Are You A Good Witch, Or A Bad Witch?

As a child, I can remember sitting on my bed and staring at the knick-knacks on my dresser, attempting to will them to move with my mind. I would stare at the glass dolls or "Girls Rule!" picture frames, trying to get them to float, or even shift a fraction of an inch. I was totally and completely convinced that if I concentrated hard enough, I'd be able to succeed. I had seen Bedknobs and Broomsticks enough times to know how things worked.

I was also constantly obsessing over Disney's Halloweentown, and Hocus Pocus. I read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe a countless number of times, flinging open closets and the door to my family's eerie guest room (that literally no one has ever stayed in). I was consumed by magic and finding the ~~other~~. I'm still not completely sure that these realms do not exist.

 A few weekends ago, I spent time at a local, eccentric bookstore—The Book Loft. As I walked through the rooms, running my right hand along the shelf tops, a book on Wiccans caught my eye. Curious, and recently enlightened by an early American Literature class that I took last Spring Semester, I casually flipped through the first couple of pages with great interest. The author explained that witches are connected with nature, and that Wiccans only cast spells for positive energy. She also wrote that she and her husband were occasionally approached by Satan worshipers or individuals that wished to cast spells to harm or possess others, but that Wiccans firmly do not associate or condone any sort of Devil-worshiping or dark magic. The witches in older readings (such as Cotton Mather's accounts) were seen as satanic and malevolent by a society that feared what varied from their Christian, normative lifestyle, simply for being different. 

We are now in a society that honors a practicing Wiccan religion, and weaves witch figures into our pop culture through works such as Harry Potter, Wicked, and American Horror Story: Coven. So, have witches really changed? Probably not. Instead, I believe that we have turned Puritan witches into Elphaba and Hermoine. To be a powerful, magic woman is totally sexy and seemingly forbidden. And that's cool.

I have previously mentioned my incredible Buffy fandom, which is perhaps out of control. But I honestly cannot help but to drool over Dark Willow when she becomes "the big bad" of Season Six. Sweet Willow sheds her sweaters and maxi skirts for an all black outfit, dark hair, and a vein-y face that somehow, totally works.

As far as supernatural story-lines go, obviously vampires were recently (or still perhaps are?) in their prime. But the witches in mass media movement is so much different. These characters are not only witches, but women, showing that girls can be strong and take charge. Jessica Lange in AHS Season Three is a total bad-ass. Hermoine Granger was the brains of the operation throughout the whole Harry Potter series. The underlying empowerment is stronger than we realize, and completely effective, especially for those of us that are completely swept away with worlds of mysticism. 

12 years later, and I'm still trying to move things with my mind. I'm also currently contemplating a super hot witch costume for Halloween, although also in the running is a gypsy, Inara from Firefly, or Shilo from Repo! The Genetic Opera. Obviously, I have some decisions to make.

But maybe I'll just give Halloweentown another go,

Jordan

Sassy Cows

While grocery shopping on Sunday, my boyfriend purchased us a couple of mini chocolate milk jugs. Being extreme chocolate milk advocates and connoisseurs, we excitedly decided to give "All Natural Promised Land" a whirl.

It wasn't until now that I decided to read the back of the container, while waiting for the kids that I nanny to awaken. The description started off normal enough, with only a slightly dramatic flair:

"Purity. All natural goodness. Sustainability."

Okay, All Natural Promised Land, I'm listening.

I continued reading the next portion:

"We do things a little differently here at Promised Land Dairy. First of all, we start with all Jersey cows. These Jersey cows, with a sassy swish of the tail and a wink of a long-lashed eye.."

I'M SORRY, WHAT? Did Promised Land Dairy just sexualize their cows?!

So naturally, I think of this:

And this:

Promised Land Dairy Farmer: "Oh Bessie Cow, love, can you spare a drop of milk for me?"
Sassy Bessie Cow: "You'll have to can-can it out of me, daaarlin" *batts eyes*

If it wasn't bizarre enough, the container ends with:
"He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Deuteronomy 26:9"

????????????

Cows be with you,

Jordan

Sleepy Hollow Fanfiction

Last Wednesday was indeed, my birthday.

I had a wonderful gluten free grilled cheese, visited my favorite, eclectic bar, and received a POP TV GOB Bluth vinyl figurine :')

This 22nd birthday was made possible by Sarah Michelle Gellar, Yoohoos, and Neopets. xoxo.

