Sandy in the Mountains

Yesterday we spent most of the day watching CNN following the path of hurricane Sandy. It's projected path took it right to our central Pennsylvania. This kind of scare was unprecedented in my life. It was only a category 1/2 but the possibility was frightening.

We left our chunk of pretty on the hill for shelter from the storm. I felt that we would be safer at my parents' home, in the valley. I feared the winds of Sandy would send our trees toppling over which could be potentially fatal in a trailer shell. I had never anticipated the winds of a hurricane on my home before. We did end up losing some trees, but no more than we have from a Nor'easter. We didn't even lose power, which was incredibly surprising because the lines of our cooperative run mostly in wooded areas. People not far from us lost power and were out several days even. All in all, we were prepared with our generators and lanterns and prepared meals, but we were incredibly lucky during this storm. Our mountains sheltered us from the worst of Sandy's winds.

Scottish Italian

I'm an interesting mix; hairy and red!
Have mercy on he who gets me to bed!

I'm going mobile!

I have a lot on my mind. It has been a crazy month so far. I also was forced to get a new phone when mine stopped letting me in my inbox. I got a ZTE Merit. It seems to be more intelligent than I am. I'm writing this on my phone using the blogger app. Much to learn. Much to say. Here's to technology and being in sync. That's a metaphor.

Ravenwood Manor: A Haunted Night of Fun

Ravenwood Manor

"The Bloody End"; 13th Year

Beccaria, Pennsylvania

October 7, 2012

I don’t know why I was under the misconception that I couldn’t be scared around here for Halloween.  Don’t believe everything that you think.  I also thought I was maybe a little old for a night out in fake blood and zombie face, but it turns out 32 is not too old to have a good time and almost piss yourself in public.  Last night I went to Ravenwood Manor, a haunted house attraction in Beccaria, Pennsylvania.  It was a wonderful seasonal experience; it was pleasantly and freakishly exciting to discover something so local and legit was offered to the public. 

Ravenwood is offering their 13^th year of scares this October.  I have never even been to the place until now.  I actually wasn’t even aware of its existence these whole 13 years it has been happening.  Needless to say, this was fairly exciting for me.  It is located at the Hegerty Mansion, in Becarria at Hegerty Crossroads which is a little out in the middle of nowhere.  This only adds to the creepy atmosphere. 

The mansion is decked out in its own Halloween costume, under the glow of eerie colored lights, accessories and sounds.  There is a backing of eerie music loud enough to be heard from the parking lot.  We hit up the port-a-potties beforehand, which was probably for the best as I am sure it prevented some urine from escaping throughout the tour.  The grounds are complete with a Cadaver Café where you can get refreshments prior to or after your tour.  The ticket booth is outside and there is a roped section to accommodate a line when there is a crowd.  I was informed it was quite busy the night before we went, and people waited almost two hours for the approximate half hour tour.  Even the ticket taker was in costume.  Thankfully we didn’t have to wait and were able to go right in, and by that I mean purchase our tickets at the booth to be immediately chased across the yard onto the porch by a creepy clown wielding a chain saw.  There were four of us in the group I went with and we huddled into the form we would assume through most of the house, a ball of squeals. 

There are supposedly 27 rooms in Ravenwood Manor.  I am not sure how many we viewed; I have to admit in all honesty I wasn’t counting as we were going through the tour.  We were ushered into a foyer of sorts and then led into a study type room by a man in full costume.  Our guide had a top hat, sunken eyes and a bit of a gimp to him.  With a booming voice one could hear at a theatrical production he gave us back history about Ravenwood Manor.  A resounding voice beckoned to you through the darkness.  “This way!”  Actors were jumping out behind us from unseen hiding spots.  We were led to room after room, each one adorned with horrifying scenes and disturbing characters.  Every room I entered I assessed in the darkness, finding a spot to stand that I didn’t think was in front of a lurking actor waiting to jump out at me.  They were coming from all sides!  This shit was authentic! 

