A Sad, Sad Little Woman? You Be the Judge!

Well, tomorrow will be back to the Saltmine day for your favorite grammarian-superheroine-ninja-slaying-recovering-cult-member...

Uh...that would be me in case you are wondering to whom I refer.

And I have been experiencing a weird feeling. One that only comes over me at this, most festive time of the year...

You see...there are really only a very few short weeks left at Saltmine Central and I find myself thinking frequently about how much I will be missing my inmates soon. This of course makes me quite eager to get back into those shark-infested waters.

Naturally, I realize that to most people, this makes me a complete freak.

Still...May and June really are the best of times at the Saltmine...

There is a ton of stuff to do, lots of celebrations and awards ceremonies, the weather is nice so I frequently find excuses for my Saltminers to go outside to do work, and although stressful, the oldest Saltminers love this time of year since they have really begun to appreciate just how close they are to leaving forever.

The leaving part makes me feel pretty hollow inside sometimes. Although I am very happy for the inmates and want to see them move on to be happy, successful and have great adventures of their very own... I get really attached.

I think that's why this job of Saltmining is truly for me. I am forced to appreciate everything and live in the moment, since I am always aware that my time with each of the inmates really is extremely limited. They each change my life in some small way and frequently "teach" me as much, if not more, than I "teach" them.

And this group of flyers will definitely be one of my toughest yet... Some of them have been with me for all four years! (Yes, you must pity those poor souls...4 years of the Pirate Queen can be a bit much, even for the strongest of Inmates).

Anyway, the truth is...I'm looking forward to going back.

And I will cherish every moment I get with the inmates... That's a promise.

To Boys Who Wear Girl Pants, or, Fashion 101

Okay, I've been putting this off for a while but since I'm still experiencing flashbacks from last weekend's concert that cause me to awake in the middle of the night screaming and drenched in icy sweat, I've just got to say something...

These days, many young gentlemen choose to wear "girl pants."

Let me say, right at the start, that I have absolutely no problem with this. I say, wear whatever the hell you want. If it makes you happy and doesn't hurt anyone else, go for it...I'm on your side.

Here's the problem...sometimes... others are inadvertently scarred for life by your fashion choices.

Case in point...

At the concert I went to last Saturday, there was a young man wearing black girl pants.

Fine, fine.

You see, there was just one problem with said person.

Because generally when a young gentleman wears "girl pants" he also wears undergarments.

Oh yeah, you know where I'm going don't you?

That's right. This guy was "goin' commando" so to speak.

Every time he skanked past me and the group of young women I was with, I cringed inside. It was painful.

Finally, I just couldn't take it stoically anymore. I leaned over to one of the girls I was with and asked her, "Hey, do you have a glue stick?" She looked at me strangely, laughed and said,

"Why?" I replied,

"'Cause the next time that guy comes past here, I want to grab him by the beltloops, and glue his ass to his pants so I don't have to see his 3 inch plumber crack anymore."

Needless to say, this caused the lovely young woman I was speaking with to burst into uncontrollable laughter. She admitted that she'd had a similar thought. Then I asked both her and three of the other young ladies that were at the show..."Now, be honest with me...is this a look that you find to be...well...sexy? attractive? cute? All of the above?"

They were unanimous in their dislike of said look...especially on the boy who apparently lost his underwear when it came time to dress for the show.

So I'm just sayin'... I have no doubt that there are some guys out there who can pull off the "girl pants" look successfully. Just please please please...

Don't forget the boxers...or briefs, whichever you prefer... Trust me, the ladies will thank you for it.

That is all.

Skaters, Rollerbladers and Why Dick's Sucks

No, that's not a typo in the title in case you were wondering...

I spent all day looking for new wheels...and I finally found them. Thanks in large part to some skaters I met unexpectedly.

See... I thought that finding guitar strings would be the hardest thing I had to do this week... I was oh-so-wrong. I got those no problem...

It was getting new wheels for my rollerblades that was the problem.

It took 12 hours. And the only reason I even have them is because I learned to do a kickflip on top of a picnic table.