In lieu of having quite a busy, previous week, and working an obnoxious amount, I will share with you a mini Sleepy Hollow Fanfic that I wrote a couple months ago (in the style of Washington Irving).

                                    The Curious Happening With Katrina Van Tassel

Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of

hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile,

but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash—he was

tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the

goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind. (Irving 37)

Ichabod slowly raised his head, only to see his ghoul offender galloping through the night before him, with a deserting Gunpowder on the Hessian’s heels. He jumped to his shaking legs, a bit disoriented from the blow. Quivering, he ran back into the depth of the wood as quickly as his length would take him.

Branches whipped at his upper body and knotted roots grabbed his ankles, slowing his pace.

“The whole forest is enchanted!” gasped he, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me”*

Ichabod continued stumbling through the forested ground, but was stopped when a coy voice echoed around him,

“My dearest Ichabod, I can assure you that you will find protection with me.”

Ichabod halted and lifted his eyes to see the young, beautiful Katrina, completely untouched by the dark evils of the wood. If anything, he imagined, she had a slight glow, and a bit of rose to her soft cheeks.

“What sweet apparition is this?” sang a startled Ichabod. “Fair Katrina Van Tassel, there are dark forces afoot. The Hessian, he came with night fall and nearly terrorized me into a deathly fright. We must make haste with God’s speed” Ichabod finished, while dutifully making the sign of the cross.

“But foolish Ichabod”, hummed Katrina, “I rather fancy the cloak of the wood, especially at this late hour. I have been looking for you. I pray that you stay a while with me, for we have hardly the opportunity to properly converse.”

“Beautiful lady,” responded a slightly more irritated Ichabod, “I will not let you fall to the witchcraft that lurks about this haunted forest. The Hessian will surely be back, and I will get us to safety.” He began forward, reaching for Katrina’s plump upper arm, when she let out a cackle. Ichabod, taken aback, noticed a sudden, peculiar height difference in Katrina’s usually delicate frame. He looked to her shoes and saw that she was indeed levitating off of the ground!

“Katrina!” gasped Ichabod, “Witchcraft! You are a witch!” Practically in hysterics, Ichabod tried to step away but found that his feet were firmly planted in the ground.*

“You have paralyzed me, you demon! Tricked me into love, you bewitched coquette!”

Katrina morphed her lovely face into a slight pout.

“But Ichabod, I thought that you had taken quite an interest in me, and would court me despite our minor differences,” she closed her eyes and laid back her head. Suddenly, a cooked Cornish hen and a bowl of corn popped up in each of her hands. The smell was intoxicating, and soon wafted to Ichabod’s vulnerable snout.

“Stop this, this instant! Unhand me!” demanded a weak Ichabod. Despite his fears, he was finding himself alarmingly drawn to the handsome Katrina and her plates full of delicious food. He could feel his stomach tremble and growl while his heart raced in his chest.

“As you wish”, sighed Katrina. The hen and corn vanished as quickly as they had come, and she floated back to the ground. Ichabod regained power of his legs, and approached the witch.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”* Ichabod hissed, feeling betrayed by his devotion to the deceitful Katrina.

“If that is how you really feel, sir, then so be it. But let me remind you that you have taken a strong hit to the skull, and perhaps you are delirious. Who can say if I am a mere figment of your imagination? A playful fantasy”, purred Katrina as she traced a fingertip around his chest.

Ichabod firmly grabbed her shoulders. “Lovely witch, I’ll prove that you exist and are what I accuse you of. I will find the mark of a witch, and the truth will be before our Lord.”*

With that, Ichabod ripped at her collar in a rage, tearing the top of her dress down past her now exposed breast. Towards the center, where her bosom rounded, he could see a light, red marking, ever so clearly.

“Proof, you devil,” whispered Ichabod, still staring at her exposed chest. He looked up to meet Katrina’s sultry eyes and slightly parted pink mouth, as a sigh escaped. Overcome by the undeniable attraction to the lady, Ichabod kissed the witch’s mark, following his lips up her décolletage and neck until he landed on her full lips.

