Who thinks they're not prejudiced?

Everyone gets pigeonholed. It's something you just can't avoid, no matter how hard you try. You can do your best to pick out your 'favorite' spot and try to fit it, but why bother? Someone is always going to look at you in a positive light, and someone else will look at you negatively for the *exact* same reason.

Here are some popular prejudices that I've run into (some of these don't apply to me, but that's why they're good to see - EVERYONE gets looked down on for similar things, just usually in different ways):

 - "WOW, you are just TOO SKINNY. Are you anorexic? Do you EVER eat? You should eat. Seriously, there is NO WAY you are healthy."

 - "Oh my god, do you eat anything but horrible foods? You shouldn't be wearing shorts. You're DISGUSTING. Please go have a salad and/or starve yourself."

 - "God, you're too pretty. You must be an airhead/not know anything about X/be a bitch."

 - "Haha, 'depression?' Yeah. That's just an excuse for you to sit on the couch all day and do nothing."

 - "Hahahahhaa. Loser. God, seriously, GAMING/Ren Faires/whatever?"

 - "Ugh. Such a hippy. Go take a shower/stop sucking down unemployment pay."

 - "You like *guns?* God, what is WRONG with you?"

Admittedly, these are very general, and you rarely run into someone who actually says any of that out loud - but if you're vulnerable to a stereotype, you know exactly what people mean when they say something sly and hint at it.. whether they're conscious of it or not.

Everyone has prejudices - and as Avenue Q says, "everyone's a little bit racist." Sometimes, without even realizing it, you reveal a prejudice you didn't know you had. We all inadvertently hurt people around us from time to time, but it's your own personal responsibility to try to limit how negatively you treat the people around you. It can be really difficult, but it's possible.

The best way to combat it is to have rock solid self-confidence, but a lot of people find that really difficult. I've been working on building my self-confidence over the past several years, and the most helpful things for me have been knowing that my friends support me and believe in me, and finding things that make me feel pretty and happy - no matter what other people think.

With that in mind, I bought my first pair of shorts (in a *very* long time) the other day. They were on super sale, and my mental process went something like this: "Hmm. Shorts. How do I feel about shorts? At least they're not 3" seam shorts, those I'd never pull off. But these? .... maybe. OOH, sold. At the very least I can wear them under dresses when we move and I can use them to carry concealed in."

That's right - my buying shorts was primarily influenced by being able to carry a gun while I prance around in my favorite dresses. My husband must be rubbing off on me. Luckily for me, My hips are something like 10" different than my waist, so pretty much all pants come built in with carry room for me. The shorts aren't scandalous - they have a 9 1/2" inseam, so with my super tall frame they come about halfway down my thighs. I still feel ridiculously exposed in them, but hopefully I'll get used to them with practice.

All in all, I knew I had made the right choice when I was complimented by *two* acquaintances the first day I wore them out. It may have been my skull dress (I *always* get told I'm cute when I'm in that thing) - but for once I wasn't wearing leggings or stockings with it. Instead, I just had the shorts underneath. It felt awkward, but good.

Every day is a chance to influence hundreds of people, positively or negatively. The next time you find yourself thinking harsh thoughts, take a moment to see where it's coming from. Is it justified, or are you just reacting off of some base instinct that (if said out loud) would hurt some feelings? You're never going to be able to get rid of those prejudices completely, but understanding the motivation behind them helps everyone to become a better influence and a better person.

What would *you* change about your own prejudices? It's tough to be honest, but if you are, the world can run a little bit smoother every day.

Nail Polish: Inspired!

I've decided to answer in more length the question that I've frequently been asked lately; which is 'how exactly do you make your own nail polish?' I am in no way to the stage where I formulate a polish with a company and then order x-amount of it bottled, but I am excited to say that I've sold several bottles on Etsy this week, and  I get excited every time I get that email saying that someone bought something.


So let's start out with what I *do* use.

This is my current collection of supplies: glitters in the back in tubes and baggies, shimmer powders and flakes to the left, and nail polish colors and base to the right.

I like to mix in jelly jars because they're easily cleaned out and re-used to mix (or for food, after I've cleaned them out eight times and then washed them with soap about the same), and because that lets me make a big batch for sale all at once. If you're just getting started, mix in an empty nail polish bottle that you already have so that you don't waste too much.