Yup.

No, I'm not kidding.

So there I was... In Dick's Sporting Goods... The guy there swore to me that rollerblades were a thing of the past, saying, "No one uses in-line skates anymore...So we don't bother carrying them... Or wheels for them."

I very nearly punched him. (Ironically enough, as I had driven into the parking lot, I had passed three people roller blading on Loudon Rd).

What a dick.

So instead, I caved and purchased a skateboard.

I figured..."Why not? What have I got to lose? I've got a deathwish and lots of extra padding on my body still... It's an idea whose time has come."

So I went to Merrimack Valley High School to practice with my sweet new hardware...

I sucked to a phenomenal level. I sucked so hard in fact, that a group of about 6 teenage skaters who had been strolling by the high school stopped and stood watching me, mouths gaping open. One of them said to the others, "Holy s---, it's an old chick with a board!"

That was about all they could say. They couldn't even laugh at me they were so struck with wonderment...

One of them accidentally swallowed a bug.

He barely noticed.

However, even having a dumb-struck teenage audience could not quelch my spirit. I was determined that I would NOT surrender to the forces of Judgement, Pride or Embarassment.

I WOULD NOT.

So I perservered.

After about 20 minutes of watching me, one of the skaters dropped his board, got on it and cruised toward me at warp speed, stopping abruptly just as I was sure he was going to knock me over and put me out of my misery.

Oddly enough, he instead decided to take pity on me. "You're doing that wrong." He began and proceeded to demonstrate the finer points of some simple manuvering.

As this was going on, unnoticed by me, the local PD had arrived.

Apparently, skating is VERBOTEN at Merrimack Valley... Un-freaking-believeable... I mean seriously, what kind of Saltmine bans skating on school grounds? ...Oh wait... uhh... nevermind.

Anyway, as the officer walked toward us, fully prepared to send us all off on our merry way (I mean, vandalizing buildings, smoking pot and terrorizing old ladies are behaviors far preferable in our nation's youth, than *gasp* SKATEBOARDING...)

Before he could even open his mouth to get started, I turned politely to the officer and said in my sweetest, most law-abiding voice...

"Hello Officer! My name is Virginia ______, I'm a Saltminer at _____ and I just brought a few of my honor students with me down to Penacook to attend the game over at Rolfe Park this afternoon... Since we're early and I wanted to keep these hoodlums out of trouble, I decided to let them teach me some skateboarding tricks... I promise I'll keep an eye on them and we'll only be here for a few hours..."

The officer was completely non-plussed. He had no idea what to say, so instead he tipped his hat to me, nodded and said, "Well, okay little lady, you just keep these boys in line. Have a good afternoon."

Then he got back in his car and cruised out of the lot.

The six "hoodlums" stared at me in awe and wonder.

I thought at any moment they might start chanting my name like some prayer to a pagan goddess of war or something.

But they got over it as soon as I fell on my butt when my board went out from under me.

Anyway, we skated for a few hours (with no more trouble from the PD, I might add)...and they taught me the picnic table trick.

Sweet.

Don't worry...no picnic tables were damaged... I promised no vandalism.

Anyway, as the sky began to grow dark, one of the six said, "Hey, I'm gonna go get something, I'll be right back..."

15 minutes later he returned with a set of almost brand new roller blades... Good ones too.

I think he might have stolen them from his sister... but they were the exact right size, so I asked no questions.

About 30 minutes later, we parted ways.

So except for that guy at Dick's... It was a pretty sweet day.

I'm just sayin'.

I Just Cleaned Out My Car and My Myspace...and Boy is My Soul Tired...

Well, let's be honest right from the start here (and yes, I DO see the irony of me saying that, given my penchant for story telling and hyperbole...) as I once said,

"On a good day, people call me a story teller, on a bad one, they call me a pathological liar."

That my friends is funny (possibly) but has a grain of truth. I promised myself before I ever started this thing that I would never reveal the whole truth about anything.

I soon compromised and said that I would tell only things that were true "from a certain point of view."

