Lackadaisical

I'm sorry that I've been rather lackadaisical with my posting of late. Things have been a little bit crazy on my end.

I'll skip my usual Easter/Zombie Jesus Day rant and tell you all that I am feeling like today is a new beginning, in the most Pagan of ways.

Fertility is all around us, the awakening of the earth to a new life, the everlasting cycle of Birth, Life, Death. I have to admit that I love this time of year because it just goes to show how cyclical our lives truly are.

All for now, Happy Spring to you all.

Hermaphroditus

"Sleeping Borghese Hermaphroditus" at the Louvre Museum in France.

Historical/Mythological Note: Hermaphroditus was the child of Hermes and Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love and the God of War. He/She was a symbol of Bisexuality and Effeminacy. A beautiful woman with the genitals and vigor of a man. He/She was believed to bless marriages.

"But there are some who declare that such creatures of two sexes are monstrosities,"
-Diodorus Siculus; "Bibliotheca historica"

Whilst I was arguing Circumcision and "Rape Culture" with my brother, the topic of hermaphrodites came up. He asked me what I would do in that case (since I was clearly arguing against cutting my son in anyway that was unnecessary to his health and well-being), would I choose a gender for my child?

My answer was no. I would not pick a gender for my child. I would want them to be able to grow up, learn who they are, decide who THEY want to be, not who I want them to be.

He said there would be a stigma against my child. My child would be teased, bullied, harassed, etc. I came back with children make fun of, tease, bully and harass each other, genitals really won't change that. Even so, I still wouldn't change them.

There is too much up to chance in that situation. What if my child was meant to be a man and I opted for a vagina? What if the child was meant to be a woman and I opted for a penis? How is that fair? I've doomed my child to a life of wondering... A life of "who am I really?"

What right do I have to mutilate or change or erase my child's body? Is it my body?
What right do I have to alter what has been given to me? What right do I have to change one beautiful thing about a child born to me?

Who cares if they have one genitalia or another? Who cares if they are white or black or tan? Who cares if their eyes are blue or green? Who cares as long as they are HEALTHY? Who cares as long as they are HAPPY? Who am I to dictate what they do with THEIR body? To dictate WHO and WHAT they become?

When they are grown up, I would want them to say "My mother taught me to embrace who I am, with arms wide open. My mother taught me to embrace the different, the beautiful, the odd, the old and the young. My mother taught me to LOVE myself for WHO I am, not for what BODY I have. I am MORE than a body. I am MORE than a penis or a vagina. I am MORE than the names I was called. My mother let me decide WHO and WHAT I wanted to be. I choose who I am, not my mother."

Lair of the Unicorn

So... Apparently North Korea has discovered a "unicorn lair" that may have once belonged to the King Tongmyong.

How did they discover this amazing find of the century? A very helpful rectangular rock with the words "unicorn lair" carved into its face. How helpful! Why didn't this get discovered sooner? I mean, unicorns should be important to anyone's country! We should all be looking for secret "unicorn lairs" for the good of our history and culture! I mean, having grown up a girl (against my will), I know just how important unicorns are to the world!

They are symbols of purity and virginity, which is why if you are a 'ho' you shouldn't go near one because they've been said to run you through with that horn of theirs. They are status symbols of wealth and prosperity. They are symbols of strength and magnificence.

All things that North Korea needs to prove that they are, in fact, the best country in the world.

I'm off to look for my own unicorn lair, feel free to read the following article discussing this amazing and transcendental find! Good on you, N. Korea.

http://news.sky.com/story/1019118/north-korea-researchers-find-unicorn-lair

The Golden Man.

Dear ____,

I keep telling myself that I will stop missing you, stop writing you. I tell myself that I never really loved you and you never really loved me. It doesn't make anything hurt less, it doesn't change how I feel. No matter what I do, I keep thinking about you. I miss you. I wish things had been different.

I was seventeen. I had just gotten out of a bad relationship. I had finally broken up with the Edward in my life. My home life was deteriorating. I was losing faith in God, in religion, in love. I was wilting, like a forgotten flower in a too sunny window.

And you came in to my picture. You came into the darkness and pulled me out. Or so I thought.

I had a crush on you. You were so smart, strong and funny. You were sweet and wonderful, it was easy to fall for you. I didn't even have to try. But you had a wife and I valued our friendship too much to say anything. Not that you couldn't see it written all over my face. I can say I never tried to take you from her. I am still her friend, though I still feel the shame bubbling up in my cheeks sometimes when I talk to her.

I worshiped you. I adored you. I loved you. I wrote so many poems in your honour, though I have often said I would not waste another verse on you. I say I will not waste another tear in your name.

I keep thinking back to when I told you that I had a crush on you. You said you had already known. I blushed because I couldn't believe I had been so obvious.

I told you that I wanted to have sex. You said you would ruin me for other men. I told you I wanted to be ruined. Sometimes when I think about that I know you ruined me anyway.

I can still feel your fingers tracing the soft part of my neck up to my ear and back down as I was trying to write that mythology I was creating. I had dedicated a character to you. The most beloved man created by the Gods and Goddesses of my world. I called you Zimri. How fitting that, in the Bible, Zimri is a traitor and the name itself means "my song" (Or mountain sheep, but that fits less perfectly.)

I remember how strongly I wanted to kiss you. I remember making you blush, twice, and marveling at my ability. I remember how badly I wanted you, while feeling the guilt creeping around the edges. Your wife. Your son and your daughter. Your life that I was so desperately wanting to be a part of.

I was seventeen, though, ____! You should've resisted me, should've told me no. Told me that it was inappropriate. Why didn't you? Was I Lolita, seducing you away from God and family?

I blame myself for inviting you to the prom. I blame myself for asking you to go with me. I wish I'd never gone. I wish I'd never said anything. But I wanted that experience. I wanted to experience prom, to experience a dance. It was my first dance and I was so excited to be dancing with you. I remember all the moves we created for "Beep" by the Pussycat Dolls. Sometimes, when I'm reminiscing, I play it. I dance and I think about you.

Sometimes I look at the pictures from that night. The night we stopped being friends. The night we became something more than friends, but less than lovers.

I abandoned you when you said you were leaving her. When you said you no longer believed in God. I was afraid, more than anything. And I was angry. I don't even know why I was so angry. I know I felt ashamed and betrayed for everything that happened between us. But that wasn't the reason I stopped talking to you. You had left me, now you were abandoning God and family. The whole time that I knew it could never be, even when I was hoping it would be, I prayed you would stay married. I prayed you would stay with your wife. I prayed I would forget you.

My prayers were for nothing. I still lost you.

The wound still aches every now and then. It still throbs. I still dream about you. I still miss you. I still love you. The truth of the matter is that I always will.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to remove you from my life. I wish I hadn't, now. But where would we be? You wouldn't have come back to me. You wouldn't have fulfilled my dream. You couldn't. We couldn't

Some days, I admit, I still want you. I am comfortable admitting that. I wouldn't do anything now, because I am happily married, but I still wonder.

I think my problem is that I wonder if you still think about me. I just want to know that you miss me too. And I don't know why I want to know that. Do you ever think about me? Do you ever miss me? Do you ever want me still? I wish you would message me. Just once, let me know that you still love me like you said you always would. Even though we still can't be. Even though I shouldn't let you back in.

Darling, I miss you, but this is another in a series of confessions I've written on my way to letting you go. I won't e-mail you. I won't message you on Facebook. I won't try, though I want to sometimes. I will eventually come to terms with this.

In the meantime, I hope you are doing well. I hope you are happy and healthy. I hope all sorts of beautiful hopes for you.

Love,
Sarai

Roulette

I
"It's a game." he said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" she asked, eager to be accepted by this new boyfriend. She knew he didn't mean Monopoly. She knew that she should be wary. He was different, dangerously so.

His slightly pointed teeth glimmered in the light of a naked bulb. They were slightly pointed like a vampire's. He always wore colored contacts, she had never seen his real eyes. Tonight he was wearing a gory shade of red. They glinted in an evil, almost demonic, way as he produced a gun. His dangerous beauty and the silver etched pistol both frightened and aroused her.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?" he purred. Looking into his eyes it was easy to believe he was a demon, a modern Mephistopheles, come to seduce and murder her.

"Isn't that illegal?" she whispered, her voice quivering and her stomach turning to jelly.

"Of course. All the best things are." he said. "But for your first time we won't play with a real bullet."

He opened the chamber and slid the bullet into place. He spun it before snapping it closed. The snapping echoed in the heavy silence. She shivered, not sure if she should trust him. What if it was a real bullet? What if he had the chamber rigged? He smiled again, revealing his shiny white teeth, and she imagined him laughing over her still body.

He took a few steps back, his wicked grin never leaving his face. She smiled nervously as he put the muzzle to his temple. She braced for an impact that she wouldn't feel. His smile never wavered, turning manic as he positioned himself. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Just a click. He laughed at the terror on her face, cajoling her with his eyes.

"Not afraid, are you, love?"

She straightened, stiffly, telling herself it was just a game and she wasn't a coward. But her stomach twisted and her bowels cramped as he handed her the gun.

"Cock it back like this," he said, showing her what to do. "when you are ready, pull the trigger. You can close your eyes if that'll help."

It was a little heavier than she had expected and she could feel her muscles bunch and strain to keep her hand from shaking.

"Don't be afraid." he said, nibbling on her earlobe. She tried to swallow, but her throat had closed. She felt her heart beat triple in speed. It pounded in her ears so that she could barely hear. He guided the muzzle to her temple, caressing her as he positioned her. He kissed her, a slow kiss that made her frantic. He pulled away before she could get a full grip on his leather jacket and positioned himself across from her.

