The Biography of the Pirate Queen

Excuse me, have we met?

Oh, I guess not... but your face did look a little familiar just then... Huh, that's weird.

Well, since we don't know each other, please let me introduce myself.

My name is Virginia, but since I like your face, you can call me Verge. Not Virg. VERGE...as in, "I'm on the Verge of doing something really f'in' crazy."

Let's see... What do you want to know?

Oh... Well, there really isn't that much to tell, but I'll give it my best shot.

I work in a Saltmine, and I try to make life bearable for the inmates.

I'm constantly battling ninjas, usually in the forms of standardized testing and people with no senses of humor or proportion.

Essentially, most of my life consists of doing these two things:

1. Telling stories
2. Picking up after people's messes, both literally and figuratively.

Since I work in a Saltmine I tend to be dirty, covered in germs, and exhausted.

I subsist most of the time on Redbull and hope.

I rollerblade in the dark, drive fast on dirt roads in the middle of nowhere at all hours of the night, and watch the sun come up from unlikely spots.

I like to pretend that superheroes could be real... I think I may have met one once.

I try to do my best, work hard, and I hope I'll make a difference in your life, now that we've met.

I laugh a lot.

I laugh as loud as I can.

I refuse to "grow up" or "take things seriously."

I think in haiku, and I meditate during long meetings.

I amuse myself by wearing name tags that say "Lola," "Bubbles," and "Trixie."

I'm always searching for the truth behind the lies that we all (myself included) seem to spout so easily.

I often refuse to sleep, because I don't want to miss anything good... or bad.

I hate milk.

I love cheesecake and white chocolate, and I watch football and basketball so I can yell at the screen.

If you come over here, I'll tell you a story... It's about some ninjas and a duck in White's Park.

I'll make you laugh if at all possible, sometimes at the most inappropriate imagery you'll ever hear. I used to have a sense of propriety, but I gave it up for Lent.

I'm not Catholic.

I was broken badly a few times, and I fixed myself... But I'm still not 100%.

I'm still hoping for a hero... but I'm losing my faith.

If you tell me what you need, I'll help.

If you smile when you see me, it'll make my day, and I'll do just about anything for you.

If you mess with me, I'll mess right back, but don't worry, I don't hit... Unless you're a redneck who picks on people weaker than you.

If possible, I'll save you... Or better yet, I'll help you save yourself.


Well, I guess that's all you need to know about me... See what I mean? I'm not all that interesting... I'm pretty much just like everyone else, but I keep hoping that someday I'll be as awesome as you are.

It's been nice talking with you... I hope you'll remember me when I'm gone, 'cause I could sail off into the sunset any day. And you never can tell when sharks, ninjas, or a bus with no brakes could strike.

Party like a rock star.



Just sayin'.

Namaste.

It Starts with The Fixer and Ends with Two Horses

Part One - The Fixer

Okay, so here's a tale with two parts... and may or may not be true. (Though, as per usual, names have been changed in order to protect both the innocent and the guilty. Just sayin').

This is a story for anyone who has ever had a small, or large, fuzzy friend with a speech impediment. (No, I don't mean your cousin Denis. I'm talking about a pet, you n00b).

_________________________________________________________

So on Friday, I was sitting in the Literary Dungeon with Lockheed/Falcor and The Fixer, and this Wolverine-esque hero was resting on his heels (claws retracted for the moment).

He made an insightful comment.

This is something he is wont to do at various times, and leads me to believe that he is secretly (even to himself, no doubt) a Zen Master. This is entirely fitting since the greatest masters generally see themselves as silly and foolish, and as a result they absolutely refuse to take the world or themselves too seriously... And they have the most fun mocking all those people who walk around with 2x4's shoved firmly up their asses.

These wise people generally go about, teasing others and making them laugh out loud at both opportune and inopportune moments. (Naturally, if you were to make such a comment to The Fixer in person he would pantomime a rude activity, laugh, and walk away with an exaggerated swagger in order to cover his embarrassment over being called any such thing as "wise.")

The Fixer? Who is this Zen Master-like individual? I know you must be curious, since it is so unlike me to begin a story with myself as a subordinate character... Has the world gone mad??

No, no, not at all.

You see, I have recently gained employment at Professor Xavier's Saltmine for the Gifted, and The Fixer is on the "A" team (so to speak) of the facility. (I barely made the "B" team, and that's mostly because the coach felt bad for me... You'll see me at the games, sitting on the bench and drinking water, all suited up and no balls to throw--Ha ha... God I'm so juvenile, I still laugh when I hear the word "balls").

