Hotter Than Hell's Kitchen

Yes, it is.
It's so hot it requires the prefix "balls" to describe it.

What am I doing during this weather? Am I lying naked and sipping frosty drinks under the fan? Oh, no. I'm helping renovate a house, because I need the money.

The Renovation Era List Of Things I Don't Like...

1. Heat. Because it sucks and I hate it.
2. Ticks. Seed ticks. We've had an average of 192 per person at the end of each workday.
3. The Boss. Normally I love the Boss, but when things don't go right, he gets cranky with everyone whether the real problem is our fault or not...understandable, since this is his project, but honestly...we don't have anything to do with a lot of the issues plaguing him. The worst me and the unskilled labor crew have done is break a saw (and for that we had a spare, and it can be fixed) and be somewhat remiss in putting things back exactly where he wants them. But, see #1 and #2. That's enough to make anyone bitchy.
4. Machines. Other than the broken saw, we have a tractor whose hydraulics decided to go out, putting us another day behind schedule. The post-hole digger should have been here this morning; not until tomorrow.
5. UPCs. Do you have any idea how friggin' long it takes to remove the yellow tags off several grand worth of wood when each and every 2x4 has a wee tag held in by two or three industrial staples? HAAATE. "But it's the UPC, every product has to have one..." Don't make me slap you.
6. My own clumsiness, as I smashed my finger with a sledgehammer the first day out and have had to reengineer my typing style drastically.

But it's money, and it's not so bad. In the meantime, will someone bring me a bottle of water? Or a gun?

Theft Breeds Theft...

Full disclosure: I stole this from my ET.

At the last of the Leo birthday bashes, I checked this out on her blog and promptly ganked it.

Enjoy!

First Name
Elizabeth

Were you named after someone?
Not really, but a friend of my parents' from church suggested it because he said I had Elizabeth Taylor eyes. I would prefer Bette Davis eyes, but no dice.

Do you wish on stars?
Oh, hells yes.

When was the last time you cried?
Wednesday week.

Do you like your handwriting?
I block print with caps most of the time for clarity, but I like my signature.

What is your favorite lunch meat?
Elm Hill bologna

What is your birth date?
August 16 during the Reagan presidency.

What is your most embarrassing CD?
I am generally understood to have no shame.

If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you?
Possibly, depending on whether I was medicated or not.

Are you a daredevil?
I don't like stunts, but I don't mind taking risks. However, I did give birth to the AntiChrist 2 years ago, so I suppose "devil" is a definite yes.

Have you ever told a secret you swore not to tell?
I swore never to answer such questions.

Do looks matter?
If you meet the buddha, kill the buddha.

How do you release anger?
Stream of consciousness writing, bitchy coffee sessions, losing my temper with my sister-in-law (although I'm working on that), primal screaming, and meditation.

Where is your second home?
I'm currently second-homeless, unless you count my parent's, but since I don't have my own room there, that's a contested issue in the mental forum.

Do you trust others easily?
On intuition with a certain amount of reserve.

Favorite high heel plastic shoes?
I no longer own a mated pair of heels. My favorite shoes that would fall into this category are my vinyl 20-eye burgundy Doc Martens that I scored on eBay for so little that it was criminal.

What class in high school do you think was totally useless?
Most of high school was pretty awesome for me, but I have to say that all Health & Human Development taught me was that my guidance counselor was a waste of space.

Do you have a journal?
I have my Book of Spiritual Stuff and more notebooks than Harriet the Spy, plus a blog, but technically no.

Do you use sarcasm alot?
Yes, especially when I come across grammatical errors such as, for instance, "alot".

Your nicknames?
Emac, E Moet, E-square (once), Hippie, Izme Oame (pron izz-MAY oh-AY-may), Elvis Twin (to Special Sauce only), and a few not fit for public display. SFGod calls me "boss" but that's kind of his universal nickname. Oh, and CDHSarah calls me Parce, only she pronounces it par-SAY specificially for the purpose of pissing me off. See above.