I start off by going to my color chart, where I keep a swatch of every complete color I've already made. This gives me a good idea of what types I've already covered, and what I can work with or build on.

Then, I look for a source of inspiration. Today, it was my little sister, Maia. One of her favorite colors is orange, and she's not that much into sparkly things. With the name I've already picked out in mind, 'Maia Papaya,' let's get started!

Select a basic color you want, and decide whether you want it sheer or completely opaque. Then, start mixing, a little bit at a time!

I wanted to make a really nice warm orange that's on the creamy side, so I started mixing an orange with a creamy yellow.

But it needed a little more depth to the color, so out comes the darker and shimmery orange.

Mix it all together really well, and then add the nail polish base to make it as sheer as you'd like.

Then, it's time to pick your additives. What glitters do you like? What ones will really spice up the color you've selected? Maia isn't into super glittery things, so I just added in some red sparks, which will give it a nice red shimmer.

And then it's time to mix, mix, mix again!

Those bubbles you see in the jar are air bubbles that will 'pop' out with time. The best way to mix nail polish so you don't get those is by using a stick or 'rolling' the jar between your hands until everything is mixed evenly. Once you've got everything mixed up to the point you like it, it's time to bottle!

And no nail polish is complete without having some pictures of it being used.

So now I have a wonderful new color, Maia Papaya, added to my color chart, and hopefully you understand what goes into making personalized polishes a little better.

Nutella-Rum Cookies

While Merk is off, I like to bake a few times a month. Really, I'd bake more if I could get away with it, but you saw my last post - my body shape can't afford having me baking all the time. I take the proceeds down to one of the local farmer's markets to my friends there so that I'm not stuck with a full batch of something weighing me down.

Today, I made an adaptation of the flourless cocoa peanut butter cookies from Baking Bites, one of my favorite cooking/baking blogs. She talks about the cookies being chewy and tender, but my recipe isn't that way at all. My cookies came out supremely fragile and light, almost like a meringue, and ended up dissolving on the tongue with an amazing delicacy of flavor.

Here's what I did:


3/4 cup brown sugar
1 large egg

3 Tbsp cocoa powder
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup nutella
1-1 1/2 shots rum
1/2-2/3 cup butterscotch chips

Preheat the oven to 350 F and line your baking sheet with a Silpat (or use parchment paper if you have no Silpats. If you have no Silpats, though, put one down on your birthday gift list because I can't live without mine). Beat egg and sugar together until light and fluffy, then add in cocoa powder, vanilla, baking soda, and salt. Once fully incorporated, dump the nutella in and mix well. At this point, you'll have a very thick fudgy batter. Drizzle in your rum and sprinkle the chips in, and mix until fully incorporated.

Scoop into 1" balls (but leave a lot of room, these things spread) and bake for 12-14 minutes, or until shiny and crisp on the outside. Pull from the oven and let cool for 3-5 minutes and then remove to a cooling rack to finish cooling off. BE CAREFUL, as these cookies are extremely delicate. This is why you used parchment paper - if something gets stuck, you can very gently loosen it with a spatula or even peel the cookie off the sheet.

This is a recipe I am going to come back to time and time again - it's quick, uses few ingredients, and the result is a cookie like I've never tasted before!

Habits are a lot tougher to beat than you'd think.

Let's face it: I'm fat. It's something I've been coming to terms with for most of my life, and I have so many issues surrounding and involving it that sometimes I feel overwhelmed. Merk worries about me - both for my physical and mental health. He sees the difficulties I have going out and meeting strangers, especially those connected with his work. For years, he's told me that he just wants me to be healthy and happy, and we still have discussions and difficulties arising from this theme a few times a year.

There was a trip I took to take Merk lunch six months ago, when I asked to see the gym on base. We were about to get out of the car when I suffered a panic attack. Needless to say, we didn't go in.

I recently took an airplane ride from the other side of the country where the seats were 17.2" wide. Get a ruler and take a look at how big that actually is - a lot of people will fit that. I pretty much didn't. It was horrifyingly embarrassing. A six hour plane ride feeling like a hippopotamus stuffed in a clown car, feeling sorry for the poor German man sitting next to me. He was very kind about it, but it didn't stop me from feeling horrible.

It is really tough to change a bad habit, especially when it's one you've been propagating for over 10 years. Especially when it's one that you've been trying to ignore.