Under the dimming bulb, she imagined that the bullet was real, that this would be the end of her. The end of everything. She gulped for air, feeling like her heart would burst through her chest. This was the moment. She would prove she was brave. She just had to make it through this test. That was all it was, a test.

"Pull the trigger, darling." he cooed, gently. She closed her eyes, bracing for an impact of some sort, and squeezed. The hammer clicked, but nothing happened. Her legs felt like water suddenly released from a dam and she collapsed with a rush of adrenaline and relief.

He was beside her in a moment, lifting her back up.

"It's quite the rush isn't it?" he asked, prying the gun from her stiff fingers.

"Yes. A real... rush." she murmured weakly.

"Let's play a variation," he said, his smile eerily painted across his face. "instead of holding the gun to your own head, aim it at me."

"Variation?" she gulped.

"Of course." he said. "All games have variations. Even this one. When I tell you to, pull the trigger. And this round we'll have a real bullet."

He opened the chamber, slipped out the false bullet and replaced it with a real one. He spun it, as before, and snapped it into the chamber. He smiled as he handed it to her.

He positioned himself about three feet away and winked at her.

"Pull the trigger."

II
The rush of a bullet wasn't enough. The rush of sex and death were no longer drug enough. She played Russian Roulette alone in the darkness of her apartment in front of a mirror. She sat in the darkness, every click like a shot of heroin into her blood. Sometimes she would masturbate, watching her reflection achieve orgasm to the click of the hammer.

It hadn't taken long for that boyfriend to end up dead from their little "game" and the police didn't need much convincing. All it took was a pretty young woman in a blood spattered white dress. She cried, genuinely, for that dangerously handsome idiot. Not because she loved him, but because she would have to find a new partner to play with.

She hadn't even waited for his body to cool before she seduced one of the officers at the scene. She begged him to point his loaded Centerfire Compact at her head during and she climaxed remembering her previous boyfriend's final words.

It hadn't taken long to become addicted to the rush. The heady mix of life and death, intertwined with lust and sex, was enough to pull her in and keep her. It hadn't taken long to discover that she could no longer enjoy life without a click inside her head.

It hadn't taken long for the clicks to no longer be enough. She couldn't sit in her room alone forever, waiting to lose to herself. She needed the rush with someone else. Another body to hit the floor. Another blood spattered dress.

She found him outside of a club.

"Want to play a game?" she asked, looking up through her lashes, luridly.

"What kind of game?" he asked, already succumbing to the 'come fuck me' look in her eyes.

And she showed him. She taught him how to play. She taught him how to die. He didn't like the variation she had been taught, too vanilla for that. They played the traditional way and she didn't even blink an eye when the bullet zipped through his temple and out the other side of his skull.

She had been very lucky so far. Every night she would kiss the bullet, placing it in the gun that had originally belonged to that dead boyfriend.

For her luck she praised Bes. She would plead with Shai that this next day she would continue to breathe. She called out to the Norns that they continue to weave her fate with that of luck. She praised Gefion for continuing to shine on her. She laughed when she blessed the name of Fortuna and cried when she asked the Moirai not to cut her threads. Luck and fate became her religion, the click of the hammer representing favors from the gods and every sexual encounter an addictive gift.

The latest pawn in this game kissed her breathless before he taught her another variation. He filled the chamber with four bullets. She kissed each one before he placed them. She agreed to sleep with him if they both survived the game.

That first time, with that first game, they had practically torn each other's clothes off; the need to feel alive overwhelming any other sense. She had cried then, as he slid into her and kissed her into a frenzy. It was the best she had ever had and she had wondered, as he followed her lead, at what cost? Now she didn't even think.

The need to feel that chemical rush was an animal waiting to tear out of her body. There was no thought, no feeling except the adrenaline and the climax.

She survived that variation. Her teacher was kind enough to die quietly in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. She kissed his lips before taking the gun and disappearing into the darkness of the night. She always played with the same gun.

The next pawn was a young woman, about her age, so naive and innocent. She taught her everything and let her walk away. The game didn't always have to end immediately after beginning. Sometimes it continued through the loose connections made. That other woman was not as lucky, they found her dead a week or so later, another unlucky victim of the game.

It really all came down to that moment, she would tell herself. The moment when she stood before the mirror and watched her face; imagining it imploding on itself.

"Pull the trigger."

III
"It's a game." she said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" he asked, intrigued by the strangeness of her.

Her lips were dark red in the dim light of the alley. They reminded him of a mouthful of blood and they turned him on. It was cold outside, snow hanging on the edges of the clouds. Just glistening gray, waiting to fall. Her look was full of lust, when she produced a silver etched pistol. Her eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps. Her eerie smile and the pistol, both, frightened and aroused him.

Her smile widened, revealing shiny white teeth, slightly pointed like a vampire's. Just one bullet was no longer enough. There were so many variations to explore, so many rushes to be had. This would be the last variation. There would be no coming back from this one. No greater rush than this, knowing that her life stood precariously on a hidden ledge. This would be the last round, all the chambers filled but one. The very last rush with someone's life about to end in the darkness.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?"

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-Two

I don't go back to the apartment. Not even to pack everything when I find someone to take over my lease. I move in with Clark for a short time, unable to face the sympathy in my mother's face or the overwhelming sadness when I'm alone.

"Until you get back on your feet." he says, as he helps Noah and Kevin carry my stuff into his spare room. I sit in the middle of a pile of boxes, my knees pulled up to my chest and staring out the window. I stay like this for several days before Clark drags me out of the apartment for dinner. I have taken up smoking French cigarettes since Annabelle's death. Before we eat, I insist on standing outside the restaurant for a little while swallowing lungfuls of poison. Clark doesn't try to stop me, though he clearly wants to. Maybe he believes I'll stop on my own. Maybe he doesn't think it is his place to tell me what I should and shouldn't do.

I eat sparingly, much to his chagrin. When he thinks I'm not looking he slips an extra spoonful of whatever onto my plate. I, in turn, pretend not to notice this growing mound of uneaten food and continue to push it around my plate. He tries to engage me in conversation, but I have nothing to say. Nothing that I want to say. Nothing that I could bear to say. He eventually gives up and takes me back to his apartment.

Once we are inside I kiss him. He resists at first, but I know he hasn't had a steady girlfriend since me. I need the contact. And, in the end, he doesn't refuse. He is as gentle as he has ever been, but it doesn't really matter. I am too numb to really feel the difference between gentle and violent. I don't even orgasm, though I fake it splendidly. I didn't want to, I just wanted to feel something, skin on skin. Feel someone inside of me, a part of me.

While Clark is at work, I visit her grave. I lie beside her, watching the clouds chase the sun across the sky. I talk to her as though she was alive. I smoke. I watch mourners and lollygaggers march like ants through the cemetery. Loud wails and badly sung hymns become normality to me. I don't eat or even cry anymore. I just sit and smoke. I strain my ears for anything that may come from the corpse lying beside me. I have lost all sense of reason.

It is on one such day that Jae finds me. I don't see him, puffing on my cigarette completely zoned out. It isn't until he is next to me that I realize someone is there. He sits down and rests his elbows on his knees.

"When did you take that up?" he asks, nodding toward my cigarette.

"Maybe I've always smoked." I reply, taking another drag.

"You have never smelled like smoke and you never take a break to smoke when you are at the bar."

"You are observant." I say, mockingly. I stub out my cigarette and lay back on the grass. He lays back as well, propping his head up with his hands. "But maybe I am just really good at hiding it."

He just shakes his head, then turns to look at me. His eyes search my face, for what I'm not sure.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

"Because I have no where else to go." I say, simply. I have lost my job at the book store, though my boss said she would gladly take me back once my life gets "straightened out." I have lost Annabelle. I have lost my sanity. I have lost my self-respect. I have lost my hope.

"You could come with me." he says, sitting back up. His back has grass clinging to it and he runs a hand through his hair to dislodge the tiny pieces stuck there. He never seems to smile anymore, I wonder if I have destroyed him like I seem to be destroying everything else. He stands up, dusts off his backside and turns to me, one hand outstretched to help me up.

I don't take his hand, in fact I lie there and pretend to not see him. I stare into the endless sky, pretending I am on a cloud drifting away from everything here. This doesn't stop him. He continues to stand there, one hand outstretched. He looks like God reaching out to mankind, but I am too lazy to reach back. Isn't that the way of religion?

I don't know how long he stays there, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I don't sit up until he has given up and walking away. I stand then thinking I might follow him, maybe try to take back everything. Maybe I could make the attempt. He stops, as if he senses my conundrum, turns and looks at me. He let's a small smile float upon his Cupid's bow lips.

I turn away, though. I know the smile has faded as quickly as it appeared and I can't stand to think that it is my fault. I run to my car, careening like a drunkard on roller-skates. I go to a tiny bar a couple miles from the cemetery. The owners are capitalists, profiting from grief. They have a small dance floor, flashing lights and eclectic taste in music. I drink a shot of tequila to quiet the storm inside me and then I dance until my heart threatens to burst. I feel as though I was buried alive, though I am too tired to fight for air.

I drive slowly back to Clark's apartment. I feel like I am a wound rubbed with salt until I am raw. I park the car in the lot of the complex and I sit there, my cheek resting against the steering wheel. I stare out the window and wonder why I even wanted Annabelle. I wonder why she has such a hold on me, even though she is gone. It doesn't matter, because I can't ever have her. She has been eternally lost to me. I couldn't save her. I can't even save myself, what made me think I should try?