In one room we were approached by a scary clown, in another a creepy doll woman, surrounded by large doll figures.  A lot of the actors were so convincing that it took a little time in the poor light to discern if they were real or not.   By the time you figured it out, they were jumping at you with a startling scream or coming at you with knives or hatchets.  In one room a mad dentist drilled into a mechanical body.  In one room a clown swung sideways down the wall at us.  The actors approached us and were convincingly freaky with their interactions.  It was hard not to laugh in defense, which I hoped didn’t make them think I was mocking them.  They all did a very good job.

We moved from room to room, the doors closed behind us, all the while being guided from room to room by the tour guide.  In one room that sported body parts hanging from every inch of the ceiling, we were urged to “Step toward the bed...”  This is when I had a moment of physical defense and stress.  In a normal life situation this wouldn’t be very wise and would have drastically different results.  It was authentically scary and if all of the limbs weren’t obviously fake you could have sworn that you had been abducted into a house of torture.  After veering through narrow stairways and hallways being warned to “Use the handrail, 3 steps down!” in a villainy vibrato voice, we eventually came out into what seemed a large vagina.  I jest, but that was what it was like, being born.  I actually got hung up in it at one point.  It was a pitch black tunnel that was vibrating.  There were curtain type foam barriers you had to push your way past.  I lost my friend I was with at one point and couldn’t see where I was going so I slowed to a near crawl for part of the tunnel, fumbling through the dark, feeling for the floor, until I could see my surroundings again.  It successfully threw me off balance and was genuinely hard to navigate. 

After finally making it out of the pitch black vibrating vaginal canal, we were spit out into a smoke filled room with three clowns coming at us with cowbells, chainsaws and scurry faces.  At this point our group wasn’t exactly sure where to go so my friend just asked them; it was quite humorous.  With straight faces in full character, still coming at us with noises he nods to the end of the tent we were in.  Apparently we had exited the house via the vagina and entered a party tent filled with clowns and smoke.  All around it was a good little spook show! 

Front of Ravenwood Manor

For only being $12 and within 100 miles of my house, I must say it was a very good local attraction.  Until now the scariest Haunted House I had ever been to was one I had visited in Daytona Beach while on vacation; you had to sign a Death Certificate before entering.  Ravenwood Manor was more authentically scary and interesting to tour by far than the house in Daytona.  The house itself was magnificent; I would love to tour it without all of the haunted tour décor, let alone just see it in the daylight!  The ceilings looked to be about 12 feet high in most of the rooms and each doorway was fashioned with a gloriously tall ornate door.  There were tiny passages and interesting angles.  I was very pleased with this attraction!  Kudos to the actors, staff, and owners at Ravenwood Manor!  Thank you for offering such an entertaining local haunted attraction!

Boo to You!

Missie Sue

Motherhood Mishaps: When the Applebee Stings

“Why are people so bad to each other?”  This is a quote by Christopher McCandless, or from the movie Into the Wild at the very least.  It says a lot of society; it’s true as hell.  People can be damn nasty to each other.  My version of this quote is “Why are moms so mean to each other?”

My girlfriend and I took our toddlers to Kindermusik today, which is hectic enough.  Afterwards, every Tuesday, we have been having lunch at Applebee’s, which can prove to be equally challenging with two toddlers.  I am usually very ready to get Celie into her car seat and pray that she falls asleep on the way home by the time we are done.  She seldom is allowed down in the restaurant by herself.  Frankly, she is mostly never allowed down by herself, even though she is very capable of walking.  Today’s story is a great reminder as to why that is the way it is and has to be. 

We had our meal, I had taken Celie to be changed in the bathroom, and my friend left for the car with her daughter saying she would see us out there when we were done.  We returned to our table and I stood her down between my legs to put her coat on.  (I do the traditional knee hold on her.)  In gathering up her cup and diaper bag and my own items of wear, she slipped from my hold and ran up the isle toward the bathroom.  I, in retrospect, delayed 5 seconds longer than I should have.  It is these 5 seconds as well as the 5 to 10 words from the cook that led to me feeling like the absolute worst mother in existence for a brief amount of time.  Okay, it has officially ripped the scab off of that permanent wound of utter failure that is always living inside of every mother, even when dormant. 