I go for walks a few times a week, but it hasn't changed much. I try to eat well, but it never seems to be well enough to make a change. There was a brief time that I had scheduled sessions with a personal trainer - I was loyal to going to them until I got the super cold from Hell and could barely move. It's hard to work out when every two minutes you're hacking so hard that people are concerned you have the Black Plague.

I'm trying to change the bad habits again, and it's a day-to-day struggle. Today was day one of going to the gym - it's further than I'm really comfortable going, but it's open 24 hours a day so I can go at 2am when there's no one there. We'll see how I manage this time, but there are no guarantees.

'Old' vs. 'Young.'

I spent some time with one of my aunts last night for the first time in years. We caught up, talked about my grandparents some (the main reason for my visit out to New Jersey), and briefly flipped through the photos of my not-wedding party from last October. She wanted to know what it was that Merk did, where he was, and the usual questions that follow a line of conversation like that.

After finding out that things are tricky with re-enlisting right now, she asked the question that I expected to hear - whether or not I wanted him to stay in the military.

"Yes," I said, "as long as he wants to stay in."

"Isn't that dangerous?" she inquired.

"I don't care about the danger, I just want him happy."

"That's young," she said.

That's the first time I've ever really wanted to smack a family member in the face. That inclination didn't fully crystallize until several hours later when I was thinking about it, but let's break this down. My aunt feels that my outlook about Merk is 'young' because it apparently perpetuates a 'feeling of invincibility.' I didn't have the opportunity to explain my side to her, as conversation moved on very rapidly (my parents were there, and my mother almost immediately changed the subject. I'm pretty certain she realized that was not a good topic to be on), but let's go through that now.

Merk works a very serious job in a very serious place. He plays down the danger whenever we talk, but let's face a fact here - he's currently over in the Middle East. Even if he is in the most safe area out there, it's still dangerous right now. Someone could decide at any moment to bomb the base that he's localized on. He could go out into town and be maimed or killed just because he's white.

There's absolutely nothing I can do about that. Nothing. He's on the other side of the world, and even if I wanted to keep him safely cocooned in plastic wrap, there's no way to do that while he's over there. Yes, he's in danger. Yes, he could die or come home paralyzed or missing an eye or a limb. It's the chance he takes so that he can do something that makes him feel worthwhile.

Let's face a fact here. I could go outside, right now, and be run over by a car. It doesn't matter if I stay on the sidewalk or go running out into traffic - it's a legitimate possibility. The elevator in this antiquated hotel could fail and I could plunge four stories to my maiming. Danger is everywhere, but most people ignore it because they've learned how to minimize their chance of being hurt.

That's what Merk's training does for him. Yes, he's in danger, but he has been given the tools to minimize the danger that he is in. My primary concern is whether or not Merk feels fulfilled. I want him happy and feeling like what he does matters. Few people these days have that luxury, so as long as I can manage that for him, it's what I'll do. If being 'young' is worrying more about whether someone feels worthwhile than about how much danger they're in, I'm going to stay young as long as possible.

Boxes are da bomb!

Let's get one thing straight: I love getting packages. This is not the usual like that most people feel for getting something in the mail - it's a problem. I. Flippin'. LOVE. Packages. It's something that's easily kept under control when Merk is in town, because he and I do tons of stuff together.

When he's out of town, though, watch out! It's not like I go insane and buy up tons of crap, but the stuff that I've been putting off because it just doesn't seem important? That stuff normally makes an appearance within a few months of him leaving. Like a replacement bra for my favorite worn-every-day-when-it's-not-stinky one. I was depressed last week when I noticed that the underwire on it had ripped its way out of its casing along 1/4 of the cup. Seriously, how did I miss that?

So once I noticed that, it was a slippery slope. It is far to easy to go trolling online to my favorite store and -- oooooh, it's buy one, get one half off? AND matching underwear that looks like it should be comfortable but is still cute?! Oh, my! Long story short, a few days later I was waiting for a modestly sized box. I love the impetus it gives me to check my mail box every day, the anticipation of bringing the box inside and staring at it for a few minutes while the cats investigate. I adore carefully cutting through the tape and exploring the contents. It's almost like receiving the box is 3/4 of the pleasure of the item itself.