I pull myself from the car, feeling like I'm crawling away from the wreck of my life. I don't go into the apartment. Instead I wander the streets, chain smoking my fancy cigarettes, looking for something, anything. I don't even know what I'm looking for. I catch a glimpse of myself in a window, it makes me stop. I hardly recognize this reflection of myself, she is so different from the girl I used to be. A cigarette hangs from her mouth, her shoulders are hunched as though she were curling into herself. Her hands are stuffed into the pockets of her jacket and her hair is a dull blonde  in a mess of a chignon. Her eyes hold so much sorrow that I can't look her full in the face. It is hard to believe that this woman is me. We are nothing alike.

She looks worn from all the self-imposed tragedies, all the self-inflicted wounds. They aren't visible on the surface, but we both know they are there. I shake my head at her, she does the same. I pull the cigarette from my mouth and watch as she does the same. I touch the glass, but immediately recoil from her and begin to run. For a moment it was Annabelle in the glass and Abra had disappeared completely.

I run until I am too out of breath to continue. When I stop, I collapse to the sidewalk and cry. No one notices, no one stops to ask what is wrong. Its like I've already disappeared. I've become an invisible speed bump on a sidewalk.

He grabs my hands from my face and pulls me up and into his arms. I don't even have to look up. I know who it is. I just cry, two invisible people adrift in a sea of endless faces. He takes me to a cafe and orders a white chocolate mocha for me. He looks terrified as he presses the cup into my shaking hands. Its like he has seen a ghost or maybe he has seen what I've really become.

"Why is it," I say, once I have stopped sobbing and have taken a sip of my drink. "that you always know where to find me? Always know when I need rescuing?"

He smiles, a watery one compared to when we first met. He takes a sip of his drink and reaches across the table to hold one of my hands. His eyes dart across my face, searching for something.

"I don't know where to find you." He says, simply. He shrugs slightly and takes another sip of his drink. "Have you ever heard Plato's explanation of soul mates?"

"That we were once multi-limbed and Zeus split us in half?"

"Yes. Maybe it is that you and I are soul mates. My ability to find you again and again is because you draw me to you. Because you are my other face, the other half that makes me whole."

"Do you honestly believe that?" I ask, looking at our entwined hands.

"You asked for an explanation."

"You could be stalking me." I say, maliciously. I don't believe he is, but I am beginning to feel like a rabid dog, attacking anything near me. He is quiet, not defending himself. I'm not sure if that should make me nervous or not. After a few moments I mumble an apology for being so rude. He still doesn't say anything, his hand still holding mine.

We are quiet for a while, him still holding my hand. I don't resist, I don't try to pull away.

"Sometimes," he says, quietly, not looking at me. "when I run into you, I think I have found my other face. I think I've been lead to you by the half of my soul that begs to be whole. You won't let me in, however and then I begin to think that I am just in a dream. Dreams can be so deceiving when you believe you are awake."

He pauses a moment and then looks up at me, his eyes sparkling and dancing to some music I do not hear.

"I so want you to be my other face, Abra. The little time that I have spent with you has only made me want to spend more with you. I don't want to just sleep with you and then let you go. I couldn't. I want you to be with me, I want us to be whole, be one, and not broken anymore. I want you. I want to help you. Help you save yourself from this spiral you are in."

"I'm not worth saving. You should save yourself the pain and get out now, while you still can."

"I'm too far in to escape now." he says, taking a sip of his drink. He looks at me then, staring into my eyes until I am forced to look away. He grabs my other hand and holds them, gently, on the table. "Let me decide whether the pain I may or may not experience is worth it. You are worth saving, stop saying you aren't. Let me in, Abra."

"You'll be sorry you even tried." I say, pulling my hands out of his grasp. I stand up, thank him for the coffee and walk out of the cafe. I light a cigarette and puff angrily, determined to make us both as miserable as possible.

I return to the apartment to find it empty. There is a note from Clark that I don't read. I dress up and even use make-up. I style my hair for the first time in a long time. I stare at the girl I've become with a grim determination, a grim appreciation. She tries to smile at me, but I turn before she can. If I see her smile, I will break down, because it will be a broken smile. I am determined. It is too late to turn back from what I've become. I'm in too deep now.

I sleep with the first man that flirts with me at the bar. I don't resist as he leads me to his car. We go twice before he leaves me, standing in front of the bar and waiting for the next one. I drink until I can't see straight. I have sex with two more men and a cute girl with small breasts. I go home with her.

When I wake up in the morning it feels as if I have melted, like the Wicked Witch in Oz. I look over and cannot, for the life of me, remember the girl's name. She is pretty, her hair in tiny spirals, in varying colors, all over her head. Her skin is the color of dark chocolate and I feel terribly pale comparatively. I strain, but my brain refuses to remember anything about her or the other three I slept with last night. I can't even remember what the men looked like.

She stirs and I pretend I am asleep. She snuggles closer to me and sighs, softly.

"I know you're awake." she mumbles into my breast. I open one eye and glance down at her. She nuzzles me and looks up.

"You can't remember my name can you?" she says. I shake my head slowly.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be," she says. "I wasn't expecting you to remember it anyway. You were quite wasted last night. So was I, now that I think about it. As it is, I barely remember your's."

"Abra." I say.

"Niya Bin." she says. "Short, and slightly distorted, for Vanilla Bean."

"Your parents named you Vanilla Bean?" I ask, stifling a giggle.

"Well, my mother loved the scent of vanilla and the way the word felt on her tongue. And my father thought it would be hilarious because of our last name being Bean. I have two sisters, so my father had a grand time naming us."

"What are their names?" I ask, my hand curling around one of her breasts.

"Coffee and Greene. Greene is the only one who can go by her first name in public. No one laughs until she says her full name. Coffee is like me and goes by a shortened, and slightly distorted, version." She laughs and mimics my hand movements, a hand curling around one of my breasts. She kisses me then, tasting like lavender and ginger.

We kiss for awhile, hands fluttering up and down each other's skin. Exploration begins in earnest and before we know it we are entangled. As we writhe, I think of Jae and having two faces. I look deep into Niya's amber eyes, searching her face as though I should recognize it as my own. Does Jae recognize me as part of him? Does he really believe that I could be his other face?

I thought David was my other half, the piece of a puzzle that made me whole. Without him, what was the point? He was my soul mate, my other face as Jae put it. At least, I thought so. But we can see where my thinking has gotten me, so far. I want to let Jae in, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid of being hurt again, afraid of being used again. Afraid of being in love with someone who sees me as a want not a need.

This whole situation, everything with Annabelle and my subsequent decent into madness, has shown me something. What was the point of all this? A revenge taken against my body, though my body wasn't the one at fault. A revenge against myself for being deceived? I haven't hurt David at all. I may have hurt Alice, the once, with my sleeping with her husband. Otherwise I haven't hurt anyone but myself. I realize that isn't true either. I have hurt all those around me, that love me and have tried to help me. You can't hold a knife to your own skin without cutting everyone around you.

I want to stop now. I want to find Abra again. I want to find out who I am after all this mess.

I finish with Niya, but I don't stay long. I kiss her goodbye and thank her for everything, before hailing a cab and returning to Clark's.

When I get there Clark is pacing. When he looks up he let's out a small sigh of relief and hugs me.

"What's wrong?" I say, slightly muffled by his chest.

"I was worried." he says, simply. Gently, I push away so that I can look at him.

"I'll be fine, now." I smile, kiss his cheek and collapse on the couch to sleep.

Instead of sleeping, however, I begin to think. Jae is drawn to me, but how am I to find him when I don't know if I'm drawn to him or not? He seemed so sure that we were meant to be together, at least for a time, but will my insecurities make it harder to find him?

Can you fall in love with someone just because you want to? It seemed so effortless when I loved David or Annabelle. There was no thought, nothing. I was in love. Is wanting to be in love with someone enough? Is wanting Jae enough to erase all the feelings still left in me for others?

Looking back on it, I remember how David and I began to forget the little things in our relationship. We didn't talk like we used to. We stopped randomly smiling at one another. We stopped communicating. We talked, but it was all bubblegum pop, nothing substantial, nothing real. I wonder if he ever thinks about those times when we genuinely seemed to love each other. I wonder if he ever misses those times, if any of them were even real. Its terrifying, actually, to even begin to think of trusting someone that much again, of putting myself out there like that again.

Is it worth it?

The Face of Zeus

In the beginning, we had four arms, four legs and two faces. When Zeus saw us he became afraid of our power. He split us asunder so that we had two arms, two legs and one face. Ever since we have searched for our other face, the other half of what once was whole. We search the whole world for our Soul Mate, the other half to a soul split by a jealous god. Our other half. Our other face.

Perhaps the reason Zeus was so afraid was because two faces can see more than one. Four eyes searching his flaws as a deity, silently criticizing and questioning his every act as God. Its interesting, really, to think about how frightened one god became of his "creation."

A Missing You kind of Day

When I was younger, about 17/18 I believe, I had a cat named Forgiven. I was going through a very serious Christianity phase during that time, trying to reclaim some semblance of faith as my world was falling apart. Which is how he ended up with the name "Forgiven." He was one of the few beautiful things in my life at the time.

He was a black and white cat, with a light pink nose that had one black spot on it. He had the brightest blue eyes and he was the cuddliest cat I'd ever met. Sometimes when I would be walking home from school he would run up and want held. He was so comical sometimes, we often joked that if Charlie Chaplin was a cat he would be Forgiven. He was my world, really.