Well, let's face it... I've done just that.

Recently, I've been feeling the need to clean things up. Perhaps it's simply because I sense that a change is coming and I want to be ready for it... Perhaps it's because I realize that I have a tendency to "hang on" to things, even though I know from a Buddhist perspective that "things" tend to weigh on one's soul...Holding it in place...

...Then again, perhaps I've simply lost my freaking mind.

All things being equal... The latter is definitely a genuine possibility.

Of course, I've already admitted to being the queen of hyperbole, so there isn't much I can do about that...and I still do love to tell stories. I will continue to do so.

Cleaning can only change just so much.

Besides, telling stories, writing poems and working at the Saltmine are the only things which manage to keep me even marginally sane as you well know.

Ironically enough, they are the same things that make me appear so completely insane...

Hmm.

Just a coincidence?

I think not.

There are no coincidences my friend... I planned all of this right from the start...

I'm in Love!!

So yeah, here's something you might not know about your favorite grammarian superheroine Saltminer...

I learned to drive when I was 16. (Shocker, huh?) Actually, that's not the interesting part. What's interesting is, my mother was terrified to ride with me. After the very first time, she told my father, "I'm never getting into a car with her again...EVER! She's got a deathwish and a need for speed... YOU teach her how to drive!!"

So he did. Of course, since she also refused to let me drive her precious car, I had to learn on my dad's enormous green truck (imagine the Incredible Hulk in vehicle form). This thing was a total beast. It had disk brakes (which means I basically had to put all my weight down and STAND on the damn thing to even get it to slow down) and enormous girth. I actually learned how to parallel park it (wonder of wonders) and even back up without hitting any small children or cars.

I loved it. I could drive that damn thing down any backroad ever designed by man or demon. It was great.

Sadly, I have never had the cash to buy a truck of my own (or the money for the gas it would take to feed one if I did). Still, I've always loved driving trucks.

Yesterday, I borrowed an F-350 from a friend to transport my bike across town so I could torture myself with my first bike ride of the year.

The bike ride was okay. (By okay, I of course mean, scary and painful as hell... When I arrived back at the truck, sweating and my legs shaking from effort, I actually threw up. It was the first time I've EVER thrown up after exercising, though I know that some runners do it fairly often).

On the other hand, driving the truck was freaking awesome!

I had to hoist myself up into the driver's seat by hanging on to the door frame for dear life. Once inside, since I couldn't move the seat, I had to scoot forward a little bit so that my feet could reach the pedals (I'm only 5'2" remember).

My feet didn't touch the floor.

SWEEEET.

I inserted a CD I had brought with me, cranked volume to max, rolled the windows down, and blew out of the driveway as though the hounds of hell were on my ass. (No, I did not spin my tires...That's juvenile behavior done only by boys who are afraid that other boys will think they are gay).

I had nearly forgotten how much power one of those beasts has but I remembered soon enough. I found that while barely touching the gas, I was up over 40mph...on a back road in Deering, NH.

I tried to summon the desire to slow down...and failed miserably.

Perhaps I'll go for another bike ride today...

Heh heh.

Drama Anyone? (An Irregularly Scheduled Rant)

It's funny. Must be something in the air...

I have a friend who recently closed up shop (so to speak) on Myspace. She said, "I've had enough of this crap and I'm outta here."

Don't worry, this isn't a rant about her, she's an awesome person and I believe she had her reasons. Furthermore, I certainly can't blame her for wanting less drama in her life... Goodness knows I've considered doing exactly the same thing myself on more than one occasion. (Yes, I actually have considered deleting my account on Myspaz and giving up blogging--at least on there...not here). For now, I've decided to wait on it.

Again, dramatic? Melodramatic? You be the judge.

This really irks me, since one of the things I always detested in my mother was that she was so dramatic... When I was a kid it was like every day of my life with her was a page out of The Worst Case Scenario Handbook. I've always said I really didn't want to be like that myself.

And here we are...back to your regularly scheduled drama, already in progress...

