{August 9, 2014}   I Blinked

“Baby did a bad bad thing. Baby did a bad bad thing.”
Nah, not really. I mean if we’re talking about me, and we are talking about me.
See, what I did was I let my self forget that my New Normal is my New Normal for just a millisecond.
I blinked.
And the Angels stopped weeping and circled me, keeping me terrified and alone.
If only I had a Doctor with a TARDIS as my BFF. I wouldn’t even have to be a Companion, he could just stop by once in awhile for a cup of tea and give me a good talking too. I mean, if he insists, or some intergalactic emergency happens, at least the TARDIS can bring me back to the same moment we leave.
Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t lose my mind, and I apologize to those who don’t watch Doctor Who since I’m making all these Doctor Who references (which, by the way, if you aren’t watching Doctor Who, well, why not?), I’ve just been frozen in place and unable to break the ice.
I would like to say I’m not making excuses but that would be a lie.
I’m just not sure what those excuses exactly are. It’s summertime and beautiful outside, I have so much pent up writing inside me and it’s long past time to finish Fiction Rally Part 4 but I’m surrounded by Weeping Angels and can’t blink.
Or, maybe I just need a good old fashioned boot in the ass, as my Mom used to say. And yes, I understand I’m still grieving the loss of my Mom and the slow painful destruction of the Family she kept together.
But that’s no excuse to stop and forget how to do the happy dance. She would give me a verbal good old fashioned kick in the ass right about now if she were here.
So this is my letter of apology to you, my wonderful lovelies who’ve saved my life more times than any of you know.
It’s time to stop worrying about blinking, to stop letting those Weeping Angels keep me frozen in time and space, because The Doctor has worlds to save, usually ours by the way, so I must be my own Superhero.
And the first thing I need to save is my self.

“Here she goes again,” says practically everyone who knows me for any length of time.
I have been accused, repeatedly on occasion, of having an obsessive personality. If something peaks my interest I always sometimes tend to give it my all. I jump in head first and soak up every little detail, even the tiniest bit of information having to do with whatever my latest obsession hobby may be gets filed away somewhere in my big fat brain alongside all my previous obsessions interests.
I’m not fickle but depending on which way the wind is blowing I’m capable of slamming on the brakes and switching obsessions gears in a heartbeat if given the right bait circumstance.
Let’s go with a ‘for instance’ or four submitted for my humiliation your review:
The Underground Dance Scene in NYC:
1.Ok admittedly we have to go into the Wayback Machine for this one but I begrudgingly admit my way-underage self was shaking my booty (I did not just say that) at many of those private parties of the early Studio 54 kind with my gaggle of gays when I should have been paying attention to my studies sophomore year. There I was in all my 15 year old glory surrounded by all my gay friends keeping me safe and showing me off. I was their ‘project’, long before What Not To Wear was even a thought in Stacey and Clinton’s mind my self-appointed Fairy Godmothers plopped me down in a chair, waved their magic wands and Poof, I was strutting my stuff through the halls of Sayreville High School clad in the latest fashion and next years haircut.
Enter Punk Rock and:
2.Apparantly the handful of punk rockers in Sayreville saw the potential in the blooming wallflower I’d become and lets face it, in 1977 there weren’t too many girls in school who took to wearing red lipstick and sunglasses. Somehow the line was blurred between the gay contingent and the punk rockers, solidarity in our outcast status probably but for an almost 17 year old wide-eyed skinny girl who’d never been asked out on a date, there was a big difference  between hanging with the gay guys and hanging with the punk guys. Suddenly I was cool. I embraced the punk rock scene wholeheartedly and it wasn’t too long before this previously virginal wallflower was deflowered by one of the biggest punk rockers in the New York Rock Scene, a casual relationship that lasted for 3 years. The last time I saw him I was hanging with the band at the Diplomat Hotel and snuck away when he wasn’t looking (for no good reason); it wasn’t long after that I got the phone call telling me he was now a true dead boy after being hit by a car in Paris France. Punk rock flows through my veins to this day but my obsessive self took a left hand turn somewhere and found me entering Phase III.
The Rock Star Years:
3.It happened when I wasn’t paying attention. One day I’m doing my usual sitting at the studio watching my husband’s band rehearse with my girl friend singing. Only problem was, she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. Oh she had great stage presence but stage presence doesn’t cut it when it’s time to record a cd. It took a lot of convincing but I finally agreed to sing some vocal tracks for the recording. That was it. There was no way in hell I had any intention of singing in front of anyone. I’d run out petrified auditioning for the school play, I was so terrified at the thought of singing in front of even my chorus teacher I ditched the audition and signed up for stage crew.
But I digress.
They begged me to please just sing backup vocals for one gig. Just one gig and they’d leave me alone. Since it was a Halloween gig I figured I’d dress up like a rock star and play pretend. That backfired on me to such an extent that before I knew it I was the lead singer for my own band, singing songs I wrote myself. 4 cd’s later (and one more in the studio waiting for me to finish my vocal tracks) I had to put my rock star days on hold when Hurricane Irene knocked down our house. Needless to say I jumped in, determined to get that house rebuilt for my Parents even though the insurance company refused to pay anything for the ‘natural disaster’. After numerous phone calls including a conversation with Governor Christie, a benefit organized by an angel named Angel including some local legendary musicians (thank you forever Snake Sabo, you are the real hometown boy who made good, unlike our old buddy  who declares himself the hometown boy while lining his own pockets and coming ‘home’ for a photo op, and no I am not bitter) and despite an unscrupulous club owner who pocketed the bulk of the money raised, we, with a lot of help from The Home Depot Foundation proved that you really can go home again.
Simultaneously, I discovered my current and forever obsession interest which leads us to:
Buffy The Vampire Slayer And/Or The Joss Whedon Years
4.Rehearsal nights were always on Tuesday. One night, rehearsal was cancelled and I was flipping through the channels only to land on what would become my favorite episode of Buffy, “Once More With Feeling” the Musical episode. It had everything I loved; vampires, singing, humor, and, since it was Season 6, a lot of depression and sex. What more could I ask for? Well I asked for nothing and in return became so obsessed intrigued with the mind of Joss Whedon I discovered Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse and anything that had the slightest connection to the genius that is Joss.
Now I have to admit, I do have a tendency to go overboard when I discover something I love. That sometimes to my dismay includes people. And I do tend to jump full force into whatever it is I’m jumping into.
But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Every little obsession that touches me leaves a trace of evidence behind, a wealth of experience combined to make me the exact me I am at this exact moment.