Anyway, I say this because I want you to get an accurate picture of the situation, and as you know, I'm all about characters and imagery. In this case, I was in a perfect position to see the reality of my new situation, because I entered the game so late in the year, when patterns had already been firmly established. I met The Fixer early on, and I recognized him immediately. If you'd been there, and been paying attention (as so few people do) you would've spotted him too. He's the guy that actually does all the stuff to make other people's grandiose ideas happen. Naturally, no one seems to appreciate this until he's not around for a few hours... At this point, generally at least 2 people will, at some point, say to someone else...

"I need __________. Where's The Fixer?"

You know the saying, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"? Well, it's a cliche for a reason, my friends.

Anyway, I digress. The real point is the comment he made, which will lead me into the second half of my tale.

I will do my best to quote him accurately, but if the statement comes out sounding slightly less profound than you are expecting after all this build up, believe me, the fault is entirely mine and in no way his.

He said (referring to Lockheed/Falcor), "She's the world's smallest therapist. Everyone needs that."

Simply stated, but true on so many levels.

This struck me as being both insightful and wise, and the words have run through my head at odd moments ever since, especially today.

Funny how the simplest truths are so often taken for granted, don't you think?

And here's the real point... The Fixer managed to say in less than 10 words what I am about to say to you with the entire second half of this story.

Perhaps someday I will be as good as that.

But I'm not holding my breath.




Part Two - The Horses


And now here's "the rest of the story" as a famous man once said.

My father is a caretaker for some very nice people who live in our part of the world. For the past three years, a large part of his responsibility has been to look after the care and feeding of two humongous black and white Clydesdales named, of all things, Ben and Bob.

Ben and Bob, for all their size and magesty, are aptly named. The two bonded instantly with my father, who had never been responsible for horses before. Whenever he arrived at the barn, they would come trotting out to him. If he was in their paddock, they would follow him around like two puppies, and he is the only human they would obey or take orders from. When Bob had colic, and the vet was afraid he would die of it, my father stayed up 24 hours a day with him for almost an entire week, laying on the barn floor, and keeping Bob from rolling and endangering himself.

Ben and Bob love my dad, and he loves them.

Imagine if you can two 3,000 lb., stunningly gorgeous and strong... well, puppies.

Over the course of the two years, I became quite close to those two boys also, and that's how this story comes as a result of The Fixer's comment.

You see, the boys left today.

I didn't cry when they got on their horse-trailer, headed for Wyoming... I was strong. I was me.

But after they left, I had a sudden need to go for an extended drive by myself.

I know... I know... You probably don't get it, so I'll explain further, but in order to do so I may have to tell you some things about myself that you haven't heard before... Please, once you've read it, destroy this communication. I don't want any ninjas to see it.

And don't let it ruin your image of me as a kick-ass, tough-as-cold-iron, heartlessly, ruthlessly evil bitch who doesn't need anyone or anything.

I am, and I don't.

So there.



Here's the deal:

Last April I received a tremendous blow. I found out, quite suddenly, that the Saltmine I was working in was going to be closing. I was absolutely devastated, though I think most people thought that I was fine at the time. Of course, they thought this pretty much because I didn't tell anyone.

No, I'm totally serious.

I told almost no one. You see, I own my house, but the property taxes on that house are almost 8,000 dollars per year, and while my parents pay half (they live on the other side of the duplex) they most definitely can not afford to take up the slack if I am without employment. Not to mention all the other assorted bills, etc. that I pay... oil, cell phone, electricity... You get the idea.

I couldn't tell them that I would be jobless.

I just couldn't.

And since I couldn't tell them... I pretty much couldn't tell anyone.

For two and a half months, I went about everywhere with a sense of dread pressing on me like a hand over a screaming mouth. I counted down the paychecks.

I ended by nearly making myself physically ill.

And I was absolutely lost. There was no one I could confide in. As you know... I walk alone.

I'm tough. I'm the one people rely on. I'm the "dependable" one; the one who does what she's told and doesn't complain. I keep a happy face and take care of other people. I blend in with the wall, and when I'm gone people don't really notice much.

I'm just... there.

Most of the time, I'm cool with this... But it can be hard.

I can handle it, but quite frankly... It absolutely sucks to be alone.

And I felt entirely alone, except for the boys.

On most days, when I left for school, I would leave extra early and drop by the barn.

Frequently I stopped in on my way home as well.

Ben and Bob were always happy to see me. I would walk up to their stalls, and they would come out and stand next to me. I could put my arms around their huge necks and just, rest. I told them everything... and I don't give a shit what anyone says about "not anthropomorphizing" animals... I know they listened. Just about the only time I could forget my abject terror was when I had my head pressed to Ben's or Bob's huge shoulder... Feeling their enormous heartbeats under my hands. That was the only time I could let go of control with no fear of being judged, told what to do, offered useless advice, or worst of all... Pitied.