Of course, I work in a Saltmine...my daily life is shrouded in a thick miasma of drama. On a weekly basis there are fights, feuds, and fierce rivalries...

Which brings up an interesting question, as well as a chance for a good rant...something I haven't done in a while.

The question is...why all the drama?

Seriously. Even when I attempt to stand firm on my Buddhist principles, I find that there is a part of me that seems to actually WANT to get sucked into drama. How is this possible?

Now, of course, a lot of what I say has to be taken with a grain of salt. The people who know me best realize that I'm a complete story teller...and let's face it, no superhero story is very good unless you triumph over overwhelming odds and save the day. So yeah, some of my stories seem to rub off on my view of the world...I think that's probably inevitable. Still, for the most part, when I'm melodramatic, it's ALL IN FUN. Meaning of course, I don't actually believe it when I say things like:

If someone hurts me, "IT'S A CONSPIRACY!"
If someone ignores me, "THEY HATE ME!"

Yes, I am a grammarian superheroine with a tendency toward hyperbole. But still...

Case in point, I posted a blog today about something that was making me feel dramatic... I referred to the thing I was blogging about as... "that tool of the devil... that destroyer of lives"... LOL

See what I mean?

So, what I'm saying is...Do we all just make up drama for the fun of it? Or is it just me?

I'm thinking of making myself a t-shirt that says..."I love my drama"

Anyone else want one? LOL

By the way... I also love vacation...

I'm just sayin'.

FYI...The Rules According to AOL and the Pirate Queen

Okay, here it is for those of you who are interested...The rules of AIM.

Why?

Because Instant Messenger programs are the devil...and unfortunately, I am the devil's bitch.

Seriously.

So, here are the rules of AIM for those who are interested...

Rule 1. Have 3 screen names (Warning: As this will inevitably ensure that you NEVER remember any of your passwords, please make sure you check the little box when you log in the first time that says you want AIM to remember your password...otherwise the entire exercise is null and void right from the start...and as anyone with any sense knows, it is a very bad idea to assign the same password to three different accounts).

You do this for several reasons and with a plan in place before you even begin...

a) The first name you pick will be your "Common Name," (that's what I call it anyway) the one you give absolutely everyone who asks you. Of course, you only go on this name every once in a while, otherwise you will be inundated with messages all the time from people you can't remember and don't really want to talk to anyway. Make the name something simple that pretty much anyone will recognize as you. Generally, you should set this name as "AWAY" most of the time so you can screen your conversations. You may ask, "Wait, if you're never on it, and are always AWAY when you are... Why even have it? Simple, you have it for two reasons...one is that it is a simple name you can give anyone to prove that you are not a technophobe who is stuck in 1993 and two is that it is a testing ground for new people you talk with, so you can determine if you really want to dedicate the time to talking to them at all...if you find that they are interesting and you enjoy talking to them, you will ultimately give them your second name, your "INCOGNEATO Name" (I used to just refer to it as an Incogneto name, but then I began reading Incogneato's Blog and thought it was both an amusing and clever rendition of the same word...Thanks girl).

b) The second name you pick will be vague, with no connection to you whatsoever...or at least none that you will ever reveal to anyone. This will be the aforementioned "INCOGNEATO Name." You will give this name only to a handful of very select individuals who you particularly enjoy talking to. Usually when you are signed in, this is the name you are signed in as and unless you actually are AWAY, you will not screen the people who communicate with this name. WARNING: be VERY careful who you give this name to, since if you give it to someone who later manages to irritate you, you may be forced to choose yet another "INCOGNEATO Name" in order to get away from them, and this inevitably results in confusion and possibly hurt feelings on the part of the person(s) you may still like, but no longer wish to talk to.

c) Your third name is your "effable and ineffable secret name" (to steal a line from T.S. Eliot, my favorite poet after E.A. Poe). This is a screen name that you NEVER EVER EVER give to anyone. It is used only on the DL so that you can judge two things...one, if someone you don't wish to talk to on one of your other accounts is on (thus determining if the "coast is clear") or if you are trying to figure out if someone else has blocked you. That is why this name must never be mentioned to ANYONE. Once it's integrity has been compromised you will no longer have any clue if someone is blocking you on the DL.