I'll have to find the one picture I have of him and post it, he was the most adorable kitten and then the sweetest cat.

Five years ago this month, two months before he turned a year old, Forgiven was hit by a car and killed. We discovered him one morning, on my way to school. I remember feeling paralyzed as I stood by his little lifeless body, crying, on the side of the road. Of course this isn't the most traumatizing incident in my life, for I have had many, but it is an incident that makes my heart ache sometimes.

Last night, possibly because the day he died is rapidly approaching or because I miss him just as much now as I did then, I dreamt about him. At first he was biting me and scratching me, something he never did in real life. Then he turned into his normal self, cuddling and "kissing" like a loving cat does. He seemed frightened by another cat that was lurking the darkness. A cat I couldn't see, except for the eyes. It was understood that the cat in the darkness belonged to Donnie, but it wasn't Lovey (Donnie's cat that lives with his grandmother currently). It was something bigger than a normal cat, but it was a cat nonetheless.

This isn't the first dream I've had with large cats or cats attacking me recently. In fact the past couple of days all I dream about are cats. Have I angered Sekhmet or Bastet, the cat headed Goddesses of Egyptian mythos? Have I become afraid of the feminine side of myself as the "Dream Moods: Dream Dictionary" suggests?

I also dreamt about car accidents. The roads were lined with crashed cars and I was dazed and wandering amongst them. The police officer kept asking why I had left my van, but I couldn't explain it. I couldn't remember.

Then I was dreaming about Barack Obama and I hugged him. I felt guilty because I got snot and tears all over him because of my crying. And I wasn't just crying because of the car accidents everywhere, I was crying because I had been forced to chop off my hair and because of all the accusing eyes watching me. I was surrounded by women, all of us struggling for air. Trying to find our voices in the deafening crowds. It was as if President Obama heard our voiceless screams and he spoke for us. Saying what it was we were trying to say. It was a glorious moment, terrifying and bewildering. But so very true. I have often felt that Obama has been a voice for the women of this country who are still very much oppressed though there are those who would try to convince us otherwise.

And when I woke up I missed my Memere (French for Grandmother) more than anything. It was a deep throb as I got dressed. I looked in the mirror and just wondered what she would think of me if she were still alive. Would she love me as much? Would she be proud of who and what I've become? Would it matter?

I suppose it doesn't matter to think about those things. To think about a cat that hadn't even reached a first birthday. Or a grandmother who has been dead for almost thirteen years now. But today I miss them. And I miss them more with every breath I take. It doesn't help that I have had a new song by Jason Derulo stuck in my head, echoing the ache in my chest.

In honor of my cat, in honor of Memere, in honor of all those that I feel an ache for on this day.
"Today I miss you.
It gets easier, so they say. So why do I feel like this hole in my heart gets bigger whenever I think of you?
Its because I only miss you when I'm breathing."

Oh the Lists you shall read...

Those of you who know me personally know that I am quite fond of lists. Lists are fun. I like listing things when I'm stressed, because it is relaxing. I particularly enjoy alphabetizing as well. Awkward, I know. I'm very odd, but I am who I am.

The following lists are things I'm looking forward to. In movies, games, books, music, etc. Yep, lists of things I am looking forward to! Are you ready?

Movies
Bunraku

First on this list is "Bunraku" which is Gackt's movie with Joshua Hartnett. I have been waiting for this fucking movie for almost 3 years now! It was announced in 2008, but kept being put off and put off, until finally it has been released in the states. How do I know this? I was at work and it was listed on the fucking movie channels on the TV!! I was super excited (and a little pissed) and I can hardly wait to see it when it goes to DVD, which it hopefully will soon.

Also, I totally didn't know that Demi Moore, Woody Harrelson and Ron Perlman were in this. An interesting cast (eclectic, if you will) to say the least.

A Dangerous Method

Second is the newest Keira Knightley movie (also starring Viggo Mortensen!). In this film, Keira plays Sabina the first real patient of Carl Jung (famed psychoanalyst), as well as his mistress. Viggo plays Sigmund Freud, which made me laugh a little. Also, I wonder if he will be naked in this film (seeing as how Viggo thoroughly enjoys being nude in almost every film I've seen him in). Admittedly, I want to see this because I'm a huge fan of Keira Knightley and Viggo Mortensen (though, I didn't know he was in it at first). I'm also a big fan of history, though Hollywood has a tendency to butcher the truth to the point that it all seems fictionalized.

The Muppets

Yep, that's right. The Muppets are back! And I, for one, am SUPER excited! I have always been a fan of the muppets, ever since I was a child, so this is like my childhood coming back. Which excites me. Except, I really don't like Amy Adams. Other than that though, I can't wait to see Kermit and Miss Piggy in action again!

The Three Musketeers

They are making a new "Three Musketeers" movie and, whilst it sounds interesting, I'm not entirely sure about it. I am excited about seeing Orlando Bloom and Christoph Waltz (who has shot to massive movie popularity recently) as bad guys and enticed by the trailer. However, I hold no super high hopes for it. Excited, but reserved in my excitedness. Also it looks like they tried to make it sci-fi, which I'm not sure I'm going to like, as the story is exciting enough without adding a bunch of ridiculousness to it. Just sayin'.

Anonymous

This movie takes on the whole "Shakespeare conspiracy", which isn't even a real conspiracy, but whatever. I want to see this because I am entertained by the stupid notion that Shakespeare didn't actually write any of his stuff. Shakespeare was a fucking genius and any writing analyst can tell you that the style is the same through out his works, meaning that only one man wrote them. That god being Shakespeare. Anywho, I'm sure I'll rant about this movie once I see it, but in the meantime I am ridiculously intrigued by it.

And other than a few new Johnny Depp films, I am rather disappointed with Hollywood. They are doing sequels to a lot of stuff that should've ended with the last sequel, as well as remaking a bunch of stuff that doesn't need to be remade. I shouldn't be surprised, because Hollywood has been steadily going down hill for years, but the fact that they are making an "I am Legend 2" really shows that they have scrapped the bottom of the proverbial barrel.

Things I'm NOT looking forward to:
* Breaking Dawn (I fucking hate Twilight!)
* Any of the movies that have to do with sex (there were a bunch listed on IMDB)
* All these sequels that shouldn't be
* All these supernatural thrillers that are going to fall flat because no one knows a good idea from their ass any more.

Books
Bridge of Dreams
This book is by Anne Bishop and is the third installment in what was, originally, the Ephemera Duology. I had my suspicions that she would write another book for this series, as she left things slightly unfinished. I was extremely excited to hear that she was, in fact, writing a third book. This book is going to be centered around Lee, Gloriana's brother and Sebastian's cousin. It is supposed to arrive in March 2012 and I am awaiting it with baited breath!

Thirst No. 4
This book is by Christopher Pike and, I believe, is the final book in the Thirst series. One of the zaniest and best vampire stories I've ever read, it follows Alisa Perne who is both beloved of Krishna and vampiress with an attitude. She is at turns made up and real, beautiful and ugly, cruel and kind, wicked and virtuous. I love this series, even though I thought I wouldn't at first. And I am especially excited to read this last book. It arrived in August, but I have been unable to get a hold of a copy just yet. When I do, it will be for keeps, as I own the other three in the series.

In the Garden of Beasts
This book is by Erik Larson, who also wrote "The Devil in the White City". I am hoping to read this (and a few others by him) relatively soon. Though I am excited to read this, I'm not as excited as I am for the other two books I've listed thus far.

The Dovekeepers
This book is by Alice Hoffman. I am a huge fan of Ms. Hoffman's, having read several of her other books through out my high school career. So it should come as no huge surprise that I would be interested another book by her, especially since this one involves a great deal of history, as well as mythology. Two of my favorite subjects!

Games
BioShock Infinite
Anyone who knows me should know that BioShock was the first game I ever played (aside from Mario when I was young, but truly who hasn't played Mario or Sonic at some point in their childhood?). I recently found out that Donnie purposefully played that game when I'd be watching to create something else for us to have in common. How stealthy of him. At any rate, I played and fell in love. I fell in love with Atlas and Tennenbaum, the big daddies and little sisters, Andrew Ryan and, consequently, Ayn Rand. I loved it so much that I have also played BioShock II. Which didn't fail me. Now I am just as excited about BioShock Infinite (as well as a potential movie starring my favorite actor, Wentworth Miller, as the iconic Jack) to be released sometime in the next year. Preferably before the world ends so I have time to play it.

Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
For this game I have considerably less time to wait, since it makes it's premier in 11 days. And I may or may not have it on pre-order... Okay, I totally do! Oblivion was the second game I played, if I remember correctly. So it makes sense that I would want to play another Elder Scrolls game (though I haven't really gotten into Morrowind, much to Donnie's chagrin). Did I mention that you can duel wield in this game?! Do you know how freakin' cool that is?!

Dragon Age III
This game is only rumored, but being a lover of Dragon Age (I and II) I am hoping with fingers, toes, eyes, arms and legs crossed that it happens. And not only that, but that it happens SOON! I also desperately want it to feature some of the party members we have had previously, such as Zevran and Fenris, my two favorite elves. Obviously it would be dependent on what kind of ending you chose whether or not you could meet up with Anders or Sebastian (downloaded content is awesome btw). I would also love to finally see a romance between a human player character and a dwarven NPC party member. Seriously, it is wrong to discriminate against the dwarves. Especially hot ones like Varric, with that sexy voice and manly chest. Just sayin'. Okay, so I'll admit part of the reason I play the Dragon Age games is for the romances, as well as some of the quests. Donnie says I'm a dork. And he would be right. I love well done, if not awkward, romance. I can't help it. I'm a girl for heaven's sakes!! They would revoke my card if I didn't love at least a LITTLE romance every now and then.