“You darling creature,” he groaned into her neck, “I am helplessly enchanted and will always love you..” he stopped abruptly, feeling cold. He looked before him to see the vast darkness of the woods, with Katrina nowhere in sight. Ichabod Crane was completely alone.

(based on: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving)

Hopefully I utilized the term "in lieu of" correctly,

Jordan

OYY OYY!

5 Facts About My Recent Trippity Doo Dah To Cincinnati, Ohio:

1. I stayed in a quaint bed and breakfast with my boyfriend that had a lovely, eclectic garden. The path wound through a small, forest area. The trail was dimmed to shadows, decorated with old bird baths and a twinkling of purposefully forgotten Christmas Lights. The whole feel was very steam-punk and whimsical, with a touch of Alice in Wonderland.

2. During the first night, we underwent bizarre experiences of apocalyptic proportions. While driving through the country-esque roads to the bed and breakfast, small pelts of something unidentified kept splashing onto Jeepus' window. The residue was almost milky-white, but the sound of the hit was audible, like loud rain drops. After we slowed down to observes our surroundings, we noticed what seemed to be a plague of giant, swarming bugs. They were similar in nature to giant flies, and perhaps were a mutant strand, but they flung themselves at my car with impressive force and did not easily wash off. We had also noticed that an incredible storm was quickly moving our way. Obviously, we were under attack by monstrous flying bugs with acidic insides and a hunger for human flesh, trapped under what looked to be potentially the worst storm of all time. I whimpered, shrinking downward in the passenger seat, while black clouds covered the sky, spitting lightning. The thunder was groundbreaking, while the bugs swarmed on, thumping against my windshield. We miraculously made it back to the bed and breakfast, with only minor, emotional scarring.

3. I went to Kings Island and saw DINOSAURS ALIVE! It was essentially an hour-long path through the woods with animatronic dinosaurs. I gleefully ran through the trail looking anxiously for the triceratops and a baby tyrannosaurus-rex. The models were life-sized and all extremely impressive. My boyfriend turned into a six year old, and happily gave me multiple facts about each dinosaur we approached. We made plans to soon rewatch the fabulous documentary, "Walking with Dinosaurs". ~~It's on Netflix~~

Mommy dino and bebe dino

4. While eating King's Island's infamous blue ice cream, my boyfriend told me about when he came to King's Island with his family as a small child. He and his mother jokingly would make silly sounds to each other, one of them being a high-pitched "OYY-OYY-OYY!", in the spirit of a young pig. In the bustle of the crowd, my young boyfriend was separated from his mother and sister. Overwhelmed with panic, his mother began to yell "OYY-OYY-OYY!" at the top of her lungs in the middle of King's Island. My tiny boyfriend then bounced through the crowd, with a responsive "OYY-OYY-OYY", and they were re-united. This is probably the best story anyone has ever told me.

5. I saw this.

I'm now back on my two-job-work-grind, saving up money to buy novelty hedgehog and zombie items.

Challenge: Try to think of a baby octopus today ^.^

OYY-OYY,
Jordan

BraveHedge, A Rendition

In the year of 1280, King Hedgehog "Longspike" attacks and conquers the most majestic garden hedge in Scotland. Fighting alongside his family in a war to defend the hedge's throne, young Huff Wallace survives the onslaught and is taken away to live with his uncle in Rome. There, Huff Wallace receives an education, and later returns home to Scotland.

 Huff quickly falls in love with his lovely childhood friend, Pointenne. The hedgehogs marry in secret, but Huff soon has to save Pointenne from being poked and sniffed by English hedge soldiers. As a result, Pointenne is captured and banished, never to place her tiny paws in a Scottish garden again. Enraged at losing his love, Huff Wallace bites two English hedge soldiers, gaining the attention of King Longspike.

Longspike commands his son, Prince Hedgeward, to stop Huff Wallace's uprising. Huff rebels against the English hedge soldiers, with a legendary army of hundreds. Through a series of battles, Huff's militia proves to be successful and noble. Growing worrisome, Longspike sends his daughter in law, Hissabella of France, to confront Huff. Lonspike hopes that Huff will harm Hissabella, tempting the French to declare war on Huff's rebellious army. However, upon meeting Huff, Hissabella becomes incredibly infatuated with him. Huff does Hissabella no harm, and Longspike prepares for a war against Huff's army.