Would you bungee jump?
It would require divine intervention, scandalous amounts of cash, and/or sex with an elf chick. Quite possibly all three.

Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
Boots no, neeks yes.

Do you think that you are strong?
Chittananadarupa, Sivo'ham, Sivo'ham

What's your favorite ice cream flavor?
The now defunct Ben & Jerry's Bovinity Divinity.

Shoe Size?
Would you believe I have no clue? Eight and a half or nine? I haven't bought new shoes in over a year.

Red/pink?
I could make a joke in poor taste about my fondness for the female sex, but instead I'll take this to mean color choice in clothes and say red.

What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
My disorganized insanity.

Who do you miss most?
The Doctors, my Nanny, and my Weakley/Paris County crowd. Also my dexter grandfather.

What color pants and shoes are you wearing?
Shoes in the house? Pants? Are you insane?
I'm wearing a sarong tied as an ankle-length wrap skirt and a shirt with the arithmetic and multiplicative properties of math on it. There's a pair of black flip flops around here somewhere, and a headwrap that I was wearing when I got here.

What are you listening to right now?
The PUF CD and Don Shiftador's fans.

Last thing you ate?
Barbecue chicken sandwich with bacon and monterey jack cheese, seasoned fries, and half of a ridiculously large eclair dubbed "The Cream Vagina".

If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Something in Crayola's tragically unpopular "Shades of Existential Despair" line, I'm sure.

What is the weather like right now?
Dark, hot, muggy, and downtown smells like crotch rot.

Last person you talked to on the phone?
My Hinduism teachers' husband.

First concert you attended?
Alanis Morisette, Jagged Little Pill tour.

Last Concert you attended?
Allgood Fest, but actual single-band concert...Sound Tribe Sector 9 at the Cannery Ballroom. (According to Papa Sue, I should have been at the Le Tigre show last month to see her kiss Kathleen Hanna, but that's life.)

Celebrity Crushes?
Sam Waterson, Christina Ricci when she eats, Johnny Depp, Tori Amos, all the members of Sleater-Kinney and the Butchies...I have a lot, come to think of it.

The first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Nothing in particular, but then, I don't usually sleep with the opposite sex.

Favorite Drink?
I don't usually drink alcohol but am partial to a Jesus Walking On The Beach In Maui. Non-alcoholic? A Dalmation from Fido...white hot chocolate with real whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings. Been loving that drink for nearly a decade and haven't thought about stopping.

Favorite Sport?
Chess is too a sport.

Favorite TV show?
I don't usually watch television, but I'm fond of any episode of L&O featuring McCoy, Briscoe, Munch, or Ice-T.

Favorite Movie?
The Royal Tenenbaums, without question.

Last cd purchased/burned?
My mom bought me Medicine Woman II: The Gift (vaguely South American "Goddess" music) for my birthday for reasons that have yet to be ascertained, but the last one I got that wasn't a mix was Page 80.

Hair Color?
Red-brown dreads.

Eye Color?
Thingy, in the cool-to-neutral range.

Do you wear contacts?
No, thank you.

Name of Pet(s)?
Or'n'j'lo, L'mn'j'lo, & Gr'p'j'lo.

Favorite Food?
Peasant food.

Last Movie You Watched?
Little Monsters, at the birthday boy's sufferance.

Scary Movies Or Happy Endings?
Yes.

Summer Or Winter?
I'm a Beltane-and-Yule pagan myself.

Hugs or Kisses?
The creation of such an exclusive option is forbidden by the Geneva Convention and the International Conference on Human Rights.

What Is Your Favorite Dessert?
Non-living? The shortbread and preserve cookies my mom makes me.

Living Arrangements?
Slightly overdue on the rent but basically living with the cats and no roommate and doing OK.

What Books Are You Reading?
What books am I not reading?

