Tainted Fairy - 2005

Monica - Before the Haunted House, 2005

When Haunted Houses Work

Tonight I did a bad thing. Or a good thing. I was good at doing a bad thing. Tonight was the night I took my daughter (nine) to her very first haunted house. There were many children there with their parents. I observed the children coming out as we were walking in - none had shattered expressions, or tears. None of them had me as a mother to prime their anxiety well.

In order to make the experience more exciting for my children I asked each of them, over a pizza at Pizza Hut, at least five times, "Are you sure you want to go?" I promised, "I'll leave with you if you can't take it." My husband offered the same reassurances to me. Over all we all had each other pretty much psyched to enjoy a Halloween trick as a treat.

We approached the haunted house through the broken pavement of a shopping center in the midst of a major renovation. The piles of debri somehow added to the general air of menace. Maybe it was the orange construction net I tripped over as I walked in off limit areas. A band was playing alternative rock as we entered the blackened interior. I asked again, "Are you sure you want to do this?" A small hand tightened around mine and my daughter looked up at me with that superior nine year old look and said, "MOM, are you scared!?" I nodded.

The screams began before we entered the "scary" part of the building. My screams. I was standing there thinking of more ways to pump up the anxiety when suddenly I felt a breath on my neck. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a leather mask. It was three inches from my ear and on the face of a huge man that was bending a good foot down to loom over my 5' 2" self. He had a knife. In the split second it took me to realize all this, my brain said, "FIGHT! FIGHT! no FLEE! FLEE!" So I screamed, and screamed again, said "DAMN IT!", then punched my husband a couple times in the chest. My daughter's eyes were a little wider as she laughed at my fear.

We entered a maze of tunnels through a creaking door. It was black as can be, until a chainsaw suddenly struck sparks from the metal grid in front of us. The small hand tightened still more and reached for her father's hand too. We walked on. Somebody was following. He lunged, bloody and wild haired. My daughter screamed and lunged into her father's back. Immediately a cell appeared with a corpse hanging like a crucifiction victim between chains on a wall. He wasn't dead! He sprang foreward with a shriek and electricity hummed all around him. My daughter started to scream and sob. She was a tiny little bundle of overloaded andrenal glands and I knew she'd had enough.

I couldn't do anything about the darkness and the intermittent strobe light flashes. Or the screams of others. I could do something to let the "monsters" know that an escape was truly needed. I started shouting to my daughter, who was sobbing and shuddering, "There is NOTHING SCARY HERE ANYMORE. NO MORE SCARES. NOTHING ELSE." A figure detached itself from the wall as we walked into a spinning white light and said in a perfectly humane voice, "Would you like to get out?" We did.

Tears were still streaming down a small face as we made our way past plain old dark walls. I told her it was over. She cried, "No its not!" Turns out she was right. In the lobby I approached a family with children and offered them two of our tickets. At $10.00 per ticket that was a nice little treat for somebody wanting only a trick. I explained my daughter was too scared to finish the first house and go through the second one for which we'd already purchased admission. The children in the group looked a little more anxious. I walked back over to where my daughter was still clinging, sobbing to her father. The leathermasked hulk with the knife suddenly appeared at my shoulder again. She SCREAMED. I put my arm around the guy and said, "This is my FRIEND. I know this guy. He's just an actor." She cried, turned away, just in time to see an eight foot monster lean over somebody and make them scream. She ran.

She let go of her father and RAN to the open doorway to the decrepit parking lot. I caught up with her and held her. She breathed the air for a few minutes, made the adults that were passing us actually stop at the entrance and look in to make sure it was safe. I told my husband and son, who'd ran out after us, to go back and enjoy the second attraction. Across the parking lot I could see the bright lights of a Dollar Store. We stepped over the orange construction net, avoided chunks of loose concrete and made it the few hundred yards to the civilization of off brand soup and wooden back scratchers. Finally the anxiety dropped and she talked about what had scared her the most while we bought a vampire flashlight for trick or treating.

Thats how memories are made.

Genesis of a Lady

It was Super Bowl Sunday, 1993. The Buffalo Bills versus the Dallas Cowboys. I was in love with a Sham. Shaman to be exact. Future husband of Cyren. Future destroyer of a part of me. I prefer to think of that destruction as an opportunity for other parts of me to thrive. Always the optimist, is me.

I'd quickly discovered that I was attracted to certain names. A name in the tavern was almost like a glance in the coporeal world. You knew things about that person immediately, they might not be true - but certainly they weren't just accidental. Silk-n-Chain was a bold and sensuous woman, Ironfist was most certainly a fiesty male dwarf. Babble-On, with the epithet of +sinner+, was going to be a giddy woman/childlike type.