Rule 2: Profile. Profiling is WRONG. (LOL...yeah, I went there). Here's the thing...especially if you think there will ever come a time when you might want to mess with someone...or might accidentally begin talking to the wrong person... Don't ever put profile information in for any screen name except possibly your "Common Name." This could also save your ass if you message someone from your "INCOGNEATO Name" who you don't want to have it. When/If they respond you can simply say..."Oops, wrong number," or words to that effect. This alone can result in some amusing conversations.

Rule 3: If you do block someone for whom you have two screen names... NEVER make the rookie mistake of blocking only one of their names. And not for the reason(s) you might think. One, it sends mixed messages. Two, it reveals you to be a total poon with no concern for the other person's feelings. Three, it is just not smart. The other person will almost always immediately see what you've done and be hurt by it.

As I've said, this is absurd.

How could anyone be hurt by instant messaging?

I know I never have...

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

P.S. I realize that there are contingencies that I have failed to mention as well as loopholes...give me a freaking break, okay? I was RANTING!

Words, Words. Words...

I had a plan.

It was a good plan.

At least I thought so at the time.

Unfortunately, the end result of said plan was that I ended up here.

Where is "here"?

Why it's a dark, dank basement with a roaring pump in the background. I'm soaking wet and freezing cold. There is light coming in through a small, grubby window, whose face is matted with 5 o'clock shadow of spiderwebs and dead leaves.

The roaring of that damn pump is ringing in my ears...

I can't think. My feet are numb from the wire holding my ankles together and my teeth are clicking together uncontrollably...in my fear I sound like the fastest typist EVER. The only thing keeping me from giving in completely to panic is the thought that someone, somewhere will be sad if I never surface again.

The scariest thought of all is that no one will notice my absence until next Monday when I fail to show up at the Saltmine...

I can hear a thumping over-head. Feet clad in boots are making the ceiling above my head reverberate in an echo that sounds like, "doom, doom, doom, doom..."

At first it seemed like this vacation might be better than the last...

Until I got here.

Damn this basement sucks.

My jeans must weigh 20lbs by now with all the water soaked into them. I swear I'll never be warm again...I really wish I'd worn a sweater. There a flecks of rust on my arms and shoulders from lying in this puddle next to a rusty and frankly, diseased looking push lawn mower.

It's all my own fault you know.

See, I have a tendency to be a little nosey.

I really ought to know better.

And then, my feelings get stung when I realize that someone doesn't appreciate my nosiness...even though I probably have no right to be upset.

I should really learn to leave people alone and mind my own business.

Now if only I had learned that sometime BEFORE 10:27 last night...I might not be tied up, lying in a frigid puddle, counting my own breaths to keep from screaming.

Of course, then again, part of my charm is in the fact that I care so much...

"It's a blessing...and a curse."

Still, I really don't think they should have tied me up and left me here when they realized that I was spying on them.

It's just that I heard raised voices and wanted to know what they were saying... They had distracted me briefly from my rollerblading in the moonlight and my daydreaming (although night dreaming would be closer to the truth) and I figured, what was the harm in dancing myself a little closer to the car...

Bad move.

Once the members of the band had thrown me in the trunk, laughing, I freaked out and began thrashing around, until oxygen deprivation and a heinous thunk of my head on the trunk lid put me out for the duration...

So I woke up here.

Cold.

Wet.

Sorry for myself.

I've got my cell phone, but no one will answer my text messages for help...

Sit.Reps. to follow...

Who Would've Thought?

I learned something last night.

Apparently, moshing is illegal in the state of Vermont.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, yet oddly enough, I am.

So there I was, innocently watching a show, feeling the vibrations radiating out from my sternum when people around me started moshing to a song about fighting the government...

Ironically enough, at that very moment, the town sherriff stepped into the pit and began pulling people apart.

The dancers went willingly enough I suppose... They made the choice not to fight the law (probably the correct one in the circumstances).