How Many Candles Were On Your Last Birthday Cake?
Try none. Double German chocolate upside down cake is not candle-friendly.

What's On Your Mouse Pad?
Don't use one...I run the optical on the arm of the green chair.

What Did You Watch On TV Last Night?
I watched Law & Order: SVU on USA while I cleaned a house.

Who Was the Last Person You Kissed?
Fraternally? John the Martian. Somewhat more than fraternally? A cute little dyke named Amanda.

Favorite Smells?
Nag champa, tea tree, the MK's fur, the inside of my incense drawer, fried chicken.

What's The Furthest You've Been From Home? Living?
Been? France. Lived? Weakley County...I've never lived out of state.

What's Your Biggest Indulgence?
Smokables and Subway. Books aren't an indulgence, they are a necessity.

If You Could Be Anywhere Right Now, Where Would You Be?
If it weren't my fellow Captain and Doctor's birthday of the 21st variety, in bed with at least 2 persons of opposite sex and apposite gender.

So, that. I still don't have a home base Internet connection, but y'all will be the first to know.

Seriously, Though

It's that time again.

I did it. I made it to five squared.

Now I'm going to bed.

Dribs & Drabs

I hate being poor.

I'm working on fixing that. But in the meantime, I'm living on dribs and drabs.

Tonight I made $60, which has to immediately go to the electric company without either passing Go or collecting $200. Over the course of the weekend, I'll make that same amount, and pass it along to the cable company. My biggest "yay!" for the month of my birthday isn't the fact that I'm having an awesome birthday party at Cafe O2, but the fact that the Boss has a contract job for me that should let me pay off everything I owe my apartment complex. (I'm less than 2 weeks behind on the last $100 of the rent, but I have an outstanding deposit owed for the kitten, who is way too small for me to owe $175.)

I hate owing money. I hate paying bills in partial amounts, $60 this week, $20 next week, enough that it won't get cut off but never totally paid up. It's galling for someone who believes in TANSTAAFL. But honestly, I don't see how I could do any better. Even if I gave up my small vices, it wouldn't equal out to enough to make a difference.

For the first time in my adult life, I'm going to be staying in the same apartment for more than a year. I'm planning to renew on the ParcePad at the end of this month, which makes paying everything outstanding with the apartment even more important. The cats like it here. I like it here.

So, yes. I need a new job.

I saw the Moose today. (Like The Cheat, the Moose is always referred to complete with pronoun. He happened to come into Patrick's shortly after I got there, and I joined him while he drank his it's-payday beers over at Mulligan's, and talked authors, philosophy, and other such Moosey goodness, including the ability of redwoods to nourish other plant life growing parasitically with no harm to itself. The Moose was my first introduction to Our Lady Eris, and for that I worship his lotus sandals. (Even though the Moose always wears boots.) He flattered me by offering me a job at the bread-and-coffee joint where he just became a manager, but unfortunately it pays less than any job I've had in the past 4 years and doesn't offer benefits. Too bad, as I got the Moose his first "in" to work at the smoke shop when he had just come to Nashville, and there would have been a pleasing circularity to him becoming my boss. But alas, it wasn't meant to be.

For now, though, I'm exhausted enough to hit the sack instead of recounting the almost-race-riot I saw on Second tonight. That will just have to wait.

So'ham, Ham'sa

Chittanandarupa, Sivo ham, Sivo ham.

I get settled in on the floor. I can't meditate very well sitting up when my knees are bothering me; I do better flat on my back.

I have trouble with unguided focus meditations. Tonight we were supposed to visit the sea of the collective unconscious and spread healing there. That is not a place I've ever been, and I get a bit panicked listening to the rest of the meditators begin the slow and even breaths of deep meditation.

I call on the mantra I use to sleep. I am Shiva, the Bliss of Consciousness; my feet Shiva's lotus feet, my heart open like the lotus, my dreads (because Lord Shiva wears his hair the same way I do) in a topknot through which shines the manipadme, the Jewel in the Lotus, the thousand-rayed crown.