I'd spent enough time observing the phenomenon of the name game to have a fairly accurate read on what type of bait to put on my hook. So I created "Lady China - fragile". And I sat in the Sword Swamp tavern that Super Bowl Sunday, and sure enough, here came my prey, biting at me. Shaman spent a good hour tossing out his own bait, until I said, "Oh, hold on - my mom's calling me!" And then he asked how old I was, and I told him "14." I was certainly an adult, for the record. Lady China was definately going to live a long and chaotic life after that birth.

The name and character just sort of stuck as a favored toy of mine. Eventually she dropped the "fragile" from her epi. Jokes about being the Tupperware Lady and having a very tight seal were a favorite form of self-mockery. Her favorite form of attack was to appear so harmless that the beasts would ignore her until they were neck deep in a sticky pit she'd laid out for them.

That was her birth. Super Bowl Sunday, 1993.

Avalonia - The Broken Promise

The Sham reached its apex with the creation of Avalonia. I don't even play Avalonia anymore because the last time I took her out for a spin she was so out of control that she needed to be dropped off a cliff into a bog of eternal forgetfulness.

The name was given to me, created for me. The features specified. The class, race, alignment. Frankenstein's monster but perfection, not a conglomeration of misaligned pieces and parts. Frankenstein's mistress.

"The Love Doctor...."

I didn't want an online marriage. I wanted a friend. A very intimate friend. Closer than a husband because there would be no financial/material/social responsibilities to drag down the energy levels. It would be an unconditional exchange of voltage. What a dream.

I was told that this character name would become a wife. Shaman knew that I hated to sit in the tavern, I loved questing. The first thing he did to take myself away from myself and put himself into the position of controller was to refuse to acknowledge me if I weren't waiting in the tavern for just whenever he might appear. If I wasn't there I would be told later that I must not have wanted to be with him, when indeed I did. So I learned to sit for an eternity, waiting. With that behavior in place my ability to gain levels was severely compromised, and my love of questing was eventually eroded. It become associated with the negative aspect of missing the company of one whom I adored. Psychology at work, folks. Take note.

I would become a wife when Avalonia was maxed out at level 73. Most difficult to achieve, the manipulator must have thought, with newly acquired aversion to questing.That night after he left me, I didn't sleep. I went to the Dwarf Kingdom and fought the Giant battle all night long, into the morning. Hour after hour. Control, Control, Poison, Hack. Again. Teleport out to buy more mana potions. Control, Control, Poison, Hack. While I listened to Van Morrison - "Have I Told You Lately That I Loved You." His choice of music for me.

I was level 73 by noon.

The reaction I received later that night was one of.....extreme surprise. Apparently this man who I'd chosen to be my most intimate friend was unaware of my capacity for relentless striving to achieve a goal. It quickly became apparent that the "marriage" wasn't going to take place. That part didn't matter. The broken promise did. It hurt. It forced me to acknowledge that perhaps my soul wasn't safe with this Sham of a man.

Refer to the "Ascension of Ensaneti" for a review of the end of this love story.

Avalonia never did become a bride. The last time I saw her she was wobbling around in a pair of thigh high purple leather boots and not much else, fighting off skeletons in a cemetary while shouting "Reverend, Reverend is this some conspiracy?" (see Pantera, Cemetary Gates).

Ascension of Ensaneti

Ensaneti was a manifestation of pain. She began her life in my heart and head as my "sham" of a relationship with Shaman was being taken away from me. Grinning and bearing it is my least favorite thing. I'd rather shriek and rip and rend and gnash. Ensaneti was my formal announcement to myself and the world that I was not in my happy place.

Around the time that Ensaneti was just starting to pick up the pace of a deepening depression, Nosferatu and the Wampir guild was born in the mind of Zack. This was a very special person. Tragedy struck his life and he found solace in the world of Yserbius. He asked me if I would be Queen to his King. I agreed with a ragged grin and burgeoning fangs.

Ensaneti wasn't a very regal Queen. She was quite insane. Knitting odd garmets with the bones of the unfortunately truly dead was a favorite hobby of hers. She had moments of burning glory and inspired thought. Mostly she was a very bad Queen to a King that deserved better. Well, I suppose the name should have been the tip off.

Balor had just begun to court me in relentless fashion. He didn't much care for Ensaneti, Nosferatu, or the Wampir Guild. He kept me occupied within the warmth of his love and Ensaneti was quelled. I didn't realize how badly I was letting Nosferatu down until Zack called me and told me the King was going to be going away. I thought it was all my fault, that I hadn't done my best by him - which I hadn't. I tried to convince him to stay, to keep the Wampir guild, his dream, alive in its macbre undead fashion. He said it was too hard to play such a dark character. He was tired. He needed to rest. He went away.