Hissabella learns of Longspike's plans and warns Huff Wallace of the planned invasion. Longspike leads his hedge fighters into battle, and loses to Huff Wallace's might. Huff is taken to safety, and engages in a seven year war against Longspike and his hedge soldiers, with the help of Hissabella.

Huff Wallace is eventually captured by the hedge soldiers and tried for high treason. He is condemned to be publicly tortured until he submits to the king. The hedge soldiers tug on Huff's spikes and bite his little nose and paws, but Huff does not cry out. Obviously pained, Huff stands valiant in front of the crowd. The hedge magistrate offers once more for Huff to mutter "mercy", and the pain will end. Determined and empowered, Huff instead yells "FREEEEEDOM!!!" before he is ordered to be banished from Scotland.

While stumbling through the Scottish garden terrain to his isolation, Huff sees a vision of Pointenne in the distance, and is filled with an inner peace at his fate.

In Huff's memory, the rebellious are later able to rise against the English hedge troops and gain freedom for the Scotland hedgehogs, at last.

Quote from my boyfriend: "Hedgehogs never die. They live forever."

Freeedommm!
Jordan

(Based on the 1995 film, Braveheart. Braveheart. Dir. Mel Gibson. Paramount Pictures, 1995.)

Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark

Upon rounding the bend in my block, I slowed my recreational jog when approached by a pink tongue and black, hopeful eyes. Panting, I yanked at my ear buds and crouched, my knee rubbing against the cement. A tiny, stray yorkshire terrier tip-toed up to me, smiling, and so very lost.
"Aww, come here, sweetie. Do you have a collar?" I asked while scooping up its small frame. We locked gazes as the puppy alarmingly looked straight into my soul. I felt something wet on my pinky finger as I realized that he had graced me with a trace of his tinkle juice. I was now his.
I continued walking around the block, holding my tiny-legged master, when I found a woman that recognized him. Regretfully, I handed over the small pup in one hand, and telepathically communicated that I would miss him and his adorable, little feet-paws. Then, off I ran to Jason Derulo's Talk Dirty To Me.

If I had gone running earlier as planned, we would not have crossed paths. I had prioritized cartoons on the couch and decided to exercise later in the day out of pathetic exhaustion. I did not sleep well last night. Or any night before that, really. 

I dread the night time like a small child, terrified of monsters, burglars, or any other types of ghoulies. I am approaching 22 years of age, and still routinely check my closet before I flick the light switch. When I first run and jump into my bed, the initial panic drips down my body. Every hair on my skin becomes aware, as my eyes dart back in forth in vain. I usually lay on my back, with my arms to my sides or my fingers intertwined and neatly folded over my upper abdomen. My toes stiffly point upward, and my brain starts to quickly think of all of the most terrifying things that I have ever seen or heard about in my entire life.

What if I turn to my closet and a static image of ghostly girl in an 1800's-styled dress is staring back at me, her head cocked to one side?

What if I stare out into the blackness of my hallway, only to see a cloaked figure pacing with a lantern?

What if I look into my mirror, and see a distorted, twitching face staring back at me?

Is that a noise at the front door? Someone is breaking in. I have to make it to the attic. (One of my escape plans. Because for some reason I feel like closing myself in my creepy attic will help during a break in)

I'm not even scared of aliens, but wouldn't it be so messed up if one from 1996 Mars Attacks! showed up at the foot of my bed right now?

The thoughts go on, I twitch and turn. If I happen to fall asleep, my persistent, miniature bladder will hastily wake me up. The challenge of walking to the bathroom at 3:00am ensues, and then I am forced to start all over again.

I am not embarrassed by my nightly panic, but obviously rather troubled. When I am asleep for an extended period of time, I have vivid dreams, and grind my teeth until my jaw squeaks in the morning. Therefore, I never feel rested, and go through many days like a cute slug with a bow. My mind is active, and my emotions wired to the quiet dark around me.

(I often wear pink triangle dresses to sleep)

I would not say that I have insomnia, or am I trying to glamorize having trouble sleeping, tweeting like:

@iluvstarbuckz Why am I still awake at 2:00am? #foreverteamnosleep

~~or~~

@stardancer200 Uggghhh I can never sleep anymore! Thank gawd for my boyfriend, Netflix!

