Letter of Marque: Spookyworld

I haven’t had a vacation in five years. Spooky has me beat: He hasn’t been on a vacation in fifteen.  However a trip to Crystal City can be romantic if you don’t need to do much more than attend a few meetings. Spooky squeezed a week’s worth into three days, after which we plan to take the rest of the week off to see the sights and laze about.

I will be in Spookyworld until I’m not. No access to this site while I’m gone because although Spooky knows I blog he doesn’t know where. SHHHHHH.

Friday Cat Blogging: Pied Piper Pirate

Spooky the Pirate increases his fan base

The conventional wisdom is that you can tell a lot about people from how animals react around them. If it’s true then Spooky must be a saint because he is the new prime real estate in this household. My own lap has become Second Tier.

Typically when a stranger walks into my house all but Ambassador Gabby will bolt upstairs and hide under my bed. Gabby will slobber all over the newcomer because as far as she is concerned all humans exist to pet her.  One by one the others might . . . might . . . wander downstairs one at a time to assess the stranger, then go back upstairs until s/he leaves.

My cats don’t follow their regular pattern when Spooky is in the house; rather they behave as if the man keeps chewy meat snacks in his pockets. They follow him around the house and won’t leave him alone! When Spooky sings all four run to the livingroom (if they’re not already there) and get as close to him as possible without interfering with his guitar. If they had opposable thumbs they’d raise their paws, flick their kittyconcert Bics and sway to the music, but since they don’t they just purr.

Master Bath Midpoint

There is still much to do with this bathroom but for now I’m taking a break and enjoying the new paint job. The room still needs plumbing and electrical work and I need to recaulk, but the renovation mood has left me for now. I’m exhausted!

Yeah Baby

I have my appetite back!  Now I go about the business of GAINING weight, isn’t that ironic? Size 4 pants and they’re hanging off my hips. That’s what happens when I go a month without eating.

Letter of Marque: No Quarter

It ’s been a week and a half since the accidental-but-not-really encounter between Spooky and Scorpio and I’m still a little upset by it. I had not planned for it to happen that way; actually I’d planned for it not to happen at all, but it did, and it was awful, and thank god it ended quickly without any overt hostilities. Next time Scorpio will not be so lucky: Spooky is very psychic, way too clever, overly-trained, frighteningly connected and just too big for them ever to be in the same room again. Which is why there will never be a next time.

Spooky didn’t move from his chair in the dining room where he was sipping his morning tea in his pajamas, but he might as well have been towering over me in full battle gear for the impact his words had. “You don’t know so let me tell you. He’s bad news. I saw right through him. I know WHO he is, I know WHAT he is and what he thinks of you. He does not love you. He is USING you. He is BAD for you. GET RID OF HIM.”

“Okay,” I whispered. I find myself doing exactly what Spooky suggests these days. Not because he’s bossy – actually that was the first time he’d ever raised his voice with me or gave me any kind of order whatsoever – but because . . . Well, because he’s always right. About pretty much everything.

He continued. “I know what happened between you Tuesday night and I know why he came here now. I don’t ever want to see him walk into this house again.  He pulls this again and he’s a dead man; so help me God I will kill him with my bare hands. Are you hearing me? I’m not telling you this just because I want you. I’d tell you this if I were I were your professor. Hell, I’d tell you this if I were your fucking mailman. You need to END this.”

Did I mention Spooky is prone to sermonizing? Well okay then; you’ve been warned.

He reached for my hand and pulled me toward him. “Besides. He frightened you. I saw your face when you read his text.” He made a face. “I’m coming over.”

I shook my head. Actually, come to think of it Scorpio is pretty psychic too; it just frightens him too much to acknowledge it. In fact Scorpio’s instincts are usually pretty impeccable. “Scorpio never just ‘drops by.’ Never has. Never ever. I don’t know why he did this.”

“Riiiiiiiight. You see what I’m sayin.’ He didn’t even give you time to put some clothes on.”

Follow the Ink

Squid Blog

Remember Jules Verne’s “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?”   Not only do sea monsters exist, they travel in schools, so if you live near Orange County in California go check out the giant squids! And yes they do squirt ink.

The Kraken

Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant fins the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battering upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by men and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Comeback Diet

AllPosters.com

Have you ever completely lost your appetite for an extended period of time, whether from pregnancy, an emotional shock, funky blood sugar levels or a piece of bad sushi?  It’s happened to me so often that I actually have a protocol for how to deal with it.