Ensaneti and the rest of the guild was still around though. So was Balor. Balor had had a falling out with Thyrm and Gamesman and left the Mercs. He became Tracker, the conquering King of Wampir. Nosferatu's guild of excellence in undead roleplay became a large band of chaotic types who'd followed Balor. I was wrapped in the coccoon of Balor's love and didn't care to see or feel beyond that.

I wish that Nosferatu would return. Ensaneti would be a better Queen for him this time, should he chose her to reign with him again. On the other hand, Nosferatu wasn't insane, so - he'd no doubt raise another. Literally. He's a Wampir. He can do things like bring you death's door, walk you through, and wait for you on the other side with a "WELCOME TO IMMORTALITY" gift pack.

Cheeseburgers?

In the interests of laziness, I went to McDonalds to slave over a cooling speaker. (It is October now.) I ordered this that and the other. Then I came to the crux of this rant. I ordered a Double Cheeseburger, Only Ketchup, Only Onion. I was asked (this is VERBATIM)

"Do you want cheese on that double cheeseburger?"

I was flummoxed. I'm afraid I was rude. I said (this is VERBATIM)

"Isn't the cheese rather crucial for a double CHEESEburger?"

(Sometimes I just get silly when I talk into the speaker, like when I was going through a hip hop phase and ordered a "Biggity Biggity Mac" - true story.) (Oh, and then there was the time I was told to leave Arby's becaues I ordered a "carton of milk" and for some reason the ears of the order taker could not process the word "milk" into a sensible catagory for her brain. I said, "MILK... you know WHITE STUFF... It comes out of a COW." It must have been a faulty speaker, because she then said, "Did you call me a COW? You can just DRIVE ON." True story.)

So, back to what makes a cheeseburger a cheeseburger. Is it taking customer service TOO far for a cashier to assume you want cheese on your cheeseburger, even when you indicate you don't want pickles? Personally I'd feel silly asking for a cheeseburger with cheese. It'd be like saying you were going to watch a dirty mudpit wrestling match.

Am I just being a bitch?

The Power of "X" - Shadow of Yserbius

Yserbius had the "X" factor for me. I've spent the years from then to now thinking very deeply about what that entailed. I've been in every major online rpg game since leaving Yserbius, none has had the power to enthrall me the way Yserbius did. In fact, a straight two hour stretch of playing in any of the worlds I've traversed since then has been - well... a stretch. Days go by and I don't log in. A few months go by and I decide its time to cancel my account due to lack of use and interest. Why? The games are so much prettier now, so vibrant, the storylines so much more complex (in some), there's so many more people!

For myself, I've decided that I need a world that mostly lives within my mind, not before my eyes. I need to be surrounded by people that have the desire to work with me to create a world of mystery, thrills, chills, a few spills, lots of laughs, and some love. Those people were in Yserbius. Because of its dearth of pretty pictures and large scale "events", we were all forced to use our creative talents to make a world that we could feel was alive. We had histories, we had factions, we had hatred, loves, lies, and irrefutable truths. I liked having the solidity of an "X" to watch move across a room. I knew that "X" was me. But I was so much more than an "X". I was whatever I wanted to be. Whatever anybody wanted me to be.

There was nothing that outraged me more than people that brought the mundane world into the open channel of the taverns. I did not want help living my life from the people online - I wanted them to help me create an entirely different life.

Queensryche's "Silent Lucidity" says it perfectly:

There’s a place I like to hide
A doorway that I run to in the night
Relax child, you were there
But only didn’t realize it and you were scared
It’s a place where you will learn
To face your fears, retrace the tears
And ride the whims of your mind
Commanding in another world
Suddenly, you hear and see
This magic new dimension

I interpreted that song to perfectly fit what I took from my Yserbian experiences. I was able to live in duality. To have both Yin and Yang (cumofsumyoungguy - was their last name. Just KIDDING!). To be a vampire queen named Ensaneti in the same day that I was doing income taxes. Of course blood sucking was the theme there too. ;)

Long Live "X", and all its possibilities.

Something in the Water

There must be something in the water. Well, actually I know there is. I just saw them tonight. Babies. Little fish babies.

It all started a month ago when a small red slider turtle was added to the menagerie. My daughter brought it home in a tiny little plastic box. It looked so unturtley. Definately not turtley enough for the turtle club. Research was done. It turns out that turtles need not a tiny plastic box to live in, but a full sized tank; a UV light so that his shell receives simulated daylight in order to avoid shell rot; a turtle dock that he can climb up on in order to bask under the UV light; a filter to keep his water clean; gravel to dig in; a snail to help keep the tank clean; and feeder fish that he can chase and eat in order to get excercise and not be a dock potato.