I despise being pitied. I would rather be hated.

I would even rather be ignored completely... And I LOATHE being ignored.

Those two boys have part of my soul, and I gave it willingly.

Of course, considering the size of my small, dark, evil smelling soul... what they gave me was surely far more valuable.

Well... The story has a happy, yet bittersweet ending.

I managed to get another job exactly one week after school ended last year. On the day I was offered the job, I finally told my mother that I had lost my old one because the saltmine was closing... and as I anticipated, she totally lost her shit. Her question of course had merit. She said, "Were you EVER going to tell us?"

My response, "Only if I had to."

I mean really, what would have been the point? There was nothing anyone could, or would, do to help me. So why worry anyone else? I handled it myself, and it came out okay in the end. What more can anyone hope for?

See what I mean about the Lone Wolf thing? Yeah, I thought so.

Naturally... I utterly despised the new job from day one. But I took it, and I smiled, and I said "Thank you." Because it was what I had to do.

Luckily, some benevolent force in the universe finally took pity on me, and now I am working at Xavier's School for the Gifted.

Best. School. Ever.

It totally fucking ROCKS.

And, like the sands through the hourglass...time rolls on.



But today, Ben and Bob left for Wyoming, and a part of me that I can never have back goes with them.

What do I do without my large, sweet, funny smelling "therapists"?

I have no idea.

Good thing I'm so damn tough.

Afterall... The Pirate Queen rides alone, and to show sadness is to show weakness.

Weakness means death and mutiny.

So I smile and laugh.

And when I feel that empty place inside, I will try to fill it with the battle cry I use when I fall upon a ninja with sword and pistol.

And sometimes it will work.

It's the best I've got for now... and I'll take whatever I can get.



Good bye Ben. Good bye Bob. I love you.


Okay, it's time to wrap this sappy shit up before I drive you to an act of violence... Here goes:



If you, like The Fixer, understand the importance of "tiny therapists" my hat is off to you. You are wise, my friend, and I respect you enough to offer you a place on my ship when the inevitable zombie apocalypse threatens to drown us all in a tide of black bile and twitching body parts.

Thanks for everything.

Your loyal and fearless, (yet oddly clueless)


Pirate Queen

Got Family?

Okay, so the truth is, I did not become a ninja battling pirate queen grammarian superhero without some assistance.

Believe it or not, I have a family.

In fact, I have an enormous family... There is actually a "Warren Family Reunion" today, and there will be over 200 people in attendance. It's crazy. It's in Maine, in a town called Buckfield. Trust me, there is no way I could have made that up on my own.

On my father's side alone I have:

7 uncles
2 aunts
25+ cousins (When I got to 25 I lost count in my head and gave up)

And that's not counting my cousin's children (There are over 12 of them now) or my grandparents and my great-aunts and uncles (Still over 10 of them at last count).

It's truly insane to me. (Which is probably why I live in NH, aka, a safe distance away).

That's not to say that I don't love them all... of course I do... But--25 freaking cousins? You have GOT to be kidding. And of course, lucky, lucky, lucky me... I was the oldest girl, surpassed only by my cousin Brent who managed to pop out of the womb a whole 3 days before I did, that rat bastard. Just kidding, we were total BFFs until he moved to Brockton. (Seriously, who does that)?

Of course, the most important ones to me are Varneta and Cheryl, since I spent my formative years running around in the woods with them, reading "Herself the Elf" and "The Black Cauldron" to them, riding bikes with no breaks while one of them sat on the back, and in general fighting, ignoring, laughing, mentally torturing, and playing dress up with them.

The others? I think most of them thought we were the crazy ones.

Huh. They were probably right about that.

But we made it look good.

Well, hell... At least I know that if I suddenly find myself in a gutter somewhere I can always haul my ass up to Maine, and chances are good that SOMEONE there will have to take me in, regardless of how weird or hopeless they find me to be.

Ahh... Family.

I Have Evil Thoughts, Or, Why It's So Hard to Be Good in This Big, Bad World

I tell you what... It's hard to be a ninja-battling, grammarian super hero sometimes. Especially when I have evil thoughts that clearly belong to someone like The Joker as opposed to the pure and innocent thoughts of say... Supergirl.

So here's what happened...

After school I met my friend Papergrrrl for a drink at Club Seven. It was chill, and all was well with the world. We talked of various things... ships, and shoes, and sealing wax, and whether pigs have wings... etc. (10 points to you if you get the reference there).