Alice: Madness Returns
This is purely experimental on my part. I love Alice in Wonderland. A lot, actually. One of my all time favorite things to quote is from Alice Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll.
"'The time has come,' the walrus said. 'to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships, of cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. Calloo, callay, let's rule the day like cabbages and kings.'"
I quote that often, in fact. So it should be no surprise that I would be interested in an Alice video game, especially one that reveals the darker side of the classic story. Plus the trailer is fucking cool!! Its like Dali on fucking acid and dude was trippy enough.

Music
Ceremonials by Florence + the Machine
Last, but certainly not least on my list is music. And it should truly come as no real shock that I super excited for the latest album from Flo and the Machine. I am already passionately in love with "What the Water Gave Me" (as should've been blatantly obvious with my previous blog post containing the video) and, like a rabid fan girl, am ready for more!

Unfortunately that is about it for that. A lot of the artists I enjoy aren't releasing anything new right now. I am more into finding songs, then I am actual albums, because I have a tendency to only like a few songs by an artist. Most of which are on multiple albums.

Except for Gackt of course. But I mean, if you were me wouldn't you love everything the man has ever done?

Sick Nurses

Pretty much everything I'm going to say about this movie is a spoiler, therefore, if you have any interest in watching this Thai horror film you might refrain from reading about it. Unless you really want to see it after reading about it.

This movie was hilarious. Fucked up, but hilarious.
We begin with a not quite thoroughly explained premise. That being that the nurses and doctor are making their living from selling dead bodies on the black market. We only get a hint in that the main character is murdered shortly after threatening to tell the police how they "make their living" from dead bodies.

Each nurse has a vice of some sort. And each vice is used against them in the end.

First we have the murdered girl herself, Tahwaan, who is actually *SPOILER* a homosexual man who fell in love with Doctor Tar (the only other man in this whole film) and had a sex change to be with him. *END SPOILER*

Then we have the murdered girl's sister, Nook, who is *SPOILER* pregnant with the doctor's baby after a sexual rendezvous in a place full of corpses that her brother/sister watched because she was going to surprise the doctor.*END SPOILER*

Next we have Am and Orn who are twins in love with each other. They even have a lamp that has Narcissus written on it. Narcissus is a character from Greek Mythology who fell in love with his own reflection and wasted away because he couldn't bear to leave it. The incestuous feelings the sisters have for each other is very apparent in their scene on a bed.

Next is Yim who is determined to have a perfect Vitruvian based body. She has a projector that she turns on and then uses a marker to mark what needs to be fixed on her body. She is constantly working out trying to be perfect.

Then there is Jo who is bulimic and constantly eating because of it. There is one scene where she is brushing her teeth and there is a half eaten donut on her counter. She can't resist it, so she eats it with all the toothpaste foaming in her mouth. Of course it doesn't matter, she'll throw it up and then weigh it later. Bulimia is terrifying enough without weighing your own vomit to see how much you threw up compared to how much you ate.

Lastly there is Aeh. Ah, Aeh. She is obsessed with beautiful material goods. So much so that one of her punishments is having her beautiful handbag sewn to her head and neck.

Oh and how could I forget good Doctor Tar? The master of mayhem in this movie all because he didn't keep his promise to Tahwaan and slept with every single nurse. Feeding their various addictions and obsessions. Well, and in the case of Jo, literally feeding her.

Best Scene
Nook is standing on a long square spiral staircase and suddenly all these faceless people with gas masks made of hair flood the stair case on either side so that she can't escape. And what does she do? What does our brave heroine do to escape this clearly inescapable situation?

She whips out a used pregnancy test and starts kicking ass.
That's right ladies and gentleman, she whips out that pregnancy test and begins fighting off this horde with it like its a fucking knife. Seriously, I've never seen such a hilarious scene in a movie, my entire life! Who uses a fucking pregnancy test (a USED pregnancy test no less) to defend against a zombie like horde?

Second Best Scene
Am and Orn's arms are being controlled by Tahwaan so that they are sawing off all of Orn's limbs in a lovely tub filling with blood. The look on Orn's face is as if she had just won a trip to DisneyLand. And right after I made that joke we all noticed that Am was wearing sparkly Mickey Mouse earrings.

And that look doesn't leave Orn's face until she is completely dismembered and drowning in a pool of her own blood.

Third Best Scene
Aeh getting beheaded by her purse. I'm not saying anymore than that.

Worst Scene
Where Jo makes her slop that she uses to make herself vomit (because she is bulimic) and she then throws up in a bag and WEIGHS IT! Not to mention she is starving her cat as well.

Second Worst Scene
Jo's demise. Seriously, aborted babies in formaldehyde flying into the gaping and bloody maw of a jawless woman and kittens eating tongues is the stuff of nightmares. Not mine, of course, but somebody's somewhere.

Fairy Tales

As a child my favorite fairy tale was "The Little Mermaid". I had the Disney movie and it was my security blanket. I took that movie with me everywhere. I watched it all the time (My second favorite movie was "The Wizard of Oz", which should've been obvious from my "J-Rock Wizard of Oz" tribute) and had it memorized. I have a picture of me watching it with my father on the couch at my Memere's house. My mom even got me one of those tents. If you grew up in the 90's you know exactly what I'm talking about. Those plastic play tents that your mom or dad would set up in your room or the living room and you would play with your toys in there.

However, whilst I love "The Little Mermaid" (both the Disney movie and the Hans Christian Anderson story), I love a few other interesting fairy tales. Not all of them happy. So, here is my Top 5 Favorite Fairy Tales list. Just to be random! (Since "The Little Mermaid" is a given it will not appear on this list)

1. The 12 Dancing Princesses (Germany)
This story is kind of weird. Which would probably be part of the reason that I love it so much. The Twelve Dancing Princesses was originally published by the Brothers Grimm (unsurprising to be sure) and since then it has seen many different places and things. Including, Faerie Tale Theatre (Shelley Duvall!) and Barbie (ugh!).

The tale goes that a king becomes incredibly suspicious as to why his daughter's dancing shoes are always worn out every morning. Especially since they all sleep in the same room and their door is locked every night! They can't possibly be going out dancing! Or so he thinks. Of course, one can't blame him. He has to pay for new shoes for TWELVE DAUGHTERS every day... I'd be a little suspicious too.

He decides to give a reward to whomever can figure out what is happening to his daughters' shoes each night. A soldier arrives and decides he is going to try his luck. After meeting an old woman (who gives him an invisibility cloak and some good advice), he eventually discovers what is happening. I won't spoil it for you, but as the title suggests, it has to do with dancing girls.

If you are interested you can read the story here: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/TwelDanc.shtml
As far as I can tell it is the full story, at least as close to the version I have always read as I can get on the internet.

I always enjoyed this story just because I loved the idea of these princesses escaping their father for one night and dancing it away with handsome princes in an enchanted forest. Who wouldn't love to do that?!

2. Bluebeard (France)
"Bluebeard" was written by Charles Perrault, also known as Mother Goose. Bluebeard is not your typical fairy tale. It doesn't feature princesses or ghosts or anything like that. In fact, it is one of the most disturbing fairy tales I've ever had the pleasure of reading. And, something I didn't know before now, it may have been based on a couple of real people.

Bluebeard is NOT Prince Charming. No where near it in fact. He is described as hideously ugly because of his horrifically blue beard. Hence the name. At any rate, he has been married several times, but no one knows what has happened to his wives. (I'm sure you can see why that would be a little weird and somewhat frightening to any future wives) According to Monsieur Bluebeard, they all left him. But none of them returned to their families.

Eventually, after throwing many lavish parties, Bluebeard marries again. This young woman decides that under all that blue facial hair is a handsome and refined man that she wants to marry. And she does. After all, his beard isn't really all that blue. (<--- That is almost a verbatim quote from the story, just sayin')


So, this beautiful young woman moves into her husband's ridiculously huge house (I mean, the man has a key for every room, every closet, every cupboard, etc...) and is content with her lot. That is until the day her husband decides he has to go on a business trip. Because he knows that his new wife is young and because he knows she will miss him, he leaves her his keys and tells her to throw a huge party. To invite everyone she knows and have them stay with her for a few weeks while he is gone. His only stipulation is that she not open the little closet in the bottom floor of the house. He is even kind enough to show her the key that opens said forbidden closet. Of course she swears her loyalty to her husband by promising to not go anywhere near said forbidden room.


As soon as he is gone, she invites over everyone that she knows for a huge party. However, being a curious girl and a poor hostess, she quickly goes to the bottom floor of the house and opens the door to the little closet. What she finds there so startles her that she passes out, dropping the key. It is this little key that leads to her undoing.


Of course, you have to find a copy of the story to find out what happens, 'twould be a tragedy for me to spoil it.


3. The Girl with the Rose Red Slippers (Egypt)
I found this fairy tale not that long ago (about a year ago) while looking for stories from Egypt. This story is considered to be one of the first "Cinderella" stories every told.

A beautiful girl is bought as a slave. Except this owner is quite nice to her and somewhat indulges her, even giving her a pair of beautiful rose red slippers. One day, while she is bathing, an eagle comes out of nowhere and steals one of her rose red slippers (of which she was particularly fond) and makes off with it. The beautiful girl weeps bitterly over the loss, but resigns herself to it.