Still...I think what some people don't understand is the direct correlation between the level of adrenaline in the bloodstream during a concert and the fact that pain doesn't really exist under those circumstances...

But what do I know?

I'm all about pain.

Why You Should Not Paint Your Toenails While Driving

I don't know much but I do know this...

You should definitely NOT apply makeup when driving.

I was almost forced to kill some stupid woman who was driving and applying...of all things...EYELINER.

No, she was not at a stop sign.

No, the driving WAS NOT stop and go.

She was... get this...

ON THE FREAKING HIGHWAY!! Going 75mph!!

GAH!!

This is the reason why people like me definitely should NOT own guns.

Seriously.

My first thought when I saw her was, "Hey... I think I've got some nail polish in my bag...Since I've already taken my shoes off because it's so warm...perhaps I should paint my toenails, afterall, I'll be wearing sandals again soon..."

Okay, so that wasn't my first thought...My first thought was actually,

"GAAAAH! What the hell is she DOING??"

Followed closely by the brief nailpolish musing.

Presently, my toes are still naked.

But then again... I have an hour commute tomorrow morning.

AND a death wish.

Sure...perhaps I'll never make it to the Saltmine alive or in one piece... but I can safely wear open-toed shoes in my casket...

And this children, is why I hate people.

The Real Reason I Wasn't at the Saltmine Today... Or, I'm Screwed

Well, the truth is... ever since my desk was violated I just haven't been feeling like myself.

Plus, I started to notice that some people seem to really like this new, improved, CLEAN me.

Which led to some serious soul-searching...

I mean, if people are so happy with the new me, does that mean that they never really liked the OLD me very much?

And if so...

I was completely fooled.

So, I decided to take this "NEW ME" one step futher.

I went to see a doctor... and a beautician... and a lifestyle coach.

Not all at the same time of course...one after the other.

First was the Doctor.

I'll call him, DoctorD. He seemed nice enough. I told him about myself, about having lost approximately 55-60lbs since October. I told him how I was running/rollerblading/cycling pretty much every day now for between 30min-1hr.

He shook his head.

Sadly.

Then he said... "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this Miss... but I think you're living on borrowed time. Clearly a curse has been placed upon you. I've done a blood test and you've got a rare element in your bloodstream that is eventually going to kill you. You're going to feel better and better, until you reach a weight of somewhere between 115-130lbs...

And then you'll drop dead."

He then added, "If I were you, I'd make peace with God right now."

I explained that I was a Buddhist and did not feel the need to "make peace." He again shook his head sadly and said,

"Well then...You're screwed."

Then came the beautician.

I'll call her MissCongeniality08.

When I entered her lovely establishment, she took one look at me and shuddered from the tips of her dyed blonde hair, to the pink acrylic toenails on her tiny feet. Before I could even say anything she had grabbed me by the arm and said,

"Honey... You need HELP. I am going to FIX you. RIGHT NOW!!"

Sadly...after an hour of torture in her chair...

I looked exactly the same.

Only even more ugly. Imagine if you will the love child of Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mimi from Drew Carey and Rosie O'Donnell.

Yeah.

That's me.

She charged me $100.00 and then said,

"Sorry honey... I just can't help you. You're screwed."

Well, at this point, as you can well imagine, I was about to get into my car and drive into a bridge abuttment...or at the very least, go home and pray for a QUICK terminal illness... When along came The Life Coach.

He saw me standing, stunned and dazed on the sidewalk and offered his services.

He asked me to tell him about myself.

I did.

At great length.

...There may have been tears at one point, though I won't swear to it.

When I finished, he looked at me carefully for a moment, reached out, stroked my face, shook his head slowly and said in a very low, soft voice...

"I'm sorry honey... Looks like you're screwed."

________________________________________________________

So I decided not to get out of bed this morning.

Worries and the Root of All Evil

As a rule, the Pirate Queen, your favorite grammarian-superheroine, makes it a point to live in the moment.

Yes my friends. I am a spaz.