Suddenly I am at the sea, my skin an ashy purple, my body strong and muscular and male, hypermasculine almost, and the trident taller than my topknot that tip me off: Sivo ham.

The sea is full of Lovecraftian goo, like an oil slick, but with colours out of space that are nauseous to the sight. Like Oppenheimer, I am become Shiva. Wherever I point my trident, I make not. The Destroyer of Worlds. So'ham.

I wade into the water I have cleared, the water that has become the Ganges, the Saraswati, the holy rivers. Though there is more of the semisentient ooze, it cannot approach that which I have made sanctified, and I stride forward, under the water, walking along the floor to the place where it drops off and the light of the sun can no longer be seen. There is only the light of the manipadme which shines from within and all around me, but it is sufficient.

I see a fish, Leviathan-sized, that was never meant for this world, something made less earthly by its interaction with the slime coating the surface of the worlds' thoughts, like a shark with a catfish mouth stitched on and teeth set at angles that would sever the skin of its face at the same time as they crushed their prey. I point my weapon at it, but in the same instant I become large, so large that my topknot reaches out of the sea and into the sunlight. Now I am Leviathan and the fish is no more than a guppy, and instead of blasting it, I cup it in my hand. When I open my fingers, a goldfish of almost Disneyesque, fairy grace darts off into the sea.

I become tired, and lie in corpse pose on the sea bottom, watching the bubbles rise in the light of the manipadme, the light that, even diffused as it reaches the surface, makes not those things that would create separation, those globules of wrongness that are the veil of maya.

I sleep, and when I awake, I rise from the sea and walk, becoming smaller as I go, until I reach the seashore only slightly taller than a human man should be.

Ganesh is there, a pink-skinned child of perhaps two or three, waiting patiently away from the water. Within my sight of the coast, it is clear, and I motion that it is all right, that he can approach in safety. As I turn my back and feel the water drying on my violet skin, I see him place his trunk in the water and trumpet bubbles in the surf with unbridled joy.

And again I am myself, not on a beach in the daylight but on the floor in the dark, with the slow breathing of my compatriots telling me that I am the first to come out of the meditative state. Slowly, in exhaustion, I pull my body into a protesting lotus, to bless the aspect of Devi that has given me parsad in the vision of myself-in-Shiva, Shiva-in-me.

So'ham, ham'sa. I am that, that I am. Om shanti, shanti, shanti.

I've Got A Box!

Thanks to Erik the Viking, I have a monitor.

Thanks to the past 3 hours of nonstop clicking, I have checked all the email that came in in the less-than-48-hours that I was without it.

There was a LOT of it, too. And most of it was legit.

Note to the one definite weirdo who responded to my ad on craigslist: either you meant to craft an email full of poorly hidden sexual innuendo in response to a legit ad for legit services, in which case you are creepy, or you really need to go back to English 101 and learn about this little thing called "connotation" before you allow yourself near a keyboard again. But I'm pretty sure you're just a garden-variety creep. There's a whole section for people with your...needs...and it's not listed under "employment".

Soon, I'll post about the crazy woman at Hindu class last Sunday, my adventures with Shiva, and how I ended up spending tonight smoking shisha with one of the hottest girls I've seen in a minute (and, regrettably, doing nothing but smoking), but for now it's nearly 4:20. And, since I am an old fart, that means it's past my bedtime instead of almost time to fire it up.

I will also rewrite the reviews that myspace ate and a few more if I have time.

In the meantime, y'all use your Magic Blogger Vibes to try and get the professor who wants me to clean her house to agree to pay less in exchange for tutoring me in her subject, because that? Would be awesome. Me like learn stuff. Me want learn stuff but no pay tuition.

So'ham, ham'sa. Have a good day!