Over the last decade or so, unbeknownst to me, there was a new obsession building, only this one was coming from inside me for a change. It started out so small I only really noticed it in retrospect.
I was, and am, obsessed with words.
Sure I always loved to devour books, reading anything I could get my hands on anywhere I went.
But I didn’t know I liked to write.
I didn’t even know I could write.
Like everything else, it was something I fell into with the songwriting stuff until I realized I was pretty much writing really short stories in song form, and then I remembered this psychic astrologer I went to years before, after winning a reading in some newspaper contest.
He did my chart and spent well over an hour explaining that I was born to write and it was something I would be successful doing.
I just hmmm’d him through the session with an occasional “really?” thrown in and went on my merry way.
I’d never written anything other than a letter so I certainly didn’t imagine myself checking off the ‘Writer’ box on any kind of survey.
I think my imagination has expanded quite a bit in the last decade or so.
Although I’m still in the initial phases of this latest obsession interest of mine I have a feeling this one’s going to stick around for possibly ever.
I’ve become obsessed with writing.
It’s like I need it to get through the day.
Like if I don’t write for even one day something feels off, something is missing.

I’ve just realized, my dearest  ones, that I have rambled on so long this may indeed be my longest post so far.
Admittedly it did take me all day to write since I was waylaid by my Father’s insistence that I drive 20 miles to move my (sob) ex-car (a sad post for another day) from the driveway to the street now followed by an unplanned trip to ShopRite who, by the way, does not have the answers.
Something else I just realized is if I continue to babble like this I better learn to become obsessed with the art of editing.
always be urself

{May 29, 2013}   Persephone Letters

AUTHORS NOTE: Ok so here’s the deal; Persephone (yeah, that one)doesn’t have many friends since she married Hades. Not a lot of ‘BFF’ potential when you spend most of your time living in the bowels of Hell and all that. Thelxiepeia is a Siren and Persephone’s best friend and confidante. Due to their circumstances (more on that later, bits and pieces my lovelies, bits and pieces) the bulk of their interactions are through letters, good old fashioned hand written letters. Oh, there is internet in Hell but Persephone doesn’t trust Hades enough to send personal letters electronically, he has a habit of snooping through her email. Saying anymore would be telling not showing (or is it the other way around?) so please to enjoy one of the many letters Seff wrote to Thellie, more to follow after I, rather Persephone, writes them.

Dear Thellie,
I’m finally home.
It seems like forever since I’ve been above ground.
After spending so much time wandering along the River Styx it feels wonderful being able to stretch my legs against the beautiful backdrop of the Atlantic Ocean.
Hades fought me tooth and nail this time.
He didn’t want me to leave at all.
“We’ll never work things out if you keep leaving me” has become his mantra.
Working things out is the last thing on my mind these days Thellie, and oddly, I don’t care.
Not anymore.
So much time has been wasted trying to make something of this farce of a marriage yet the only one trying has been me.
I’ve just about run out of patience.
We had another argument as I was leaving, this is nothing new of course but there was something different about this one.
Where I usually find myself yelling loud enough to frighten even the Reaper himself, this time I was deadly quiet.
I gave him nothing.
Hades did his best to bait me but I refused to bite.
He even went so far as to accuse me of taking a lover.
A year ago I would have gotten my back up at his insinuating I was unfaithful knowing that unfaithfulness is one of his specialties.
Now when I hear these words it just makes me wonder why I haven’t taken a lover.
I’m being hung for a crime I never committed dear friend but if the truth be known, I wish he was right.
I’m so lonely Thellie.
Hades does nothing to ease my loneliness, in fact he does everything he can to keep me isolated.
He’s been hiding most of my correspondence too.
I found a box full of letters addressed to me hidden away in his safe when I opened it to put away some of my jewels.
Hades has gone too far this time.
PS: I can’t wait to see you, we have much to talk about, things that are best said face to face rather than on paper. I’m hoping that will be enough to lure you here as soon as possible, I did learn a few lessons from you after all sweet Siren xx

lnearly empty jelly jar
Dear Sir and/or Madame,

This letter is to inform you that I am returning this Life.