I figured out what works for me 17 years ago when I was pregnant with Bunny. The protocol came in handy in the late 1990’s during my divorce when my weight dropped to 99 pounds, and later on when my adrenals started kicking my ass on a more-or-less regular basis. Last weekend was ruined by a Sushi Incident. I’m now in Phase 3 and nearly out of the woods.

Phase 1: Warm lemon water with honey and cayenne pepper, or hot tea.  I don’t like the standard flu diet of ginger ale, Gatorade, etc., but will drink it if someone forces it into me.

Phase 2: Strawberry flavored Ensure

Phase 3: Melted Haagen Dasz strawberry ice cream

Phase 4: McDonalds quarter pounder with cheese (optional)

Why strawberry? I don’t know. It’s the only thing that will stay down if I feel queasy.

I keep tea, lemon juice and a sixpack of Ensure in the house at all times because when my adrenals crap out I go down FAST. I don’t keep strawberry ice cream in the house because Bunny just eats it all, so when it gets Phase 3 I send someone for it or go to the grocery store myself.  I’m typically still in my slippers and pajamas at that point; in fact when I got home from work today I changed into my pajamas and slippers and then went to the grocery store. A new tradition?

Letter of Marque: Twelve Weeks

I’m having a difficult time reconciling the two pirates I’ve recently come to know: Captain Spooky the Pirate the defense industry executive and the lonely troubadour who appears on my doorstep every Friday evening.  Spooky’s estranged wife has been disappearing on him without explanation for the last ten years and now it’s his turn: He finally has someplace else to go. Last week he bought a second guitar and left it at my place.

These three weeks have been magical for Spooky: While I’ve been disoriented and discombobulated and making mistakes at work his life has become All Romance All the Time. This Captain of the defense industry is a hardcore romantic. He’s also the kind of man one might encounter at a pagan or Renaissance festival or a gaming convention, which means he’s my kind. If only I had known! Being of a witchy-pagan bent myself Spook was my troubadour, while I was the fairy princess of his dreams.  A bald fairy princess with interchangeable wigs.

Neither one of us ever thought we’d meet our matches at work because we’d compartmentalized our lives too much. Ten years had passed while we followed each other with our eyes saying nothing. Our reluctance to engage was probably for the best since he was married, albeit in name only. Unfortunately Spooky’s entire company -  and by that I mean 100% of it – is still in his wife’s name for reasons I simply cannot fathom, plus they have a special-needs adult child living at home. Instead of divorcing they decided to retired o separate corners of their sprawling 6.000 square foot mini-mansion. Separate lives, separate finances. The only time they speak is at work.

“Things are different now,” he insisted as I lay on my bed shocked, phone in hand, thinking WTF not again, not after what I went through with Joe Cool. “Please, I BEG you, be patient. Things really are moving forward. You’ve got to believe me. In a few weeks you will see.”  How ironic considering how after our first date I’d suggested we wait twelve weeks until I was no longer associated with a service contract his – excuse me their – company was planning to bid on.  He’d said OK at first, then called me back and told me that twelve weeks was not acceptable. A few days later he walked into the office of one of my department heads and formally declined to bid on the contract. “Now we don’t have to wait. What’s ten million dollars anyway?” He joked. “Besides, I have something more lucrative coming down the pike in . . . about twelve weeks.”

Twelve weeks.  The time would fly, but what silly politics would require Spooky to continue to fake a marriage for twelve weeks? I couldn’t think of one reason.

Spring 2010 Fashion: Shopping My Closet (Again)

Hot pants? Jodhpurs? Over the knee socks and bunny ears? I think I’ll pass. I’ll stick with Hugo Boss because it reminds me that everything I need for summer is probably already in my closet.

I like the new look for hair, though. Too bad only 1 woman in  100 can wear it without resorting to hairpieces.

Letter of Marque: Jump

Hotel Elan, Dallas

It feels like swimming in that pool: Privileged, exhilarating, the Abyss ever-present. I’m in a dream world. Positively unreal. I don’t know how to explain it, because for it to make sense you have to know something I NEVER thought I’d post here.  Something you’d never believe, because if you don’t believe in The Duke you surely won’t believe this.  So just treat it like fiction.  That’ll be my alibi anyway, should ever I be interrogated.

Me: Dang it you’re not getting my silly missives? DRAT! All my nutty blatherings on the bankster wars and you missed em.

Duke: I have not been getting the traditional steady flow of traffic from you that I always enjoyed. I know that my mail is being hacked into and by whom, and I now see that my email addresses have all yours deleted. Ahhhh, Liebe. Neither snow, nor rain, nor sleet . . .