Well, I wasn't really hungry, having just recently feasted with the superheroes at Xavier's mansion, but Papergrrrl was feeling the need for some red meat, so we went to a local chain watering hole.

About 10 minutes after we got seated, coming from the kitchen I heard the sounds of rhythmic clapping and singing, and I cringed inside.

It was the employees, leaving their fortress of solitude in order to sing a "Happy Happy Birthday" song to some unsuspecting customer. The whole time they did their shtick, I had an overwhelming urge to slide down in my booth seat, and disappear from view under the tablecloth... completely reversing my transition to adulthood.

You see, until I was about 5 years old, I refused to sit anywhere except UNDER the table when my parents took me out with them to a restaurant. Honest. They would order, and when it arrived, I would stick my hand out from under the table, and my mother would pass me the food. It wasn't until my sister was born that I actually began to sit AT the table, and that was mostly because she did fun things that I could watch, like fill some stranger's pocketbook with ketchup-covered, half-eaten french fries. Seriously, totally true story.

But, I digress.

The fact is... I absolutely DETEST it when that whole, song thing happens in any restaurant where I happen to be dining. For some reason that I can't really understand, I feel embarrassment vicariously.

Now, I realize the irony here, since I frequently embarrass both myself and others... But that's totally by MY choice, not someone else's.

Now here's where it gets evil...

When the "blessed event" was over. I sat there for a minute... Thinking.

Apparently, my evil thoughts were evident in my smile, because Papergrrrl said, "What the hell are you thinking about? You look like a super villain concocting an evil plan.

Well, here's my thought...

How hilarious would it be, if I went to a restaurant where they do that sort of on the spot embarrassing song, picked a random person out of the crowd, called the waitress over to my table and said,

"Do you see that guy over there? Yeah, him. Well, I'm his "friend," and I happen to know that it's his birthday today. If I buy him a dessert and a drink, would you bring them to him and sing that song?"

Then, when they did it, more likely than not, the server would tell the guy who sent the cake, and I could totally give a little wave and a wink, and then walk out--a woman of mystery and devious wiles.

Damn, I've always wished I had wiles.

Sadly, all I've got is mousy brown hair and an ugly nose that makes me look like Princess Fiona (ogre version)

Still...

Just the thought made me totally laugh out loud and gave me a little thrill.

Can you imagine?

*sigh*

But of course, I can never allow myself to do such a thing... Just imagine if the poor guy was on a date? Or, even worse... with his wife. Oh Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick... I'd probably end up on the six o'clock news as a shooting victim.

I wonder if that death would be spectacular enough to get me a seat at the cool kid's table in hell?

I tell you... I do not regret for a moment choosing to defend the innocent and down-trodden, or taking the high road...(I really try to do these things, in my bumbling and imperfect way).

But there are times when I really really wish...

I could be BAD.

Oh well, perhaps in my next life I can come back as an arch villain...

I'm already practicing my evil laughter.

On Letting Go...

Okay, so let's just agree for the next few minutes that perception is reality, just for the sake of argument.

I had a sort of epiphany today.

It was the day after the last day of school. No kids. Everyone kind of walking around, mumbling about getting various reports in, etc.

Generally on a day like today I feel nothing so much as an overwhelming sense of ending and loss... I realize that the year is over, and nothing will be the same ever again.

Today was different.

While I did get brain cramps from sitting in front of a computer screen and filling out end of the year reports and inputting grades, I found myself to be... well... happy.

Not happy that the year was over, but simply happy that I finished what I needed to do. Happy that I could look forward to next year with no particular expectations about what I was going to be teaching, who I might have in my classes, or what curriculum I needed to start working on.

You see, I realized that no matter what happens, all that stuff just ends up taking care of itself. I do whatever it is I need to do, help out in whatever way I can, and generally roll with it.

In life, I'm pretty flexible. (With the notable exception of my hacky sack playing, which sucks phenomenally).

For a long time I've had an overwhelming sense of dread and fear about what was going to happen next (with good reason).

Now, I'm just enjoying it.

What 'it' do I mean?

Well, I mean life of course, silly rabbit.

I am enjoying it, and I refuse to dwell on "should I..." thoughts.

I do what I do, and sometimes it works out.

Some days, I kick ninja ass, and on others I find myself tied up in the trunk of a stranger's car with a dead raccoon, a Japanese guy named Chuck, and a case of kielbasa.

So why fight it?

As Dr. Crazy would say, "It is what it is."

Just sayin'.

Reality is Overrated

So I was asked to write a short bio of myself for a job that I recently obtained...

I laughed.