In the meantime the eagle (Horus' sacred bird) flies toward Memphis, (Egypt, not Tennessee) where Pharoah is currently. The bird swoops down over the courtyard and drops the slipper where Pharoah can see it. And, for some reason, because he thought the slipper was SO beautiful it MUST belong to a most beautiful woman. Which doesn't make much sense, because ugly girls like beautiful things too... Anyway, he determines to find said beautiful woman and issues a decree that they sure all of Egypt to find her.

For the rest of the story go to http://saraicrazyblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/few-interesting-bits.html (My previous blog post! :P)

4. The Old Hag's Long Leather Bag (Ireland)
This story never fails to amuse me. Partially because of the repetitive and exhaustive rhyming and the crazy. Mostly the crazy.

This story starts with a young widow who has all of her money stolen by an old woman passing herself off as a maid. Because of this the young woman and her three young daughters are forced to live hand to mouth for many years. When the time comes for the oldest of the three daughters to go out into the world she tells her mom to bake her a bannock (or at least that is what my version says, the version I found online definitely does not follow my story as closely) and send her on her way. Her mother asks if she will take a half of the bannock with her blessing or all of it without. Being greedy, the eldest daughter takes the whole without.

The oldest daughter goes into the world and meets up with an old woman. The old woman says she needs a maid and asks if the daughter will work for her. The daughter agrees and the old woman says, clean everything, but on your life do not look up the chimney (does that sound familiar?). The daughter promises. And for a few weeks she refrains from looking up the chimney. One day, however, while the old woman is out (playing bingo or attempting to cook Hansel and Gretel perhaps) the eldest daughter looks up the chimney. Inside she sees a long leather bag. She pulls it down and discovers her mother's entire fortune!

Well, obviously she takes off immediately with the long leather bag to go back to her mother and sisters. Along the way, however she meets many interesting things. Including a horse, a windmill, a goat, a sheep, a cow and a kiln.

Each one asks her for a favor and she refuses each time. When the old woman finally comes home and discovers her bag is gone she asks each animal/item the same question. The question goes like this (though not in the link I will give you, because as aforementioned they didn't follow my version):
"Horse of mine, have you seen this maid of mine? With my tig, with my tag, with my long leather bag and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a maid?" And because the eldest daughter was not nice and helped out the Horse would reply with she went that way.

She eventually catches the girl (she is asleep inside the windmill) and she strikes her with her cane turning her into a stone (the old woman isn't called a hag for nothing!).

Cut to the second daughter. Its been a year, so obviously her sister must be doing well and she decides she is going out into the world too. She also takes the whole bannock without her mother's blessing and meets up with the old woman. She also promises not to look up the chimney and eventually does. She also discovers her mother's fortune and takes off with it. And, just like her older sister, she isn't kind to the things she meets along the way.

Because of this she, too, ends up turned into a stone inside of the windmill.

Its now been two years since the eldest daughter left and a year since the middle daughter left. Obviously this is a sign that they are doing so well that they don't have to write home. The youngest daughter decides to follow their idea by going out into the world. Except, she takes the half a bannock with her mother's blessing, unlike her two greedy sisters.

So, because she is obviously different from her sisters, when the time comes that she is running back home with her mother's fortune she naturally stops to help those along the way that ask for help.

When the old woman follows suit, she asks: "Horse of mine, have you seen this maid of mine? With my tig, with my tag, with my long leather bag and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a maid?" and the horse basically says, "Do you think I have nothing better to do than to keep track of your maids?"

To find out what happens to the nice daughter and the two stones in the windmill you may follow this link: http://www.fantasy-web.com/kidskorner/bag.htm

5. Marya Morevna (Russia)
The story of Marya Morevna starts off with Prince Ivan. Prince Ivan has three beautiful sisters and he just inherited the kingdom of Russia. His sisters are, one by one, married off to some awesome shapeshifting princes and Ivan finds himself incredibly alone.

One day, while walking around on a battlefield, Ivan encounters the beautiful Warrior Princess Marya Morevna. He immediately falls in love with her and they get married. They live happily for a long time, but one day Marya decides that she must leave to fight someone or other and she makes Ivan promise not to go into a closet (or the upper turret, depending on which version you read. Also, doesn't that sound really familiar?). He promises, however, as soon as she is gone he totally opens it.

Inside he finds Koshchei the Deathless in chains, except Ivan doesn't know that. He just sees a withered old man who is begging for food and drink because Marya hasn't given him either in 10 years. Obviously, Ivan gives him water. Once Koshchei drinks up all the water he breaks his chains and vows to kidnap Marya. He takes off and poor Ivan realizes what an idiot he has been.

Not deterred by the creepy deathless dude that just escaped his wife's closet, Ivan vows to go after Marya and save her from Koshchei. On his journey to save his wife he decides to stop by and visit his three sisters as well. He explains to them and his brothers-in-law what has happened and each brother-in-law asks Ivan to leave something of his behind. Presumably to remember him by.

Anywho, eventually he finds Marya Morevna. He tells her that they should leave and that she should forgive him, though I wouldn't blame her if she didn't, since god only knows what Koshchei has been doing to her since he captured her.

However, Koshchei is not only Deathless, but he has a magical talk horse as well that stumbles when there is trouble. So Koshchei asks it what's going on? and the horse replies with one of my favorite lines in a story (partially because it is totally unnecessary and partially because it is ridiculous):

"It is possible to sow wheat, to wait 'til it grows up, to reap it and thresh it, to grind it to flour, to make five pies of it, to eat those pies, and then to start in pursuit - and even then to be in time."

So obviously, Koshchei catchs them. He tells Ivan that because he gave him water, he will spare him this time. He will even spare him the second time. However, if he attempts to rescue his wife a third time Koshchei will personally chop him into itty-bitty pieces.

Un-dettered by this threat. Ivan obviously rescues his wife again. The horse once again says something ridiculously impossible that they could do and still catch them and Koshchei once again says he will forgive Ivan. However, next time he will cut him up.

And again Ivan rescues Marya, so Koshchei chops him into little bits. Not only does he chop him into little bits though, Koshchei puts those bits into a barrel, covers the barrel with pitch and iron hoops and drops it in the middle of the ocean.

Now, as soon as that barrel falls into the ocean, the items Ivan left with his brothers-in-law turn black. Obviously this is a bad thing and the brothers-in-law set off to rescue their slightly derpy brother-in-law, Ivan.

The rest of the story can be found at http://www.horrormasters.com/Text/a3085.pdf

There you have it, my top 5 favorite fairy tales of all time. Expect more fairy tales sometime in the future, as I am a huge lover of fairy tales and fantasy. Nothing like a story where a little girl has her hands chopped off by her own father (which is apparently a parable about incest).

Lullaby for a Myth

I love this song. It is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard and it involves mythology. Always a plus for me.

For those of you who might not keep up to date on different mythologies, this song is about Arthurian legend and Mordred, the illegitimate son of King Arthur and his half-sister, Morgause (often confused with Morgan Le Fay). Mordred is considered one of the biggest villians in Arthurian legend, as he is a traitor and attempts to kill Arthur.

In this haunting lullaby, as sung by Heather Dale, Morgause is singing to her infant son about how he will be her weapon of revenge. How his loyalty to her will ultimately lead to his own death and the mortal wounds of King Arthur, "My Brother the traitor." She prophecies to her infant all that will happen in his story.

As a huge fan of mythology and legends in general, this song is both awesome in its theme and delightful in its sound. The Celtic feel lends credence to the theme and adds a touch of haunting beauty to the song.

Terminal

A terminal illness has crept into our soul and we only have so long to live.

We spend all of our time thinking about what is going to happen to us.

We are a beautiful hourglass slowly losing all of its sand.
Time is Running Out.

Doomsday is near and I am Andromeda tied to the rock with no Perseus to save me.

Do we move forward?

We certainly can't move backwards. There is no going back and we can't stand
at this impasse forever.

There is no choice, but to move forward.

And what a bitter future lies ahead? What tests that we cannot pass?
What pieces of ourselves must be sacrificed to the heathen gods for just a few moments more?

Is all of this in my head?
Or am I doomed to awaken next to the bones of what could've been beautiful once?

In Honor of St. Valentine's Day

For those with significant others this is a major holiday. Completely massive, filled with love and hearts, flowers and chocolates, sex and romance. Or a huge fight because your significant other completely spaced it was Valentine's Day and got you absolutely nothing.

If you are completely unattached this is generally the suckiest day of your year. Why? Because it only seems to amplify the fact that you are completely alone, unattractive, unloved. Unless you enjoy being single and are totally okay with being alone on the most "romantic" holiday of the year.

But how did this holiday start up? Did it always have cute chubby babies with wings flying around and shooting people with heart shaped arrows? Did it always have a shit-ton of cards and chocolate being sold for ridiculous prices that we pay to satisfy loved ones? I think not.

There are many legends surrounding St. Valentine and who he might have been. In Catholic tradition there are three St. Valentines, all of whom were martyred during the early AD. The most popular reason for St. Valentine's death is that he helped young couples marry during a time when marriage had essentially been outlawed by the emperor.

The real reason for St. Valentine's Day though, probably stems from Lupercalia, a Roman holiday of both fertility and matchmaking. During Lupercalia (which started on the 15th of February) young women would put their names into an urn and bachelors would pick out a name. Whomever they picked they were paired with during the festival. Sometimes this lead to being paired for a year, sometimes it lead to marriage.