I’m unsatisfied with the product I’ve been given and I demand an immediate refund.

While I understand in theory that there is no guarantee of a Happy-Ever-After, I was not informed of the possibility of a Happy-Never-After.
This is completely unacceptable.

While I have never fallen victim to the whole Bait-and-Switch thing before, I am now devastated to find that my entire Life has been nothing more than the Mother of all Bait-and-Switches.

You lied.

I cried.

And I really hate crying so I want my money back.

I have followed all the instructions I was given since the day I became me, but that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow has yet to be found.
I’ve run out of patience.

You can’t change the rules mid-play.

Certain things are not done in polite society,this being one of them.

I am now crying Foul.

You will find my Life enclosed in the near-empty grape jelly jar I’ve sent with this letter.

Contents may settle under pressure. Regardless of weight you are getting back exactly what you have given me, nothing.

Actually,if you look at it logically,you are getting more than you’ve given me, you, at the very least, are getting an almost empty jelly jar.

There is no disputing this claim.

Be aware that I am prepared to take this to the Supreme Court if need be.

I believe my rights are covered under the Commerce Clause (Article I, Section 8,Clause 3).

If it makes you feel better, nobody really understands what the Commerce Clause actually means.
But I still want my money back.

Any cost associated with this transaction will be paid for by the Federal Government.

I’m entitled.


The Girl Formally Known As Me

{May 12, 2013}   I Miss You Mom

mom program thismom and me scottish festivalmom program back
Dear Mom,
This is the hardest letter I’ve ever tried to write.
Firstly, Happy Mother’s Day to the most wonderful Mother anyone could ever hope to wish for. I’m so lost without you but I try to make myself feel a little better by reminding myself that you’ve shrugged off your mortal coil and you are now in Heaven, my own personal Angel.
I know in my heart you are happy and at peace. I know you’re up there with Nana and Grandpa, Aunt Geri, Aunt Nene, Uncle Mickey, and the older sister I never got to meet. So many friends and family are with you now, it’s one of the few things that helps me keep it together sometimes.
It’s really tough Mom, you were always here for me, and like you and your own Mom did, we called each other at least once a day. I know it’s only been a few weeks since you left us and I still haven’t fully processed it yet.
Just the other day I picked up the phone to call you for a recipe.
When the Jodi Arias guilty verdict was announced I did it again, picked up the phone, remembered you were gone and burst into tears.
I have no regrets because you taught me well.
You taught me to always say “I love you” to people I love and it comforts me a little bit to know the last words we said to each other was “I love you”.
You weren’t supposed to die yet Mommy. You broke your shoulder and the doctors swore you were fine, yet less than 8 hours after they moved you to rehab you left us. And I was the one they called first. I was so shocked I said “you’re kidding me!” but no, the nurse said, she wasn’t kidding me.
There was no way I could grab your soul and stuff it back into your body.

The last two years were extra hard on you Mom, having your house collapse around you from Hurricane Irene didn’t even cause you to bat an eye, and with our stubborn Irish streak, we made damn sure you got your house back. Screw the insurance company who refused to pay anything, we all got together and did it the old fashioned way, so many friends gathered together and yeah, we put on a show and raised money. I’m so grateful to Dave Sabo from Skid Row for donating his time and playing that night; we have always been blessed with good friends and neighbors but I have to admit, I was disappointed that BonJovi blew it off even though he was supposed to play that night too. I felt bad for the money we had to put out for security that night for the rock star who never showed up but that’s just my bitter talking. I won’t let out all the secrets I know about that situation because you wouldn’t approve, so I shall just put the whole thing in karma’s hands.
Besides, Home Depot stepped up to the plate and donated everything we needed.

It sucks that you only got to live a few months in your own house.
It sucks that we’ll never again have our twice a year Mother-Daughter trips to Cape May but I thank God we had that one last trip 2 weeks before you broke your shoulder. Although I should’ve know something was weird when there was a freak snowstorm while we were there in Springtime; we both always said how much we wanted to see Cape May covered in snow, and we did.

It’s hard Mom. So hard without you. You were the glue that held our family together.
I don’t know what my future holds, but I know you will be in my heart guiding my way. You’ll be happy to know I’ve stopped procrastinating and started writing again.
I want to make you proud. If I can be half the woman you were, I think I’ll be ok.
I will always love you Dearest Mother, I don’t know when, but we will be together again. In the meantime, keep in touch; you sent me the sign we agreed on so I know you made it to the Other Side, but if you could, just once in awhile, come visit me whether in my dreams or out of the corner of my eye, you will always be with me.

Your Loving Daughter,
Joanne Bridget

et cetera