I wanted one more sip of my ice water with lemon.  One more.  Is that too much to ask?  Actually, Missie, as a mother, yes it is.  Because she then slipped from my hold, ran up the isle, and hung a left at the bathrooms where I lost the sight of her head because of the divider.  I was for a brief moment unaware of which direction she took.  I was at full panic for a few seconds as I rounded the corner of the divider.  It was either to the left past the registers or to the right into the kitchen.  Stupid me hung left, telling the questioning server that I was looking for my kid with large deer in headlight border panic breakdown eyes.  I then heard a cough I recognized as my daughter’s from the place I had hoped she didn’t veer into---the kitchen. 

There are two open doorways into the kitchen at Applebee’s.  Here’s some foreshadowing: there isn’t even a door.  As I realized she had entered the kitchen I started to back step to head into the first doorway, at that moment a woman emerged from the left doorway with my child dangling from her arms, visibly distraught at this point (my kid, not the woman).

I don’t remember her exact words, as their meaning and my caring trailed off after it registered what her attitude and opinion was of.  The first words out of my mouth were “I’m sorry…”  The first words out of her mouth were “Do you realize all of the hot things that are back there and blah blah blah…” condescension.  No, please tell me what a kitchen is and what possible dangers lay in it, because we don’t have one and I have absolutely no idea.  I replied, calmly, “I’m sorry, but do you realize how quick a toddler is?”  “Yes, actually, I have two...” more blah blah, I’m a better mother than you, you 18-year-old fedora slut, attitude.  (I jest, but most times you REALLY CAN judge what people are meaning by the way they say things…the WAY you say something is very important. I knew what she was feeling, that was for sure.) 

Anyway, apparently she is either the best mother in the world or her toddlers have no posterior limbs, because doesn’t every mother of a toddler understand how they can be??  WHY ARE MOTHERS SO NASTY TO EACH OTHER!?!?  Cut me some slack.  YES, I realize I am greatly in the wrong for delaying my wrangling efforts that 5 seconds for one more sip of ice cold lemon water for my frazzled dehydrated tongue. I’m not being sarcastic, I realize that was wrong because you don’t get the privilege of random sips of refreshing drinks at will with motherhood, you just don’t, but it was only maybe 10 to 15 seconds that she was in the kitchen, and I would have had her out in like 3 to 5 had I taken the right turn and not hung a left toward the registers!!  Why didn’t any of the other servers who could stop to ask me what I needed, not stop her from heading in there, as they must have seen her round the corner?  It’s not like I sent her back to make me a steak of something? Come ON!  Apparently you are the best mother ever, Applebee’s worker, and your toddlers are made of gold, stationary gold. 

I assume a lot of it was that I may come across as looking like I am 18 to 21 years old.  I may look like I’m completely green, but don’t let the fedora, feathers and nose ring fool you.  This lady was probably 5 to 10 years my senior and she had the attitude that I know absolutely nothing about child care and apparently kitchen ware.  Not that age really matters in motherhood, I realize I am a new mother, and I realize there is a lot I don’t know, but don’t talk down to me like a lot of mothers do IN GENERAL to young in age mothers because you think I am very young.  JUDGEMENT!  Tell me again what dangers lay in the Applebee’s kitchen?  If you’re going to be that way and act like things like this don’t happen in a place that allows children, then please…PLEASE…put a door on your kitchen and don’t have TWO very LARGE access points to it right beside the entrance to the bathroom.  Let’s face it, toddlers eat.  They’re going to be patronizing your restaurant.  They’re going to be entering that bathroom.  Things like this happen and I like to think I was filled with the proper amount of motherly dread and terror as I rounded that corner and didn’t see my daughter.  PLEASE do not use your superior parenting skills and advanced age and rank in the Applebee’s kitchen to purposely make life more stressful for a fellow mom.  Why are moms so mean to each other?  Because we’re BITCHES!  Because motherhood is hard!  Because motherhood is TERRIFYING and you don’t know at any point in time that you are making the right decision.  Because you are always on edge, waiting for someone to judge your way of parenting because deep down you are WORRIED THAT YOU ARE WRONG!!  Deep down there is a place inside of you where you are worried that you are a BAD MOTHER every second of your day!  Welcome to Motherhood. 