Although lately I haven't been in a storytelling mode, next week all of that will end. I have big plans for us over vacation...so just hang in there.

Now back to the subject at hand...

Worry.

As you know, I am a Buddhist (not a Zen Master by any stretch, but I'm learning) and one of the things I know is that worry is pretty damaging. The way to handle things is to do what you can, live in the moment and not spend time regretting the past or worrying about what will happen in the future.

I've gotten better at not worrying about myself...but about others? Not so much.

Wind in the Hair, Wings on the Feet

Well, spring has finally arrived in all Her glory.

How do I know?

Well, I'll tell you.

I went rollerblading this afternoon for an hour. (Yes, my rollerblades are still minus one wheel...what can I say? I like living dangerously).

There I was, Pirate Queen...Sword in hand, wheels on feet, flying down the streets until the sky began to get dark.

My absolute favorite time of day...right on the cusp of darkness, teal blue below, midnight blue above...Stars shining like glitter on the throat of the night... An enormous moon just peeking out over the trees...

The wind was whipping and so was the music.

Singing when you have almost no breath to do it is an adventure in and of itself...and I've been there my friend.

I have been there.

Where were you?

Slumber Parties, Bad Ideas, Mischief and Thunderstorms

Once upon a time there were three little girls...a blonde, a redhead and a brunette.

One fine Friday, these three decided to have a slumber party.

Naturally, that's when things became interesting.

Upon arriving at the blonde's house, the brunette and the redhead dumped their bicycles on her lawn and pulled off their backpacks. They then entered the dwelling of the blonde and set their things down on a spotless beige carpet.

As they entered the dwelling of the blonde, the sky suddenly grew dark... Minutes later raindrops began falling like hailstones on the lawn and roof as though God himself were opposed to the plans of the three little girls...

But how could this be? They were just innocents, with nothing more planned than a simple night of tea, crumpets, toe nail painting and pillowfights...

Or were they?

The Blonde: Sweet, innocent and always lady-like, she was known for sitting on a window seat in a tall tower, brushing her golden locks, wearing ankle-length skirts. When someone once told her that "modern women" sometimes play sports (rugby/track and field/cycling) she let out a delicate snort and denied that this was possible.

The Red-head: Rowdy as all red-heads (or those with Red-headed tendencies) are known to be...She was nevertheless also quite sweet and innocent, with a compunction for telling people her entire life story with absolutely no prompting whatsoever. She was well known for being a lover of Life Time, television for women, where she need never be subjected to such vulgar stories as those involving blood-shed, violence or acts of a superhuman nature.

The Brunette: Quiet and shy with a voice rarely raised above a whisper, she was yet another sweet and innocent little girl. Since she of course realized that looks are all that is important in this world, she never bothered to go to school, and felt that reading...especially reading poetry, was a complete waste of time. As a result, she was as dumb as a box of rocks...but luckily she was so darned beautiful that it made absolutely no difference...

Anyway, after their arrival at the home of the Blonde, it wasn't long before the three girls were steeped in their giggle-frenzy, drinking tea like crazy...

And then the second thing happened... They ran out of tea and sent the blonde girl's attractive lackey, whose name was MrSpeedracer, out to the store to get more.

Something went horribly awry at the store...for when MrSpeedracer returned and fashioned yet another pot of tea, something was dreadfully wrong with it...

It turned all three girls into raving lunatics.

The three first ran screaming through the house, overturning furniture, tying up Mr Speeracer and giving him a pedicure...

They then proceded to decimate a mid-sized city in Southern NH. Laying waste to innocent and guilty alike... They even overturned a small discount footwear shop (their madness was exacerbated by great strength) and stole an entire shipment of Dansko Clogs.

So it just goes to show... Slumber parties can be much more dangerous than you can imagine...

Frigidity and Violation

Surprisingly enough, just in case you’re wondering, this blog is not about sex.

’Cause that would be immoral...or so they say.

Actually, it is 4:08 am and I am freezing my butt off.