Let The Fae Come Out To Play

It's three-thirty in the Music City. I have a rainbow turban on my head, a Celtic-animorph print tunic that hangs on one shoulder and trails down past my ankles, ribbon bracelets on both arms, and I am positively covered in no less than three distinct types of glitter.

I love fags.

Tonight the Nashville Radical Faeries hosted their annual Lammas Cotillion at Kung Fu Coffee. They took the idea from the New Orleans RF, who throw a similar shindig for Imbolc/St. Bridget's Day. It's a costume party/ritual/coronation, as that's when they transfer the Empress crown from one Fae to another.

I don't normally go to Kung Fu Coffee because nine times out of ten when I get a yen to go, it's lame. The Artist and I did read the last fifty pages of Skinny Legs & All there one afternoon, but other than that, just showing up during business hours usually yields no fruit in the "fun" department. However, they throw a party like no one's business, especially when they have a lot of artistic help: one of the first raves I ever attended was the pre-opening party that the Doctor got me into, where I met Count Travula. Tonight was more kickass than that.

The sad thing is that I almost didn't go at all. For all my Leo nature, I don't like to go out by myself to events. To dinner, or the oxygen bar, or the smoke shop, sure. To a Lammas Cotillion? (When I wasn't even sure what a Lammas Cotillion was?) Perish the thought.

I got dressed (in all but the ribbons and glitter, which came later), and then lost my nerve and started calling around for a last-minute escort. But no one would go with me, so I hemmed and hawed and thought about going to the first house party at the place the Don just moved into, but instead I found the van carrying me downtown. I still drove past the place twice until I determined that I wouldn't be entirely out of place. All praise to the guy in the Jolly Roger cowboy hat, who I spied on my second turn and whose getup made me decide that I wasn't either over- or under-dressed for the crowd.

I made it in and was immediately set upon by WingHeart, the Empress-elect, and her Skexsis-looking "pet" (a shoulder puppet), and given the Fag Welcome of You Look Lovely, Are You New? Welcome, Sister. Within five minutes, I had met Ribbon, the Empress of the moment, who was dressed like the gayest Roman-Egyptian hybrid ever to wear the Eyes of Ra and Horus, and who introduced me in the subsequent minutes to two of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, and Fae too numerous to name, including Medusa, Monkey, Lapis, Jesse (who was dressed like a Djinni, down to the caliph slippers and fez), SnapDragon, Synonym, and a bunch of others whose fabulous monikers have escaped my brain.

Medusa, the ritual facilitator, was one of the more interesting Fae I met all night; he seems in the same position as a lot of RS members to the community at-large, and might be an RS perspective...but I'd have to talk to him when he wasn't imbibing. Which, apparently, EVERYONE was, except me, which was no less than I expected.

The ritual portion of the evening was interesting, to say the least; ending up between a Sister and a bi-boy's incredibly hott girlfriend and said girlfriend's hott angel wings and giving them hugs as the energy-raising commenced (with lots of making out for some, but not me) was, well, hott. The quarters-calling was as cheesy as every other quarters-calling seems to be (no offense, CDHSarah -- we're talking Adventure Wicca here), but it worked. Also, I liked the calling of the Androgynous Principle after the Male and Female Principles. Something happened, despite the informality of the circling -- the only time I've ever heard "SHUT UP, BITCHES!" from the Priestess-of-the-moment, and I laugh even now to think how much that could have improved one or two rituals I've attended -- because it got hotter than Hades and stayed hot inside after the ritual, and I spent most of the rest of the night outside, milling and being fussed over.