He never chased the two miniscule fish. He never excercised. They did. They excercised their primary programming - be fruitful, MULTIPLY. How could it be that the very last two guppies in a huge tank at the local pet store were a male and female? How could it be that the turtle would end up disobeying his instinct to chase fish? Fate? Coinky dink?

I thought the little fish were just being overfed, especially one of them. That was until intense scrutiny at quarter inch specks of mostly transparent matter turned out to be little Mini Feeder Fish That A Lazy Turtle Didn't Eat.I'm not going to name them. I'm going to start shoving the turtle off his dock and into the water where his intended prey is slowly but surely taking over his turf. His pond?

I heard a nasty rumor that snails don't require a mate in order to breed...

This was my quest and my passion, my dog Elsie an American Staffordshire Terrier of champion bloodlines. My quest was to stop the breed specific prejudice that saturates the minds of many due to hyped up media, lack of balanced statistics, and some unfortunate truths. My passion was to show at least those near me that responsible ownership is whats required with any dog, and that fear should be reserved for those owners of powerful breeds that don't learn how to control them, or even encourage aggression.
 

My wings, inked on in September of 2005. My free spirit has the sigils to prove it. 

Monica aka Sylara, Lady China, Ensaneti, Lilly. 

Tokens of Love

(The following story contains graphic examples of dirty gene pools. BEWARE.)

My husband bought me zebra finches. A male and a female. Eight months later they had turned into sixteen zebra finches. Two females and fourteen males. The second female was the result of one of the first male offspring of Cosmo (the male) and Wanda (the female), breeding with his mother. She was born with funky feet. Think the dance the Peanuts Gang do, but with their feet forever turned in towards each other. Being the politically correct person that I am, I named her Retard Girl. I guess that her father was also her brother.

Cosmo, her father, mated with her, and they produced a few other males. So this male's father was also his grandfather. One of these males mated with his mother, who was the daughter of his father's father and also grandfather. They had another male. This male had a gimpy wing. It just sort of hangs at his side. He is very adept at climbing though. A monkey has nothing on this zebra finch. Using his beak and his feet he climbs the bars of a very large cage (its about as tall as a 3rd grader - necessary with such huge quantities of love in the air), you can only tell that he's not exactly prime finch material by the loud metallic "CLANG" that is heard when he decides he's hungry and has to "fly" down to the food dish at the bottom of the cage. Its more like a plummet. I figure its just as well that he never really tries to use his functional wing. He'd spend forever flying in circles. Using all the powers of imagination at my disposal, I named him "Hurt Wing."

Hurt Wing and Retard Girl hooked up in that "special" way. It was a case of a male breeding with his sister who was also his mother. His father was the father of his sister/mother, and also his own grandfather. They had a baby. This baby had a crooked top beak, only half there. Looking for a positive I noted how cute his tongue was as it visiably flickered in and out of his mouth. When it was time to fledge, he hopped out of the nest like all the rest had, unfortunately he had no balance. He was a finch weeble. He would try to get upright, only to fall to the other side. His daddy, Hurt Wing, would sort of shove him against the side of the bottom of the cage in order to regurgetate seed into his mouth when he shouted "HEY I AM HUNGRY". Of course there would first be the "CLANG" of Hurt Wing hitting the bottom of the cage, as he plummetted down from on high to respond to his son's/nephew's cries. Retard Girl was busy sitting on new eggs and didn't dare leave her latest batch of genetic excellence to care for Weeble. Yes, his name was Weeble.

I've never seen such a will to thrive as Weeble displayed. He couldn't fly, he couldn't even sit up right, but he was gonna go places. He spent his days rolling from one side of the cage to the other. His father Hurt Wing would plummet to feed him, shoving him up against the side of the cage, and then it'd be back to going places for Weeble. The other birds didn't much care for him and somehow he lost an eye. He tried to roll so his one good eye was up.Balor said he'd "take care" of him for me. But I had hope. Maybe he'd grow out of his neurological deficiences. Maybe his beak would grow and straighten. He had heart. He didn't know he wasn't acting like a bird. He'd never been anything other than what he was. Never done anything more than what he'd done. He probably figured all the birds above him weren't as talented as he was, they didn't know how to roll. He wasn't suffering. His father never left him to starve. I held him to give him physical touch. Bird's preen each other, so I figured he needed some warmth.

Well, last week he died. I went to give him some touch and he was just laying on the bottom of the cage, not rolling. He had a few months of life. I had an opportunity to gain some good advice.

1. Don't mate with your sister/aunt/mother/ when your father is your own uncle/grandfather.

2. Never give up, never surrender.

3. Always try to land with your good eye up.