I asked if it was okay for me to write about how I got a scar on my left butt cheek from running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain.

The person who requested the bio gave me a quelling look. She seemed to find my response lacking in seriousness.

Suitably chagrined (in appearance at least, if not in spirit) I said, "Okay, I'll write something appropriate."

I wrote an accurate, if slightly boring, biography of myself in 4 sentences.

It was so dull I almost fell asleep while completing sentence number two.

What is with people's obsession with "reality?"

No one seems to understand that I'm all about imagination... Why this insistence on "keeping it real?"

Here's what I really want to say about my own life...

Aikens is a twenty-eight year old Pirate Queen with a history of debauchery and pillaging that ranges as far afield as Montana. She carries a knife in her boot and a metal ruler in her car. She has been known to climb buildings and torture red necks for fun and profit. Aikens steals from the rich and gives their stuff to the needy (she frequently includes herself in the "needy" section). She once leaped from a moving train while traveling cross-country with MCShank on a mission for mental health (her own) and reads Kurt Vonnegut to maintain her dubious hold on sanity. This Pirate Queen's motto is, "do whatever you want, as long as you can live with the consequences."

What's wrong with that bio? It may not be strictly "true" but anyone reading it will certainly learn a hell of a lot more about me than would someone reading a dry recitation of my actual life and accomplishments...

Reality sucks. FIGHT ENTROPY!!!

Too Short and Not Nearly Enough Cheesecake

I have come to the realization that in my 33 short years (well, short given the entire span of human history that is) I have not eaten nearly enough cheesecake.

It goes something like this:

Given: To me, cheesecake equals love, happiness, fun, family, friends, etc. In other words, it is the edible equivalent of all the good things in life... A symbol, if you will, of all the best.

Given: Life is far too short. Over the past few months I've really come to appreciate this fact. (For the second time in my life).

Conclusion: Life should contain more cheesecake. Who cares about the fat and calories? I could get smashed to smithereens by a semi while driving to Merrimack today and end up in God's waiting room before you know it.

Bottom line here?

Less stress... MORE CHEESECAKE.

Greg Chase and the Smallness of Life, the Universe and Everything

I have always firmly held the opinion that the world is essentially a tiny, tiny place.

Tonight confirms that belief.

You see... another one of my opinions is, that if I stand still long enough in one public place, I will eventually see at least one person that I need to see for my own sanity.

Ever heard of psychic magnetism?

The idea has been around for a long time but was most recently written about in a book by one of my favorite fiction writers... The theory goes like this... if you focus on a person, maybe not even anyone specific, and then you just kind of wander without thinking too much, eventually you will inevitably find the person you are subconsciously seeking.

It's true. It happens to me all the time.

If I'm feeling depressed and unloved (as I was earlier this evening, prior to meeting MCShank for Earl Grey) I will go to some public place, clear my mind, and wander as aimlessly as possible.

Eventually I will run in to just the person I need to see.

Tonight, that person was Greg Chase.

Have I ever mentioned that I love Greg Chase?

So there I was, in the parking lot at Borders, getting ready to get in my car and slog back home, when from across the acres of blacktop, a guy on a bike shouts my name at the top of his lungs. He pedals madly across the intervening distance, and just before he runs headlong into my car, he LEAPS off his bike and throws his arms around me for the best hug this side of the Merrimack River.

We ended up talking for almost an hour while freezing our butts off outside the closed bookstore.

You know me... I generally tell outrageous stories here with just a grain of truth, but the reality of this one was so surreal, I just don't think it needs dressing up.

Greg Chase is the very same man who once told me the inevitable truth of the Tilton paradox. He said,

"Aikens... Tilton is like Las Vegas... Whatever happens in Tilton, stays in Tilton. The only problem is, unlike Vegas, no one ever LEAVES Tilton."

Oh, how right you are my friend.

I love Greg Chase.

I'm just sayin'.

The Cool Kids Table

My friend the Papergrrl and I have a long running joke in which we constantly attempt to come up with the coolest ways to go out in a blaze of glory.

Why?

I'll tell you.

You see... I long ago realized, thanks to the tremendous load of guilt heaped on me by my Christian forebears (cult members, one and all) that if there is indeed such a place as hell... the chances are pretty good that I'm going to end up there.

Of course, I'm a Buddhist now... but that's a whole other kettle of Yorkshire Terriers.

Anyway, the point is... to make the idea of hell seem just a little less scary, we concocted the idea that, if there is such a place, surely it can't be all that different from high school. And let's face it, where, in high schools every day, does one see that most esteemed of all gatherings? You know the one I'm talking about, that group of kids who are just soooo much cooler than everyone else. The kids who never end up with milk coming out of their noses... The ones who laugh at geeks and nerds like me... The ones who seem to breeze through public education with a modicum of dignity...