I ran out of oil last week, and since it will cost almost $800 dollars to refill the tank, I’m trying to ignore the cold for the next two months. It is currently 48 degrees in my house.

Luckily, I have a wood furnace in the Batcave.

Unluckily, I have no wood, so instead I’ve decided to begin chopping up and burning my furniture and all my worldly goods.

This would be fine, except for the fact that I went to bed yesterday at 6:30pm because it was a bad day.

Why?

I’ll tell you why.

I have been violated.

Yesterday I was required to be in a Saltmine meeting that lasted all day. That was fine...I guess, though it meant that I missed out on harassing Inmates for most of the day.

I would have gotten through it intact though if it hadn’t been for the fact that the person who filled in for me did something to me that was so heinous that it is nearly unspeakable...

Yes.

I returned to my room, fully expecting to be embraced by the loving arms of my mess and discovered something shocking.

Someone cleaned my desk.

No, really.

Instead of random piles of crap (in which I could naturally locate almost everything I needed), I now have NEAT PILES OF CRAP.

My protective geological layers have been ordered.

Now I will never be able to locate ANYTHING.

I feel dirty and used.

Is it any wonder I went to bed early?

And now I’m screwed because I woke up at 3am. By the time 1:30 hits I’ll be so A.D.D. frazzled that I’ll be useless... And I have yet another Saltmine meeting after school.

All I can say is... a clean desk is a sign of a deranged mind. So clearly, I will soon be going completely insane.

In their defense, I will say that my inmates did stick up for me. Several who saw me in the hallways had a shocked and lost expression on their own faces... They looked at me and said,

"We tried to stop her... but she wouldn’t listen."

Thanks guys. You did your best.

We’ll just have to muddle through...

"It's My Way or the Highway"

"Check, check, check...check out my melody..."

Yeah, after a brief hiatus (very brief indeed) I am back.

Mostly because I realized after a few days... I miss my random diatribes. Life just seems somehow...blah without them.

So anyway, here goes another day in the life of the Superheroine, Grammarian Pirate Queen you all know, love and yet somehow...still fear. (And good for you, I might add).

Today I was thinking...as you know, in my case, this often leads to mayhem/random acts of insanity/shopping cart racing, etc. Still... like all my other ideas, it seemed pretty good at the time.

As usual, it resulted in a random drive.

Again, as per usual...something interesting happened.

I ended up in the bustling metropolis of Concord, NH...you know, where culture, good taste and skunks go to die.

While I was there I visited that most Holy of all Holy Places... Where Americans worship on a regular basis... Where teenagers go to bow down before the Gods... Where old people go to gape in awe while doing laps... Where upper-middle class stay at home moms take their children in order to experience "Religion"...

Yes.

I went...

To the Steeplegate Mall. (Cue the harps and the celestial choir)

I was deeply moved as I gazed in awe and reverence through enormous plate glass windows at things I cannot afford...

And I even paid my tithe... 10% of my annual income along with the promise of my firstborn child to the Credit God of JC Penney in order to purchase a pair of black jeans and two shirts.

Ahh... it was indeed a moving religious experience.

It felt oh so right.

JUSTIFIED.

And then it happened... (as you all knew that it would)

I saw...

HIM.

Yes. It was the mercenary who followed me home from Southeastern Asia and stalked me for years, claiming to be my husband.

There I was, innocently paying homage to the gods when he appeared before me.

And of course, he walked IN the OUT door.

How ironically fitting.

What surprised me a little was that at first, he completely failed to recognize me. Actually, I was more than surprised... and then I caught a look at myself in the automatic door glass and figured it out.

I am not the same person I was 5 years ago.

Not in any real way... I’m like... a birch tree... even my pale white skin is different.

I smiled and kept on walking.

I could see his reflection in the door as I walked through.

PRICELESS.

And this line from a certain song ran through my head...

"Just one
More fight about your leadership
And I
Will straight up leave your sh-t
And you’ll be the one who’s left
Missing me..."

Perhaps I should not take such joy in such a small thing... but I have to say, after everything that mercenary put me through...

Meh.

I’m just sayin’.