At the end of this experience I was left feeling like a shitty ass mother.  I felt so horrible for those 5 seconds, because when it comes down to it, I KNOW BETTER.  You can’t hold on to a spirited toddler’s hand enough to control them without breaking it; it’s like like trying to walk a terrier on a leash of cooked spaghetti.  I know how fast Celie is and I know why I don’t let her down in restaurants, but I find it hard to believe that no child has ever entered that kitchen on a pass through.  Hell, I’m pretty sure my mother has walked into a kitchen trying to find the bathroom.  SHIT HAPPENS!  I also find it hard to believe that lady has had a handle on her kids every second of their existence.  I simply walked away when she started the whole “Yes, actually, I have two and...” where she was then going to go into some other words of wisdom and advice and correction.  Well, lady, if that’s true, then why be such a bitch?  I understand that you are probably stressed out and tired from work, and you may even be generally concerned about the well being of my child, which was my primary concern as I was trying to fetch her.  Hey, life is hard.  But women are not going to advance themselves any farther by being so snippy and judgmental with each other.  Thank you for representing the part of my psyche that does completely agree with you and acknowledges that this was entirely my fault as a mother, but as a mother, please…could you develop some empathy?  Haven’t you had one of those days?  When you have chased for hours and just want a sip of lemon water?  Haven’t you had a few seconds when they just slipped away from your control?  I’m well aware of the dangers of a kitchen, thank you very much.  I have worked in the food industry; I have a small version of one at home as well.  Nobody was more terrified or concerned when my daughter entered that kitchen than I was.  Thank you for making it even harder as a mother to do the right thing.  Thank you for being that mother, “That Mother” that makes my girlfriend and I loathe and detest play groups and mother functions where they gather.  Thank you for judging me to be unfit in a matter of seconds with the tone of your voice.  And congratulations, because you are, therefore, better than I am.  You are “right”. Isn’t that the hopeful end result of meanie mom logic?

From a fellow mother, would it have been too much for that empathetic smile, and a word TO MY DAUGHTER about the dangers of the kitchen and not me?? In an age appropriate way??  So as to help be the village and learn HER of the dangers?  I would have even taken a “you should know better” look from you if you had done that.  I forgot all about correcting her behavior for running away from me in the first place because I was too busy calling you a bitch on my way out the door!  I was so worked up trying to find her, then I got Dr. Toddler jumped when I found her, I was a mess the whole drive home.  “Stop yelling at me!” my girlfriend says.  I was obviously heightened and complaining loudly, it was a miracle the girls fell asleep in the back seat. 

Really, Applebee’s?  Here’s a thought, put a swinging door on your kitchen if it’s like Louis III’s dungeon back there!  But, honestly, thank you for the condescending direction, because I don’t know about you, Applebee’s cook with two toddlers, but I am a reflective human being, and I will take this experience and try to learn from it.  Maybe you should do the same.  There really is a chance that you were unaware the way you approached things could have been different, and therein lays the problem with mothers connecting.  Instead of recognizing that part that is similar inside of us all you chose to go the ol’ yes I have kids therefore I know how to wrangle yours, do you even know what a kitchen is? route.  Thank you for mirroring my motherly doubts and further perpetuating the cycle of indifference and judgment among women.  You worked me up into a tizzy.  I’m going to go vomit and cry now.

Judging You,

Missie Sue

This Week in Work: The Navel Tale and More

I shouldn’t even be blogging, but I should because I want to get into the role of writing again.  I have writer’s block.  Well, I have honestly been writing a lot, just not blog writing.  I’ve been writing poetry plenty, and musings and such.  Just blah on the blog front.  So I have Blogger’s Block. 

I have a busy week ahead of me.  I have a Drifting Sun print job for Jackson’s Bar, hopefully I will be printing those Thursday.  I have to do screens and graphics for this job yet before printing.  I have a day of piercing lined up for this Wednesday.  It will be my first near full day of piercings, I hope to get a good number lined up so it is worth it. 