Yeah, you've seen them too.

Admit it.

Anyway, my idea goes something like this... someday, I am going to die.

Yes, hard to believe, I know. Still, let's face facts.

Also, if there is indeed a hell... I'm far more likely to end up there than in the "good place."

My plan is this... if high school is hell, then why shouldn't hell be just like high school?

So I fully intend to die in some spectacularly cool fashion which will earn me the right to sit "at the cool kids table" in hell.

No car accident... no heart attack in bed at 67... no getting run over by a bus.

OH no my friends, this death...will be cool.

So far my favorites are: (drumroll please)

1. Getting mauled by a tiger.

2. Getting chomped on by a shark.

3. Going out in a blaze of glory while rescuing quadraplegic kittens from a burning rescue shelter.

4. Taking a bullet for someone (or some other sort of nasty flying projectile)

5. Being forced to walk the plank of my pirate ship after a mutinous uprising over shares of loot.

Yup. That's my plan. Don't knock it.

After all... if you die after me... don't you want to get to sit at the cool kids table with me?

That would be sweeeet.

A Bedtime Story

Have you ever fallen asleep on a couch?

Yeah, dumb question...of course you have. We all have at some point.

So the real question is, have you ever fallen asleep on a couch and woken up in so much pain that you quite literally had to throw yourself on the floor in order to get off?

Seriously, it was like attempted suicide...only in a very small way...

So on to the bedtime story...

But it's not what you think. This is no pink, happy tale of hopping bunnies and fuzzy puppies... This is a bedtime story with EDGE.

Just warning you...

Okay...here goes nothin'.

Once upon a time there was a person living in a house in the woods. The house was somewhat small, somewhat cozy, and highly secluded.

Mostly, this was a good thing.

Where it went horribly awry was the night of the moth.

I know, I know...you don't believe it... but it's true.

Last night, as I was about to pass out (much earlier than I expected, I might add), I heard a sound of loud bumping against the sliding glass doors of my bedroom. Thinking that Poe probably wanted to come in from off my balcony and curl up on the bed, I set my laptop down on my pillow and crawled out of bed myself to open the door...

That's when I got the biggest shock of my recent life.

There was a moth banging on the window.

I am not exaggerating here people.

IT WAS BANGING.

And it could actually do so, because it had a wingspan of somewhere between four and five inches at its widest point.

I COULD SEE ITS EYES.

It was staring at me.

Of course, I could have just turned off the light, and it might've gone away... unfortunately, I would no longer be able to see it as it attempted to drill a hole through my wall and get in my bedroom to suck my brain out through my nose.

So I went downstairs and slept on the couch.

The end.

To conclude...

My couch FUCKING sucks... Please remind me NEVER to sleep on it again. It's fine for lounging...but sleeping for longer than a 20 min nap?

No thank you.

That is all.

Over and out.

Friendship and Cookies

Okay, so here's the deal... I don't bake anymore.

I am a Pirate Queen and as such, I am far too busy kicking ninja ass to put on an apron and pre-heat an oven to 350.

However, I used to love to cook.

Sometimes, I even miss it.

And sometimes there are people who I find to be particularly special, who move me.

Then, I work in mysterious ways my wonders to perform.

I've actually baked cookies twice in the past week...

Somebody must be pretty special... That's all I'm sayin'.

Adventures in Grooming

Well... The Pirate Queen chopped her hair off today.

It was about time for me to stumble into the bathroom, look at my reflection, shudder, and start clipping away.

So I did it.

When I was done, you could've made an Aikens voodoo doll out of what was lying on the floor of the bathroom.

Damn. I have too much hair.

Seriously.

If anyone ever decided to kill me by dropping me off a tall building, I'd drift to the ground like a dandelion gone to seed and land harmlessly on my spiky pirate shoes with nary a scratch.

I suppose I should be grateful...

Random Thoughts and Windless Nights

"The wise man said just walk this way
To the dawn of the light
The wind will blow into your face
As the years pass you by..."

I was roller blading through the dark with these words floating through my head...

"Hear this voice from deep inside
It's the call of your heart
Close your eyes and you will find
The passage out of the dark..."

The darkness was all around, pressing on me like a gloved hand. It was around me like a blanket. It was around me and inside me, freeing and holding me back...

Where are the heroes now?

It's just me.

Like I planned this all along...

Like this is how it was always meant to be...

I can see the future stretching out in front of me like a dark road on a windless night.