However, as was the case for most holidays during that time, Lupercalia was deemed Pagan by the church and Christians were forbidden from participating. The "Roman Lottery" was banned during the Medieval period as being un-Christian. In hopes of finding a holiday fit for Christians to celebrate, the church did what I call "Sprucing up the Bum".

The church takes the essence of a pagan holiday (for example "love") and adds some Christian figures here and there and next thing you know it has been turned into a Christian Holiday. Essentially taking a dirty bum off the street and putting a big red bow on his head and declaring him a Christian.

All of that still does not explain why we send cards and candy to one another during this day. Or why a chubby baby is associated with it.

It is believed that the first Valentine was sent by Charles, Duke of Orleans to his wife. It is the oldest known Valentine, a poem written in 1415, sent while he was imprisoned in the Tower of London.

St. Valentine's Day was quite popular during the Middle Ages, the era of Courtly Love and Medieval Romance. And during that time little tokens or "Valentines" were sent. Sometimes they were little cards or small rings or other small items. This tradition continued to the 18th century when the first printed cards were made. I'm assuming candy just came in where the small rings and other such items left off.

The chubby baby that we see floating around during this time is supposed to be Cupid, the son of Venus (goddess of Love) and Mars (god of War) (at least in Roman Mythology), the god of Desire, Erotic Love (hence sometimes being called Eros) and Affection. He is almost always portrayed as either a nude young man or a nude baby, though there are portrayals of him as a handsome man in his twenties. He was known to shoot golden arrows to inspire romantic love and be quite mischievous.

The most common myth about Cupid is that he was ordered by Venus to cause a young woman, named Psyche, to fall in love with something/someone vile. While trying to do this Cupid was scratched by his own golden arrow and fell deeply in love with Psyche. After that he visited her every night, but forbade her to look at his face. One night she could resist the temptation no longer and gazed upon his face, angering the god so that he left. Psyche, in love with him, searched everywhere for him so that Jupiter (also known as Zeus) gave her immortality so that she and Cupid could be together forever.

Ever since then Cupid has been associated with this holiday as a bringer of love and desire. Piercing many hearts with his golden arrows.

But you want to know my favorite part of this holiday?

The St. Valentine's Day Massacre!

In 1929 on February 14th, 7 men were gunned down in a garage, all but one were killed instantly and the only man still living died three hours later, saying absolutely nothing useful. It is believed that this crime was perpetuated by Al Capone, although he had a fairly solid alibi for the time. Why Al Capone you may ask? Because the men that were gunned down were members (or past time members) of Bugs Moran's gang, a rival to Al Capone.

But the truth of the matter is, no one actually knows who killed these guys or why. There are a lot of assumptions and ideas, but nothing concrete. Everyone who was thought to be involved either died or was cleared by Chicago police. Who doesn't love a good mystery and bloody massacre on their romantic holiday?

Word of the Day (April 22 - May 4)

Sorry that I am so far behind guys!!! Here are the words of the day from where I left off to now! ^^

April 22nd: Empyrean
April 23rd: Ambisinister
April 24th: Oneiric
April 25th: Egregious
April 26th: Gelid
April 27th: Aubade
April 28th: Eschew
April 29th: Coquetry
April 30th: Billet-Doux
May 1st: Quixotic
May 2nd: Arcanum
May 3rd: Islet
May 4th: Trepidatious

Empyrean
The sky was a cloudless empyrean, dusted with silver stars. An ivory moon combed out her black hair, her children dancing. It was a perfect night. He smiled at her, a million diamonds reflected in the mirror of her eyes. He knelt before her, the small box tenderly held out. "Will you marry me?"

Ambisinister
It was difficult being ambisinister. Always so clumsy, always dropping stuff. Of course, it might be less difficult if you actually had hands to be ambisinister with. No, that just doesn't make sense! Having hands might make me less clumsy? I might drop less items that way?

Oneiric
The sands of time drip slowly through the hourglass for those whose outlook is oneiric. Often contemplative, they watch the sand sift down and psycho-analyze each grain. Dreamy, they see rainbows where there are blood streaked skies. They see stars through the smog, when the stars have all faded into non-existence. They do not see reality in black and white, but in shades of violet and cream. Maybe that is why they seem so much happier; existing in a dream world.

Egregious
"You're such an egregious liar, Persephone! As if anybody really believes Hades kidnapped you. And not only that, you ate something so you can't come back?! If you didn't want to do the play with us you could've at least said so! Now, because of this stunt, we have to find a replacement last minute! Zeus' genitalia, this is ridiculous!"

Gelid
That winter was particularly gelid; the roads coated in generous amounts of snow. Brian and Chelsea were sledding down the hill, racing. It was kind of a date, though neither had admitted their crush. Soon they were at the bottom, sprawled out and entangled. They didn't mean to kiss, it just happened. Snowflakes on eyelashes framing green eyes were not meant to be resisted.

Aubade
The muse awoke from her rose petal slumber, an aubade on her lips. The sun's birth approached, the sky opening itself to his fiery entrance. She picked up her lyre and found her way to the balcony of heaven. She sat on the ledge, draping her blue skirts about her. Today's song would be a lullaby, a lure for the dawn. As her fingers danced, the newborn ascended his thorn, bloody embers glowing softly.

Eschew
"To eschew sexuality, and its gifts, would be the worst kind of sin." The cult leader had been talking in this vein for days. "We must cast our virginity upon the altar of lust and love, giving it up as incense to the God of Heaven. We must lift up our rumpled clothes and rejoice in the good gift of sex." Women began stripping off their shirts and bras, men began to tug at their pants. A God induced sexual frenzy was in full swing before you could say "My penis' name is Boris".

Coquetry
The art of coquetry had not been entirely lost on her. It was just so subtle, too subtle for her tastes. She preferred boldly asserting herself to the subtle dalliance of coquetry. Her mother, however, wanted her to be quiet and meek. She was neither quiet nor meek, nor was she gentle and mild-mannered. She was wild and she intended to stay that way.

Billet-Doux
He had been up the entire night perfecting his billet-doux. His sweetheart deserved perfection in every way, especially in love letters. A sweet note to a sweet girl, he thought. Love was such a funny colored thing! One moment it flared red with passion, the next it was white with purity. This letter would never be finished, as love goes on forever.

Quixotic
It was a quixotic dance to them, rushing in, bullets flying. A damsel in distress was unnecessary for them. The sound of bullets ringing against concrete spurred fire through their blood. It was reckless and romantic, a modern fairy tale. They would go down swinging, rebels without a cause. Fighting only windmills on paper horses, they ride into destiny.

Arcanum
The professor was talking on and on about arcanum and long dead alchemists. Cindy was falling asleep. She began to dream as she drifted, the professor's words a lazy drone. She was lost in a cave, the walls rising high and glittering. She could feel secrets as old as time itself pressing down on her. This is what the professor meant by arcanum.

Islet
On a summer lit islet a girl watches as violets are gathered. She is a sacrifice to the heart of the small island. They fill the sea chest with the tiny flowers until it overflows with purple and green. They lead her to the box and force her down. Her eyes glimmer with fear as they prepare the knife. When the moon rises it rises over a murdered mermaid and bloody violets.

Trepidatious
Trepidatious, she crawled out of the vault. Everything was so big! There was a blinding light coming out of the sky, at least she thought it was a sky. The first thing she came in contact with was a small building with a woman named Silver living in it. All fear gone, she spoke with Silver for a time and headed for a place called Megaton. The search for her father had now begun in earnest.

I am God. And this is my Penis, Boris.

I decided to be random and post this lovely little blog. The following is something I wrote:

Hi, I'm God and I'm here to help you... Oh wait, I have to take another call, one moment!
Aside: Um, yeah, I'd like the beefy bean burrito... Extra cheese. No, no tomatoes. I don't know why I created that stuff.
Okay, back. So um, yeah, Africa needs me today. Sorry about your luck.
*Evaporates in a cloud of beefy-ness*

This next piece, however, was not. It was written by someone on DeviantArt by the name of Cosmic Penguin:

“Do you think my penis is too small?” God was in my living room, His pants around His ankles.
“I don’t know, Lord. Don’t they have pills for that in heaven?”
“It’s not as small as it looks,” God said, waving His holy member back and forth to some inaudible beat. “See, most people have good or bad hair days. I have God hair, it always looks the same. There’s a lot of it, and it sticks out in every fucking direction. Instead, I have good and bad penis days. When I wake up in the morning I look down into my holy undershorts to check on the blessed phallus, and depending on how it looks, I know what kind of day it’s going to be. Last Tuesday I woke up and the damn thing was hanging halfway down my thigh. I won three bucks from a scratch-off lotto card. Three bucks! But now I think it’s on a waning cycle. Does it look like its receding to you?”
I examined the Lord’s penis. Something was indeed very wrong.
“You aren’t really God, are you?” I asked.
God stopped shaking his penis and looked at the floor sadly.
“No.” He pulled His pants up to his stomach and left.
I’ve been an atheist ever since.


If God had a penis, what would He name it? I would think Boris. I don't know why. I just do. Boris is a nice name. Good, Russian name, right? Or does that sound to much like Boris from Rocky and Bullwinkle? Does God watch Rocky and Bullwinkle?

Donnie says He (As in God) would name it "The Holy Member". I say that is a boring name. He also says Why would God want a Penis? I don't know, but I am curious now. I mean, man WAS made in HIS image. And Man has a Penis. Then again, woman was taken out of Man and she has a Vagina. So does God have a Vagina?

Would He have Boobs too? I named mine David and Daniel. Would God name His Boobs, if He had them? Why did I name my boobs anyway? Is there a specific point to naming body parts?