I’ve begun a self apprenticeship in piercing, as I said, and I had a week of nostrils and navel.  This week I am going to do lips and labrets, and possibly some others.  I’m currently still lining up some guineas.  (I mean no disrespect to people from New Guinea, or guinea pigs or anything of the sort, I simply reply to my subjects/patients/heros as guineas.  I appreciate all of the guinea pigs that are allowing me to learn on them!)  Hopefully I can get a decent day of it scheduled out so it’s worth while lining up a sitter for so long.

I will be attempting lips and labrets.  All new to me!  Last week I did two nostril piercings and a navel.  They all went really well.  The nostril, I had done before as I blogged, on myself.  These ones were done with corkscrew jewelry studs, though, which can prove to be difficult getting to turn to follow the needle through.  I have also done my own navel, I mentioned, only completely incorrectly with a safety pin.  The navel.  THE NAVEL.  That is the tricky one.  But having all the proper supplies to do it was so much easier.

The navel piercing is very popular, mostly with teenage girls.  This is one of the things that make it actually one of the more difficult piercings to do.  They aren’t always great with their aftercare and a navel can take up to 9 to 12 months or longer to heal fully at times.  This isn’t me targeting anyone, this is what I’ve read in my books/studies.  I’ve been on my subject like a hawk about aftercare!  She’s been great!  It’s doing well. 

The navel piercing itself was a little odd.  The needle pierced through fine, I just had trouble getting the jewelry to follow the needle through, as it didn’t fit into the hollow end of the needle well because they were the same gauge.  I finished it up and it went well, but there was a moment where I was almost afraid I would have to stop and not be able to do it.  I thought I wouldn’t be able to get the jewelry through for a split second, but I was determined, apologized to my subject, and lined them up and got ‘er through!  BAM! The biggest problem was getting enough of her skin in the forceps to pierce well enough.  That’s another problem with navels.  They reject and migrate often because there isn’t always a good amount of skin to be pierced there.  No two navels are made alike and there are some that just simply can not be pierced!  You must assess the situation.  I decided she was capable, although hers was a little elongated (like a coin slot) which we joked about. 
  

I need to line up my guineas and be aware of which piercings they are interested in so I can prepare myself properly.  So hopefully everything goes well Wednesday and I am able to get my printing done while still being able to write a few things here and there.  Mondays are so crazy.  I sat down last night (on Sunday) and actually tried to plan my week out some and contacted people about this week.  It was good to start ahead, so hopefully I can keep up with that momentum.  I’m already hittin’ the coffee hard, and I’m gonna need it for this week! 

Piercing Through,

Missie Sue

I Write Amongst the Dead: Ejaculating My Word Load

Sometimes I get so solemn, so low I swear I can relate to corpses.  So low I feel the worms feeding.  Why are graveyards the best place to write in?  I stopped in at the graveyard on the way back home from an errand today.  Celie had fallen asleep while we were driving home so I swung up around to the Old Log Church for a pit stop for a few minutes.  There’s just something about that place.  I’ve been going there for a good amount of my life, either to walk around the grounds, visit dead relatives, hang out inside the building, take pictures, or to connect with nature, self, spirit.  I have always felt very peaceful in graveyards, comfortable there.

I always get in a writing mood when I am there.  I sat there today and wrote about 3 poems, just basic train of thought quick poems.  Not super quick train of thought, but very little thinking or editing.  Just what came to me. A nice little release on the dead before returning home.  It's weird, it's like I'm cumming on them, a money shot for the dearly departed.  Pardon the comparison, but I just have to get this out of me!  An "abrupt discharge" of thought.  Ahhh...that's better. A passage of necrophilia. 

It’s a good feeling to be able to experience a place like this that makes you feel so serene on the inside and reflective and inspired.  I write in graveyards.  I write amongst the dead.  Maybe I’m writing to them?  Maybe I’m writing for them?  Whatever the case, I dig it.  Yes, it's definitely October.  

Musing Through,

Missie Sue