thinking about just how possible ANYTHING might be. I mean, suppose you do wish to be 6 inches taller (without the aid of elevator shoes)?  My mind starts whirring… and I go back to a concept that used to occur to me as a child: What if I haven’t been Gabrielle all my life, and I’m really a different soul who just happened to wake up in Gabrielle’s body this morning, with all of Gabrielle’s memories, and has no idea that she used to be someone else?  WHACKED! Then I think - well, there’s gotta be a way I would remember. Maybe I can leave myself a note the night before saying “This is Gabrielle, are you a different soul?” and then wake up and if I remember writing the note, then it really is me. Except, wait.. if I woke up with Gabrielle’s memories, I would have remembered writing the note anyway! So, there’s no way to tell. My own soul could be waking up each morning in a different body, but I have no idea because each day I wake up, it’s as if I have lived in that body my entire life.  Hmmm, too “out there” for ya?  Well, welcome to my trippy mind.