Will there ever be a bend in the road?

Or will things go on this way forever?

I'm not sure... but I know something has got to give... eventually...

"Here I am (here I am)
Will you send me an angel?
Here I am (here I am)
In the land of the morning star..."

All I can say for sure is...

There are no stars tonight my friend...

The Importance of Being First...

I have always believed that secretly every person has a list.

The list is never written down anywhere and it changes day by day, week by week... Sometimes even hour by hour.

It is a list you carry in your mind/heart of all the people who are truly important to you.

Or is it just me?

I freely admit that I have such a list. It is long, somewhat like my memory. Anyone who knows me well can tell you that I remember details... Things most people forget.

Of course, being socially retarded, I frequently find that my list of who is important to me causes me pain.

Pain is caused by unfullfilled wants.

You see, I always make the rookie mistake of assuming that simply because someone is important to me, that the reverse is also true and I must be important to them.

Yes, I know... I am a silly silly girl.

I think that this same thing is probably true of everyone to a greater or lesser degree... At least, I certainly hope so...

And that's all I have to say about that.

The End of an Era

Well, I'm deleting my myspace page.

For those of you who don't know, I've been blogging on there for over three years now and in that time I managed to accumulate quite a few writings (over three hundred in fact).

I also made some really good friends, who, ironically, I've never met.

I will miss going on there but the fact is, I was on there WAAAAY too much.

One of my greatest phobias is making a pest of myself and I was afraid that was exactly what I was doing...so I quit. Cold turkey.

Well, not exactly... I have "rss"-ed some of my favorite bloggers and bookmarked a few pages that I tend to check entirely too much. However, the move I made will keep it from being way too easy to send lots of messages and make unwarranted comments.

So anyway... I am hoping that this complete change of venue will result in the burst of creativity that has been lacking for about a month...

We shall see together...Shall we?

The Year that Passed...

Well, it's 4:16 on a Sunday afternoon, it's raining and I just got home from the Saltmine.

I met some Saltmine inmates for a breakfast meeting (they are awesome and humbled me by offering me money to show up... How sad is it that I'm the teacher and can't afford gas so four juniors pooled their resources to make sure I could attend a meeting with them? I love those guys, I'm going to miss them next year).

Then I went up to Saltmine Central and inputted my grades for three hours (for once I'm done with them early...they're due tomorrow).

Next, I roller bladed for an hour in the Saltmine environs...tank top, black jeans, pig tails, loud music and all...

And while I was doing that, my mind was racing faster than my feet... Moving me backward and forward from past to present...

Every year about this time I start to become more and more withdrawn. I feel the need to pull back inside my sea-urchin-like shell so that when it's time to say goodbye in June I will be protected by my tough exoskeleton.

It's hard.

The greatest thing about teaching is getting to know so many fabulous people.

The worst thing about teaching is having to say goodbye to those fabulous people, knowing that if I've done my job, most of them will go away forever...

It's harder to say goodbye to some of them more than others.

The absolute toughest part is never knowing if I've really taught them something, if I've done my job as best I can... I've always believed that for me personally, teaching is more a function of who I am than the material I impart. I think that the connection is what ensures that Inmates will actually listen...

But then someone will say, in a fit of pique..."I haven't learned anything."

And I beat myself up about it.

Still...I continue to put on the armor, wade in, do my best and hope every day for a good result...

I hope it's enough.

I already miss the Inmates.

How could I ever do anything else with my life but this job?

It has me by the short hairs.

I am the Saltmine's wench.

But I kind of like it. Does that make me weird?

I'm just sayin'.

I Just Love Monday Mornings

Ahhh...there's nothing like waking up on a Monday morning and freezing your butt off.

I made the rookie mistake of leaving a downstairs window open and it's a bit...brisk in here right now.

Plus, I fell asleep wearing a tank top and (of all things) a skirt.

My soul feels like smouldering embers but my skin is like ice. I refuse to move from this bed.

There are three cats on the bed, one sleeping on my feet, one on my back and one my pillow. Apparently they don't like the cold either.

Plus, there's a text message on my phone about Starbucks, which gives me an excuse to lay here for a while, since they don't open until 6:30. Good news for me, since that allows me to avoid exercising this morning.

I'm such a backslider.

But at least I'll be a backslider with good coffee.

Go me.

I had strange dreams last night filled with people I don't know very well and talking trees...

And I woke up with this haiku in my head...

"The tree stretched
lay on the garage roof
You have your heaven it said,
Go to it."

(That's a paraphrase by the way).

I really should get up but my theory is, as long as I'm philosophizing I have an excuse to remain right where I am.