Trent says:
*What do you need help with?
Sarai says:
*If God had a penis, what would He name it? I said Boris and Fawn and Donnie said "The Holy Member"
*What do you think?
Trent says:
*The Pearly Gate
Sarai says:
*Why?
Trent says:
**giggles*
Sarai says:
*I'm serious. Why?
Trent says:
*Because it's the gate that spews liquid pearly stuff.

For your enjoyment here are some articles about Gods and their penises. (Or is it Peni?)

Priapus: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priapus
Min: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Min_%28god%29

This has been a very penile blog. I hope you enjoyed it. I think I need a cigarette.

This has been Sarai and I am OUT!

I thought Love was a Myth

Okay so this is crazy because I am going to post randomly. I'm not posting any pictures or recipes or videos or news. Just Sarai. You need a pure dose of Sarai every now then when it isn't intertwined with news, pictures, recipes or videos to stay alive. Bet you didn't know that.

So I am completely insane. You probably figured that out by now. And I have nothing interesting to relate, because I am ENTIRELY TOO BORED with the internet and the world right now.

I dream about seeing the Eiffel Tower in the Autumn. Starry red and gold leaves cascading to the ground and the scent of a café. I want to stand underneath it while it rains and watching the people running for safety.

I think about our world, how it is deteriorating and all the wildlife that is slowly disappearing into the oblivion of legend. It isn't fair.

I hate how people disregard history, how they forget and ignore it. I hate how we just let historical sites fall into disrepair and then it has to be demolished.

I have fallen in love with a dying man, as we are all dying of the human condition. I am dying, you are dying. The world is ending. But I don't think it will end in 2012, just so you know.

I believe in mermaids and unicorns and ghosts. I believe in the stars as they dance above me, I wish they could hear me.

Do the ones we love look down on us after they are gone? Are we re-incarnated or do we just fade out, like a candle at the end of its wick? I hope I am re-incarnated as a flower. An unobtrusive and beautiful flower like a tiny calla lily hidden by stones near a quiet stream. Doesn't that sound perfect?

I want to see the ocean under a violent sky.

I love it when it snows, but I wish it was warmer. I miss the flowers, like the sun misses them in winter. Beauty is cold, you know? It is you know.

I love giraffes. I have an affinity for strange and awkward animals. Like porcupines and platypi and narwhals and giraffes and penguins. Admittedly, who doesn't love a cute little penguin?

Well I'm getting ready to head out of here. Have to go eat with my friend. So I hope you have enjoyed just me. I am going to write more eventually about more interesting things than what I have been rambling about here.

Sarai

A Few Interesting Bits

MATTHEW ERIC WRINKLES
December 11, 2009

Last Meal: Wrinkles had a final meal request of a prime rib with a "loaded" baked potato, pork chops with steak fries, two salads with ranch dressing and rolls.

This Website promotes T-Shirts of people's hairstyles.
http://hirsutehistory.com/

A great Website with ALL sorts of Recipes for every person. I love Tastespotting!
www.tastespotting.com/



A rather Drunk Australia careened through the continents and has ended up upside down and wedged in the North Atlantic Ocean.
http://www.satirewire.com/news/jan02/australia.shtml

When you think about dying, how do you picture yourself going? I kind of hope it is in my sleep so I don't know it happened. That's just me personally.

Well this guy, Bernd Jürgen Brandes decided that dying in your sleep was just too passé. Instead he opted for the getting stabbed multiple times, having his penis cut off and eaten, and partially eating some of his penis himself. Its true.

Armin Meiwes was a murderer and a cannibal. Now he is a vegetarian. Oh the irony.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armin_Meiwes

The Girl with the Rose Red Slippers (An Egyptian Myth, possibly the first version of Cinderella ever told)

In the last days of Ancient Egypt, not many years before the country was conquered by the Persians, she was ruled by a Pharaoh called Amasis. So as to strengthen his country against the threat of invasion by Cyrus of Persia, who was conquering all the known world, he welcomed as many Greeks as wished to trade with or settle in Egypt, and gave them a city called Naucratis to be entirely their own.

In Naucratis, not far from the mouth of the Nile that flows into the sea at Canopus, there lived a wealthy Greek merchant called Charaxos. His true home was in the island of Lesbos, and the famous poetess Sappho was his sister; but he had spent most of his life trading with Egypt, and in his old age he settled at Naucratis.

One day when he was walking in the marketplace he saw a great crowd gathered round the place where the slaves were sold. Out of curiosity he pushed his way into their midst, and found that everyone was looking at a beautiful girl who had just been set up on the stone rostrum to be sold.

She was obviously a Greek with white skin and cheeks like blushing roses, and Charaxos caught his breath - for he had never seen anyone so lovely.

Consequently, when the bidding began, Charaxos determined to buy her and, being one of the wealthiest merchants in all Naucratis, he did so without much difficulty.

When he had bought the girl, he discovered that her name was Rhodopis and that she had been carried away by pirates from her home in the north of Greece when she was a child. They had sold her to a rich man who employed many slaves on the island of Samos, and she had grown up there, one of her fellow slaves being an ugly little man called Aesop who was always kind to her and told her the most entrancing stories and fables about animals and birds and human beings.

But when she was grown up, her master wished to make some money out of so beautiful a girl and had sent her to rich Naucratis to be sold.

Charaxos listened to her tale and pitied her deeply. Indeed very soon he became quite besotted about her. He gave her a lovely house to live in, with a garden in the middle of it, and slave girls to attend on her. He heaped her with presents of jewels and beautiful clothes, and spoiled her as if she had been his own daughter.

One day a strange thing happened as Rhodopis was bathing in the marble-edged pool in her secret garden. The slave-girls were holding her clothes and guarding her jeweled girdle and her rose-red slippers of which she was particularly proud, while she lazed in the cool water - for a summer's day even in the north of Egypt grows very hot about noon.

Suddenly when all seemed quiet and peaceful, an eagle came swooping down out of the clear blue sky - down, straight down as if to attack the little group by the pool. The slave-girls dropped everything they were holding and fled shrieking to hide among the trees and flowers of the garden; and Rhodopis rose from the water and stood with her back against the marble fountain at one end of it, gazing with wide, startled eyes.

But the eagle paid no attention to any of them. Instead, it swooped right down and picked up one of her rose-red slippers in its talons. Then it soared up into the air again on its great wings and, still carrying the slipper, flew away to the south over the valley of the Nile.

Rhodopis wept at the loss of her rose-red slipper, feeling sure that she would never see it again, and sorry also to have lost anything that Charaxos had given to her.

But the eagle seemed to have been sent by the gods - perhaps by Horus himself whose sacred bird he was. For he flew straight up the Nile to Memphis and then swooped, down towards the palace.

At that hour Pharaoh Amasis sat in the great courtyard doing justice to his people and hearing any complaints that they wished to bring.

Down over the courtyard swooped the eagle and dropped the rose-red slipper of Rhodopis into Pharaoh's lap.

The people cried out in surprise when they saw, this, and Amasis too was much taken aback. But, as he took up the little rose-red slipper and admired the delicate workmanship and the tiny size of it, he felt that the girl for whose foot it was made must indeed be one of the loveliest in the world.

Indeed Amasis the Pharaoh was so moved by what had happened that he issued a decree:

"Let my messengers go forth through all the cities of the Delta and, if need be, into Upper Egypt to the very borders of my kingdom. Let them take with them this rose-red slipper which the divine bird of Horus has brought to me, and let them declare that her from whose foot this slipper came shall be the bride of Pharaoh!"

Then the messengers prostrated themselves crying, 'Life, health, strength be to Pharaoh! Pharaoh has spoken and his command shall be obeyed!'

So they set forth from Memphis and went by way of Heliopolis and Tanis and Canopus until they came to Naucratis. Here they heard of the rich merchant Charaxos and of how he had bought the beautiful Greek girl in the slave market, and how he was lavishing all his wealth upon her as if she had been a princess put in his care by the gods.

So they went to the great house beside the Nile and found Rhodopis in the quiet garden beside the pool.

When they showed her the rose-red slipper she cried out in surprise that it was hers. She held out her foot so that they could see how well it fitted her; and she bade one of the slave girls fetch the pair to it which she had kept carefully in memory of her strange adventure with the eagle.

Then the messengers knew that this was the girl whom Pharaoh had sent them to find, and they knelt before her and said, 'The good god Pharaoh Amasis - life, health, strength be to him! - bids you come with all speed to his palace at Memphis. There you shall be treated with all honor and given a high place in his Royal House of Women: for he believes that Horus the son of Isis and Osiris sent that eagle to bring the rose-red slipper and cause him to search for you.'

Such a command could not be disobeyed. Rhodopis bade farewell to Charaxos, who was torn between joy at her good fortune and sorrow at his loss, and set out for Memphis.

And when Amasis saw her beauty, he was sure that the gods had sent her to him. He did not merely take her into his Royal House of Women, he made her his Queen and the Royal Lady of Egypt. And they lived happily together for the rest of their lives and died a year before the coming of Ambyses the Persian.

Snow Ice Cream (A Recipe)
First, bundle up and go outside to gather up some fresh snow. Make sure that it’s not yellow! (There are a lot of dogs in my neighborhood so I have to be extra careful).
Ingredients:
• 8 cups snow (lightly packed)
• 1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Sprinkle of cinnamon
Lightly pack snow in to serving bowls. Mix the condensed milk and vanilla in a separate bowl. Pour on top of your snowballs, mix to combine, and add a dash of cinnamon if you wish. Serve immediately!

Crazy Picture of the Day!