That correspondence was a few days before the Duke disappeared. It wasn’t his ex girlfriend keeping me from him. Besides, a 60 year old poetess a hacker? Bish please. But who else would care?

That’s when my body went cold: I had been corresponding with a foreign national on a DoD computer. I pecked through my old emails to and from the Duke: They were fast-paced, very political, opinionated, and I was horrified. In one email I even joked about defecting. But come on: Who didn’t threaten to move to Canada when Bush won his second term?

<headdesk/>

<headdesk/>

<headdesk/>

I WAS NOT THINKING. The Duke and I grew up four hours of each other. The New York Times refers to him as an American when they interview him. He used to have a NATO Cosmic clearance and for years – up until this moment – I had him in my safe category. But what if my former Duke Lover is on the “wrong” side of the Bankster Wars?  He is high enough on the economic food chain for it to matter, and the C.V. he sent me in 2006ish marked him as a global governance sort.  I “feel” him now: He’s alive and regrettably cut off, and not by choice. I wonder what happened, and now I’m paranoid that I may have somehow gotten myself into trouble simply by being thoughtless and careless.

Shit.

My goodness I must be PMSSING again. Paranoia is one of the symptoms. Sure enough: I’m Code Orange moving into Code Red. PA-RA-NOID. But that’s the way it always goes: My fingers get away from me when I’m PMDD-addled, especially when I’m half in the bag. My hedonistic pleasureseeking is peppered with political rants and conspiracy theories, and in the beginning, starting in 2007ish when the Bankster Wars were getting real hot, I pulled a lot of my rant material out of the usual dark corners of the internet. I deleted about half of it once I figured out it was crap promulgated by the same intelligence agencies they purported to expose. Most conspiracies are rabbit holes, you know.  Gotta keep the seekers entertained lest they stumble upon something Real. If I have one message to give to the Tinfoil Hat Brigade it’s this: Don’t be so quick to pick sides. Things get real tangled at the top.

I’m a pattern-seeker, a little bit psychic, apparently with an IQ on the far edge of the bell curve. I figured out some of what was going on in the Bankster Wars, or at least I thought I did. That’s when I noticed the Interested had figured me out too. I even had a minder for awhile!  Obvious Minder Was Obvious so I banned him from commenting. Maybe he’s still around. Sorry dude: If you’re reading this now I just can’t help it. I’m like a kid running toward an electric socket and I’m holding a fork.  Maybe I’ll get zapped but I just have to try it. And what will I do with my insights? Probably jack shit unless I decide to write a novel. Sigh. Maybe my former minder(s) have already determined I’m a harmless twit and they’re just sticking around for the half-nekkid pictures. That’s OK; I like attention. Just not the kind that might get me killed someday.

Spooky tried to reassure me.  “Don’t worry about it. I will not let anything bad happen to you. You didn’t know. You didn’t pass anything classified or sensitive. I don’t think anything will come of it.  Just don’t do it again.”

“God no I’m nobody and know nothing. All I want to know is what faction he’s a part of and if I can maintain my security clearance and still be his friend. Really the Duke just wants to canoodle because I’m cute and we did the Vulcan Mind Meld. Otherwise I’m no use to him.”

Spooky looked doubtful. “He’s probably not even who he says he is. I may be able to check him out. Maybe. No promises.”

“Don’t  . . . don’t do anything you wouldn’t do for your job anyway. I know you probably had a high clearance when you were in the Vault but -”

“I still have it.”

“Oh.”

“I wasn’t sent to you if that’s what you are wondering.”

“I know I’m not that interesting. But I was wondering about you for awhile.”

“Really?”

“I wanted to be able to place you in a faction.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “So did you?”

I laughed. Spooky the Pirate? It was so obvious. “I think so. But is there even such a thing anymore as a Liberty Faction?”

He grinned. “There are a few of us left.”

“Whew. What a relief.” I told him I had thought they were on the bitter sidelines while the one-worlders duked it out over exactly what flavor of global governance we were going to have shoved down our throats.

He laughed. “Listen. I wasn’t going to tell you this but one of my meetings when we’re in D.C. will be with ___(OMFG former director intelligence agency OMFG)__. I was going to let you go shopping in Crystal City while I talked to him but  – if you want – You can come with me.”

I asked what his name was. He told me. It was so . . . so very German.“Really?”

“Really.”

I rubbed my forehead and shook my head, then sat very still. Oh my fucking god. “OK.”

Half Nekkid Thursday: Placeholder

I’m spending lots of time on the phone with Spooky these days.