***if those are your Twitter handles, I apologize. I give you permission to poke me in the eye.***

Furthermore, in an effort to think of pleasantries before bedtime, I will probably watch The Dark Crystal and the Neverending Story trilogy, while simultaneously wondering what became of my puppy companion.

Hashtag Team Luck Dragon,
Jordan

A Mite-y Story *playfully nudges elbows into your ribs*

Greetings, Blogger Poopies!

The past couple of months have been seemingly imaginary, and could only possibly re-iterate the notion that my life is a full-length, cartoon feature film. I suppose that I could illustrate and attempt to justify my hiatus, and I will give you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

I have missed being a blogging hedgehog. It has felt like a little, blog-shaped piece of my heart was missing from my chest cavity. The madness started with a mere itch, southwest of my belly button. I lifted up the bottom hem of my t-shirt to see a line of five, small bumps. I scratched the bumps casually, thinking that perhaps an ant or something of the like was trapped in my clothing. Come nightfall, the bumps had increased in size, practically connecting and becoming a single, giant welt. The itching sensation had increased, and there were two more bites by my right elbow, that were equally as irritating. I sat up in my bed, staring at the bites, contemplating the cause, when a small, black dot crawled out of my skin and made its way across the mountain of bites. I, surprisingly calm, picked up the tiny creature with my pointer finger and thumb, and observed it. There were no visible legs, so I figured that it was a piece of fuzz that I imagined to have been moving.

I dumbly continued to stare at the bites, determined to prove to myself that it was indeed, a piece of lint. Soon, two others came. I panicked, snatching them up and dousing my stomach with hydrogen peroxide. I was scratching wildly now, convinced that I had been consumed by bugs, eating me from the inside out. Feeling feral and out of control, I even entertained the idea of finding a sharp knife from the downstairs kitchen and cleanly cutting the bites off. I was hysterical, and barely slept an hour a midst my twitching and pathetic internet searches on parasites.

The next day, I miserably covered myself and visited the local urgent care facility. The extremely aloof doctor informed me that I had mites, and prescribed a full body cream and steroids to help the itching and swelling of the bites. It quite simply happens like this: The mites (from animals or other living things) find your body as a host, and burrow within your skin, sucking your blood, breeding, and laying eggs. They travel throughout your body, causing the unpleasant itchiness. Mites can attach to new hosts by physical contact, or can live up to a few days on clothes, stuffed animals, or other surfaces. And for whatever reason, these little bugs found a home in me.

I engaged in a 24 hour quarantine, washing everything in my room and tying them up tightly in multiple garbage bags. Paranoid with my condition, I became a temporary hermit, living off of Jimmy Johns and fueling my BuffyVerse fandom in the most unhealthy way. Afraid to touch anyone or go anywhere, I spent the next couple of weeks as a metaphoric mite, burrowing deep into sorrow, becoming a bug with unruly, wavy hair and a skirt. Quite possibly a bow, as well.

During this time, I found that some of my peers and friends had also experienced mites, or specifically, scabies. Some of them were embarrassed by this, for the stigma that mites are dirty and gross. UM, YEAH, THEY'RE DISGUSTING. But I am an open person, and was not the least bit embarrassed by my new set of pets. These little bugs were just doin their thang, and I happened to be a a part of that..and then violently killed them with a prescription creme that annihilated them on contact. They're probably in a little mite heaven, with all of the skin they could possibly want.

It was all very dramatic and such, but eventually ended. Less than a week after the incident, I came down with a terrible sinus infection that confined me to my bed, once again. Buffy raged on, as I watched episodes by day and lured myself to sleep with fanfic ideas by night. Read on if you could care less (For example, during the final episode in season 6, what if Oz had come back to comfort and change Willow from the dark magics instead of Xander? But dear Xander does always feel sub-par, and it only seems right that he had his chance to end of the many apocalypses).

When my body had enough, my mind was forced to engage in college finals. Being an English Major, I had a multitude of papers to write, and a few written tests. I spent a couple of weeks on my work, and then boogied on down to Florida for a vacation when the school year ended.

And, well, here we are now. It's summer and I am working as a nanny. I also hope to become a dog-walker, FOR OBVIOUS REASONS. This post was more informative than anything, but hey, perhaps you learned something. I will beat my brain space until I produce more interesting ideas in the future.

Not too shabby for a Monday,
Jordan