That's my story... and I'm sticking to it.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho.

Is it bad that I woke myself up this morning humming my profile song?

These ramblings are disjointed...much like my sleep pattern...Just a coincidence?

Dang. Cat on the pillow is biting my hair...Time to get up.

I still haven't come up with anything impressively funny and moving to say in my speech and I can feel the deadline sneaking up behind me like a freshman with a squirtgun full of fake blood...

Ug. Coffee... bye.

Why I Need a Night Light

As you are well aware by now, the Pirate Queen has a myriad of hidden talents and skills...aka kicking ninja behind, bending the law of gravity and, of course, bellydancing (shhh...It's a secret).

But there's one talent I have that I'm not so proud of.

I am able to freak myself out like nobody's business.

Case in point... I currently live alone in a house that resembles the Gingerbread House from Hanzel and Gretel.

It's a good little house.

Just one problem... My bedroom is on the second floor. This has many positive attributes, however, there is one major drawback...

No easy escape route handy for when the whacked out pyscho killer emerges from the trees that separate me from the rest of civilization.

Not that I think a psycho killer is coming for me or anything (I'm not THAT paranoid... YET).

Unfortunately, there are times when I'm lying in bed, staring out of the skylight or the sliding glass doors and I'll suddenly hear a strange noise from downstairs...

I have no closets to hide in.

The bed is too low to the floor for me to get under it.

And the cats, though fierce, will most likely COMPLETELY FAIL to protect me from a large man weilding a 6' stiletto...

Uhh...

I think I hear a noise down stairs...

Cold chills are racing down my spine, up my neck and making my hair react unpleasantly...

Oh Mother of Carlos... I'm gonna die...

Please...someone call 9-1-1...

I'm just sayin'.

The Beauty of the World--The Pirate Queen Turns Contemplative

I just recently got home from yet another long, mind clearing jaunt in my car (with a brief stop to do some roller blading as well) and had some interesting thoughts...

I was parked near a mountain, watching the sunset through the trees... The clouds were turning the color of flaming embers and I wondered...

What exactly is beauty? I mean, sure, the poets have been talking about it since the dawn of language... but really... what is it?

I came to the following "conclusions" on Beauty...

1. Beauty is in struggle... it's anticipation, not acquisition...it's in the moment of creation, the "I've almost got it" not in the solution.

2. Beauty is what you see in the eyes of a "friend"... Someone who "gets it."

3. Beauty is in follow-through... promises that are kept, not just given out with a casual word... when people do what they say they will.

4. Beauty is in generosity of spirit and selflessness... Caring, even when you know chances are "fair to middlin'" that no one will notice.

Sorry for the semi-crappy-philosophical-wanna-be musings... The Pirate Queen is in a contemplative mood this fine evening.

But I will say this...for once the ride really did actually calm me down... And every now and again, philosophical musings please me...

In fact, I frequently force both my scurvy pirate lackeys and my cabin boys to listen to my ramblings... Mostly they stare blankly at me but once in a while I see a flash of recognition that pleases me immensely.

That's real beauty baby.

I'm just sayin'.

What follows is a poem I personally love by Gerard Manly Hopkins... Though I am not a Christian, I have always found his sentiment to be particularly beautiful... The idea that beauty is not just about celebrities and women on magazine covers with perfect skin... Beautiful. (NOTE: G.M. Hopkins was writing in the Victorian Era in England...so he wouldn't have had any idea who Paris Hilton or Britany Spears are... LUCKY HIM).

See what I mean? Do you get it?

If so, and you actually read this far...

I love you... You're beautiful. :)

P.Q.


"Pied Beauty"

GLORY be to God for dappled things-
For skies fo couple-colour as a brinded cow:
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and piece-fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility, Or, With a Great Honor, Comes Great Anxiety

I got some news at the Saltmine yesterday but I haven't really told many people about it yet. Apparently, some of the Inmates voted for me to speak at an event being held at the end of the year (June 14th I believe).

Actually, enough of them voted for me to speak that I actually won.

Dude...You could have knocked me over with a crayon. (I'm trying some new analogies on for size).

But honestly, when MrStrangeHairdo came and told me...or rather, asked me, "They voted for you...will you do it? You don't have to answer right away..."

I answered right away.

I mean, who would say no? Who could say no? (Seriously, the day in question is all about them and what they want...It would be selfish to refuse, even if I had wanted to refuse, which I didn't).

Of course, now the bigger question remains...

What the heck to say?

I am well and truly freaked out.

I'm thinking the same thing I did when the Saltmine hired me...

"What were they THINKING?"

This is going to require a great deal of thought...

I'll get back to you on that.