Imagine my happiness, then, when Merk sent me a box a few years ago while he was on deployment. This thing was HUGE. At least 2 1/2 foot square, it arrived when I was asleep. My delight upon opening the door to see such a monster of a gift on my doorstep was immense. What in the world could he have sent me? After bringing the mystery box inside, I place it carefully on the floor and force myself to ignore it for a few hours. I spend some time with our cat, Frak, and water our only plant, a stunted pine tree about 1 1/2 feet tall that my mother had gifted me for the previous Christmas.

Eventually, the monolith waiting in the middle of the floor can no longer be ignored, and I get the scissors. I cut through the seeming yards of tape and lift the cardboard flaps. I paw delicately through the layer of Styrofoam peanuts lining the top, and freeze in confusion. Cocooned lovingly within the box, I have uncovered two dozen Aquaglobes.

Two. Dozen. Aquaglobes. If you didn't catch it when I mentioned it earlier - Merk and I owned one plant. One. Why would I be sent two dozen Aquaglobes in the mail? Believe me, I didn't have an answer for that one. The only response Merk came up with was, 'I got a really good deal!'

That's right, we're a very special pair. I love getting packages in the mail, and Merk can't control himself around a deal. He complains that I will never stop telling this story, and it's true. I never will, and that's because right then, standing in front of 2 1/2 cubic feet of blown glass that I (mostly) had no use for, I realized that sometimes I didn't want the box.

It's how I talk myself out of getting things I don't really need - I just tell myself that Merk will send a box of Aquaglobes in retribution.

It's like painting... with science!

Unbeknownst to most of you who will read this, there is a movement taking place. No, I'm not talking about Occupy. I've never been very politically savvy, and I doubt I ever will be, so let's table that discussion.

Right now, there are hundreds of people who are unsatisfied with the colors available to them for nail polish. I know, it's trivial, but for some people it's at the very least something that they can get creative with. As my mother will attest, I love to get creative. Back when I was young, I would spend hours mixing random things together to see what would happen. My room at my parents' house is painted three different shades of green with a yellow ceiling. The curtains are orange/red, and the bedclothes are about six different colors.

It is not a room most people find relaxing.

So when I started exploring the world of nail polish, it didn't take me too long to come across the world of frankenpolish. An obvious reference to Mary Shelly's well-known character, the term refers to mixing bits of existing polish to create your own unique shade. For those of you who know me, you will realize I find this to be a very appealing idea.

I have started to mix colors of my own, and it will take me a while to find my individual voice - but, hey! That's what artistry is all about! I'm still in the middle of finding a good 6-8 recipes that I like well enough, and then I'll try selling 5ml bottles on Etsy for a while to see if I stack up to everyone else on there.

It's a challenge to come up with something that will be individual enough to sell well, but I'm always up for a challenge! I can't wait to see what I come up with, and I'll keep you posted on my creations. For now, the only color that's near enough to muster is up on facebook. Let me know what you think!

Some Days, There's More than One Test.

Let's talk about scams. I am supposed to be taking my Theory II final right now, but I can't concentrate because I am so angry.

The scam, taken from the perspective of the victim, does more than just to get your money. I mean, yes; the purpose for the perpetrator is pretty much exclusively to separate you from as much money as they can. The victim usually ends up feeling like a squab. They stop trusting as much, and usually are out a fair bit of money.

Let's give a personal example here. Back somewhere around 2000, I went to the Beachwood mall with Bunny. We wandered around, and at some point we pass a kiosk with those name-on-a-grain-of-rice necklaces. The dude started talking to me, and I was too polite to tell him to leave me alone. Ten minutes later, I had my name on a grain of rice inside a dolphin, and the dude had $20 from me. I never wanted the dumb thing, but it happened. I lost the necklace at some point ten years later, but I kept it around for ages as a reminder of what happens when you have problems telling people no. It was one of my first self-learned lessons, and it stuck. Hard.

Everyone falls for a scam at some point in their lives. Hopefully it's a small one, but occasionally it's not. Let's go through my day yesterday.

I didn't sleep at all two nights ago, so by noon I was pretty solidly exhausted. I took a nap. At 1:30, my father-in-law called and woke me up. He was terribly upset and asked me if Merk was ok. I was 3/4 asleep, but had talked to my husband that morning at 9:00 a.m. over Skype. Apparently, Merk's mother had called his father and said that something had happened to Merk.