I need Libras or those who are in relationships with Libras to check in:  Lots of phone time? Yaketyack?  My ex-fiance Joe Cool was also a Libra.  So was my first True Love from high school.  Today I was trying to work one-handed during lunch (I work through lunch) and my phone hand actually started to tingle because it was losing blood or fell asleep or something. And I’m not a phone person, either. But all the talking feels good, and there is a whole lot to talk about, so I just roll with it.

But I gotta go. If my daughter does not spend at least two hours per day Facebooking She. Will. Die. So this post is just a placeholder:  I’ll eventually use this photo to capture the essence of these phone calls. You’re not going to believe it. So just treat it like fiction but ask yourselves:  If I were creating a fantasy-dream-man, wouldn’t I write him single?

Hump Day Special: Plush Peens

You need to go to Russia to find those anatomically correct – ish plush toys you’ve been looking for.

Keep Your Head Down

We are no longer allowed to look at fireballs in the sky. Whatever they are, they’re classified. No. Really. Because . . . Well, just because. Just . . .  Just. Shut. Up. Obey your government. Or else:

Military Hush-Up: Incoming Space Rocks Now Classified
By Leonard David
SPACE.com’s Space Insider Columnist
posted: 10 June 2009
05:35 pm ET
For 15 years, scientists have benefited from data gleaned by U.S. classified satellites of natural fireball events in Earth’s atmosphere – but no longer.

A recent U.S. military policy decision now explicitly states that observations by hush-hush government spacecraft of incoming bolides and fireballs are classified secret and are not to be released, SPACE.com has learned.

So. What do you think they’re up to?

I’ve been skywatching at night. While I was renovating my bedroom I was able to see the sky before dropping off to sleep.  How could I have ignored it for all these years? I’d been keeping the curtains shut. My bedroom faces the street and I have a nosy neighbor who would like nothing more than to see me walk back and forth from my bathroom to pee. This renovation project left me a little exposed, but at least I got a taste of what it was like to see the sky at night, and now that the project is almost completed I’m not about to give it up.  This is my compromise: Hanging my curtains cafe style.

Now I watch the sky at night and I’ve seen so many things.  Sometimes portions of the sky light up with colors, either purple-blue or orange-red. I see objects that look like stars, except if you watch them for awhile you’ll see those “stars” moving. I suppose they could be satellites, and if I’m right there are a lot of satellites up there.  I also see large number of star-like objects swarming like bees or birds.  They are much too high up to be normal aircraft and they make no sound.

I don’t know what to make of any of it, except that it’s interesting.  I think I might want night vision goggles and a telescope for my birthday so I can . . . be a criminal?

Letter of Marque: Red Flag

Jolly Roger flags were historically flown by pirate ships as a form of psychological warfare, aimed at inspiring their own men during battle and intimidating their victims into surrender. A Jolly Roger with a red rather than a black background was most feared as it meant no life would be spared in a ship’s capture.

Spooky is extremely verbal.  Imagine a Libra with Leo rising prone to sermonizing.  I’m just glad he has a deep, sexy voice because if it were high pitched I would have stabbed both of my eyes out with a fork on our first date.

The night before our first Saturday night date we depleted our PDA batteries talking about anything and everything except for one thing: His divorce. He said nothing about it at all. I have a hard time understanding why a woman should even have to ask, but this appears to be among the most important first date questions: “So how long have you been divorced?”

Silence.

Oh, shit, I thought.

“I didn’t want to have to tell you about this over the phone.”

“Too late.”

He seemed very upset. “Please don’t be mad. I’ve been sleeping in the basement for eight years, as far away from her as I can get. My choice.”  He took a deep breath. “I need you to hear this. Eight years. My doctor says if I don’t make changes to my life I’m going to have a heart attack. Look at me: I’ve gained forty pounds!”

I’d noticed the weight gain but had a hard time visualizing a man like him sleeping in a basement. “EIGHT YEARS? Are you out of your mind? WHY?”

“There are reasons. Good ones. I’ve made some decisions and some things are going to be changing real soon. But I can’t talk about them.”

“Well you’d better.”

He sighed. “I really need you to be quiet about this.”  He dropped another big sigh and hesitated for a moment before continuing in a lower voice.

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” I said. It really was an Intractable Situation.

“Me too. But some really good things are finally happening. I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t know for sure that things were progressing.  Please: Can we talk about this at dinner tomorrow? Please tell me you’ll still see me. Because if you won’t hear me out you might as well just take out a gun and shoot me. Just kill me. I’m serious. I can’t wait any longer to go on with my life. I just can’t.”

“Fine. We can talk.”