As I said, I love fags. They seem to love me, too, judging by how often I was told tonight that I was, or looked, awesome. They seemed to appreciate the fact that I put some effort into dressing for the event, as the Fae do. I saw, besides the Djinni and the Egyptian costumes already described:

*a Fae in a pageboy wig, Underoos, and a Louis Vuitton scarf
*the DJ, who was in a studded leather codpiece and tennies
*assorted other Djinni without caliph shoes or fezzes
*a sarong-swathed Fae I made sure to compliment, as s/he was wearing the hell out of them
*the Sisters...of the two I met, one was wearing a beaded veil, wimple, and white face paint, the other had a wimple made of a bra (think the BoobHead in Little Nicky, but with the cups used as draping points for a veil) and a full white beard
*a Fae painted blue, wearing a loincloth, a skull-design codpiece, and horns
*a Djinni rocking a Baphomet theme (horns with half-mask, orange vest with a Baphomet symbol, harem pants)
*assorted leather boys
*a Fae in a white harem veil, white linen wrap skirt, and nothing more (but hir boyfriend is probably well-satisfied judging by the evidence)

I could go on, but those are the Costumes of Note, other than mine, which wasn't really a costume until they added the ribbon bracelets, which were used in the circle, and approximately one half-ton of glitter, which sparked a hilarious conversation in the smoking area about how glitter is nonbiodegradable and thus we'll have a Glitter Earth before it's all up.

The Coronation was fabulous, if short. Both Ribbon and WingHeart had been really wonderful to me all night, and they looked precious. The best part, however, was the giveaway...mock "W" stickers that read THE EMPRESS across the bottom where the standard article says THE PRESIDENT. I have about twenty in my purse and one on my turban, which prompted an unpleasant interlude with a drunk bitch once I had made my way to Cafe O2 for the night.

I'm really proud of myself for going and having fun instead of chickening out. I'm trying to be more self-reliant, and "going to a club alone" is a pretty big deal. It could only have been better had there been lesbians on hand, but alas; perhaps three dykes, none either available or my type. I'm going to be reduced to the personal ads before much longer.

I may not have been the Empress tonight, but I was the Belle of the Ball, and I feel just peachy. I'm not even mad that myspace ate two reviews. I am, however, looking forward to my birthday with even more relish. If even two or three of the people I met tonight show up, it will be On even more than my sister-in-law's soirée was. (Link goes to the Cafe O2 article and picture in Nashville Rage, the one the photographer shot at CDHSarah's bash...featured are the Chieftess and the Champion.)

Have a good night, all! Blessed (belated) Lammas!

The Source Believes In You

My life is immensely boring right now, which is why I've been a bit remiss. The Artist was here and is gone again. We should see him in December if all goes well.

I watched Big Fish with him while he was here and we enjoyed the hell out of it. For someone who believes in World-As-Myth, that movie is like a forgotten gospel. Plus, the Vietnamese twins are hott in some mildly disturbing way. Other than that, and the title of this post, there's nothing I want to share about our visit, because it was most distinctly water brother business. But take my word for it. You should definitely watch the movie. Even if you're not into twins.

Went out with the Shamanism BellyDancer last night and ripped on stuff. I may be tutoring her kids in maths this fall, which should be fun. Also, met Erik the Dane, who is supposed to go to temple and Kali class with me this weekend, and The New Dave, who discussed Heinlein with me all night.

But really, just been hanging out, reading books I've already read, playing fetch with the cat, getting by.

You know you're getting old when your big birthday present from your mom is your tags and registration. For the first time in 8 months, I'm driving totally legally...well, almost, as there's the little matter of insurance, which I can't even come close to affording. Yet another I'm-supposed-to-be-a-grown-up freakout.

Also, there was a minor flap with a troll on one of my pagan listservs, and Lughnassad happened. And...yeah. No life. Right over here, the no life goes to table 3.

I did apply for a job at the City Paper, so any spare vibes would be welcome.

Later I'll talk about the end of my celibacy...while I haven't done anything about it in the past 2 days, I'm free of the geas, and that's something. But for now I need to go lie in bed until I fall asleep; Conservative Wiccan played a great tonal CD for us tonight that got me relaxed enough that I may accomplish that little feat without drugs. Woot!