Letter of Marque: Made to Order

I suppose I’ll call my new pirate-lover “Spooky” for now for reasons that might become apparent later, or not. Maybe I’ll just call him The Captain.

It was our second lunch together. Or was it our first dinner? It’s all a blur so consider this a composite of several conversations that took place over a matter of days at the same restaurant, at the same corner table, with the same server. I think most of it might have  taken place on our first date-date, meaning the first meal after which I let him pick up the check. I should really ask him because he remembers everything, including dates, times, sequencing, what I was wearing, and what color my hair was on any given day.  Spooky has a very interesting mind: He remembers every conversation we ever had during those years when we were playing shy googley-eyes. There were two of them.

There went his baritone voice again.”So what are you looking for?”

I raised an eyebrow and shook my head a little. Honestly at that point I wasn’t sure if he was trying to woo me, or sent by his spooky buddies to either hire or kill me.  “Do you mean like something on the menu? A new, fulfilling career? A million dollars? The perfect pair of black elastic waist pants?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, from a relationship. What do you want?”

“Ah. Well, I don’t want to be married again. I’d be happy with reliable weekend companionship and a good sex life.” I took a sip of my tea and winked at him.

He hesitated “. . . I suppose I could give you that. We don’t have to get married if you don’t want to. There are other arrangements.” He shrugged.

Other arrangements, I thought. Maybe it was time to turn the tables before things got weird. “What do YOU want?”

“You.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “No, really.”

“No. Really.”

“You don’t even KNOW me.”

“Oh, I know you.” He shook his head and smiled. “I know allllll about you.”

“OK that scares me. Staring at me for ten years and asking people about me means you know about as much about me as a stalker would.”

He laughed, hard, as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Try me: What else do you think I need to know?”

“I have four cats. I’m the crazy cat lady!”

“I love cats.  Cats love me. I have one. And I’m not allergic.”

I thought, well OK, on to the annoying food issues. “I don’t eat wheat and I don’t drink milk. I have a lot of food sensitivities.”

“Me too. I don’t eat wheat either. Celiac?”

I shook my head. “Shut up. You’re making this up. You’re mirroring me, aren’t you.”

He grinned. “No I’m not. I don’t drink milk either.”

“Fine. OK. Here’s something else: I’m super-duper shy. You’d have to do all the work when it came to our social life.”

“No worries with that. I know people all over the country. If you’re with me you’re in, and you are protected. And since I’m full-blooded Sicilian you’re really really really protected if ya know what I mean.” He did a little eyebrow dance and I giggled.

Everywhere Spook goes a posse shows up

“I’m really stubborn.”

Spooky shrugged. “So you’re a Taurus. My mother is a Taurus.”

He was gonna play hardball so I threw him a curve.”I have really bad PMS.”

His turn to roll his eyes. “What woman doesn’t?”

“No. I mean really really really bad. Put me in a hospital bad. Suicidal thoughts bad. Hardcore antidepressants bad.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, that’s just . . . That’s just really awful, I’m sorry. Just tell me what to do that week. You want me to go away? I’ll go away. But I’ll always come back. Just tell me what to do and we’ll get through it. Trust me on this: I know people. You have no idea. I can get you an appointment to see the best doctors in the country in three days.” His face turned very serious as he leaned towards me and said in a very low voice: “I want you to listen. Three. Days. I need you to get me. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“OK then. So what else ya got?”

“Did your spooky buddies slip you a mickey as a practical joke?”

“No. But I’d thank them if they did.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “I’m psychic. You will NEVER get away with ANYTHING.”

“So am I. Nobody gets away with anything with me either. At least, not for long.” His eyes widened and he nodded. “Not you, not anyone who works for me or with me. Not anyone. Trust me on this. I have stories you would not believe. You have no idea.”

“OK then. How about this:  I AM BALD. I shave my head!”

He looked sad. “I know. I watched it fall out. I really don’t care, although I know you do.”

I sighed. This was nuts. It  I took a deep breath and said “Well! then I suppose there is no point in waiting. We have to get married.” That will shut him up for sure, I thought.

He nodded, slowly. “You just tell me when it’s time to go shopping for the ring.”

Exasperated, I planted my face on the table. Fortunately the food had not yet arrived. This was not real. In fact I suspected it was an elaborate put-on.  “OK. This is a practical joke, right? Either that or you’ve been sent by the NSA to either hire me, or kill me.” I leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Did I fly too close to the sun? Do I at least get a choice?”

“No, you haven’t flown too close to the sun and your wings aren’t gonna melt. I’ve done my time. That part of my life is over. This is strictly personal.”

“Whew.”

“But that exploding car CAN be arranged.”