I can understand why that would be upsetting, but I just assured Merk's dad that my husband was fine, he had just gone to sleep a few hours before, and as far as I knew absolutely nothing was going on. A good wife at this point would have called her mother-in-law to see what was going on, but I fell asleep within three minutes, and had forgotten all about it when I woke up.

This morning, I hop onto Facebook to see Merk's first status since he left for his big-sandbox-adventures: "All: I am fine. If anyone calls you on my behalf, saying I need help, money, or whatever else, call my CDO. He will know within 20 minutes if anything has happened to me." My heart sank. What had happened? Was there some news blip that I had missed?

Luckily for me, the husband is online. I ask him what had happened and mentioned my nap-experience and apologized for not telling him earlier or taking further steps. He said that he had found out about this when his mother noticed him on Facebook and messaged him in a tizzy. Here's what had happened:

At some point yesterday, someone called Merk's maternal grandparents and told them that Merk had been arrested in Barcelona, and he needed $2400 for bail money or he'd be in deep shit with his command. Being the loving, supportive people that they are, they promptly wired the money to the 'US Consulate agent.' Then, they called Merk's mother to let her know what had happened. Then, she called her ex-husband, and he called me.

Let's break this down. For those of you who aren't aware, Merk's in the military. He's currently over in the United Arab Emirates somewhere doing Something Important. That's about all I know about what he's up to while he's on deployment, but I don't want to know much more. I don't want to be one of those wives who accidentally lead bad people to harm the military or their families, so this will be the most information that's ever posted about him up on this thing.

Okay, so United Arab Emirates. Where is that, exactly? It's in the Middle East, in what looks to me like the middle. It's about as middle as you can be. Barcelona is allll the way over in Spain. If you look at the map below, it's in the green section (Europe), just off the left of the frame.

That's a long way apart. According to Google Maps, it would take 3 days, 5 hours of driving to get you from one to the other. Merk told his family where he was going, so one would hope that they realized how far apart the two places are, even if in a vague 'wow, he's a long way away from where he said he would be'-type way.

Ok, let's say that for some reason Merk did go to Barcelona. He gets arrested for, I don't know, getting in a dude's face for yelling at a lady. He's sitting there in jail, and the only way for him to get out is for his family to pay $2400? So that the military doesn't get him into deep doodoo? I've heard stories from the days that Merk was in Guam. In a situation like this, the military would get Merk out of prison and then bear down upon him with the holy wrath of a prima donna denied her usual part. It doesn't matter if Merk had gotten out of prison before the military got around to it; they would find out, and he would still be in hot water. I could be wrong here, but I'm relatively certain that's how it works.

But Merk's grandparents didn't have the opportunity to think it through. I cannot blame them for this at all, because if I had taken that phone call, I would have freaked out and probably done the same thing. They heard that their beloved grandson was in trouble and responded as the caring people that they are. They also don't have the luxury that I do, of talking to Merk a few times a week over Skype, even if it is nothing more than leaving him a message when I go to sleep and having one waiting for me when I wake up. I don't know when they had last heard from him, but it was undoubtedly a while. Given less information than I have, I can completely understand freaking out and just reacting.

I am not upset with his grandparents in this situation. The person I am upset with is whoever has decided to scam two loving people out of over two thousand dollars by telling an utter fabrication. I have no idea how person X figured out that Merk was in the military, deployed, and that his grandparents were his grandparents, but it sickens me. How could someone do this? Merk does what he does because he believes in protecting the rights that most of us take for granted. Someone out there is taking advantage of the fact that the family doesn't know much about what their military member is doing abroad.

There's not much I can do other than getting the word out, so spread it. Let people know that if someone calls you to say that your friend/husband/family member in the military is in trouble and needs money now, do the smart thing. Take down the number that called you, call the CDO, and ask. The military isn't going to send someone halfway around the world and then let them disappear to another country without knowing about it. Don't let yourself be taken in.

Metal Chickens; the Gateway Drug.

I was going to write about the blog post that led to my downfall, but first I came across this tiny problem. See, my husband introduced me to The Bloggess, and I have no idea what to call him here. Ideally, I'll come up with some clever nickname for him. Then he can still have a personality and people can identify with him while his anonymity remains intact, but I have no bright ideas for a brilliant nomme de guerre. And let's face it, if he's going to get one, it's gotta be good.

This has led to me falling off topic and into having a conversation with my own personal version of devil/angel personalities. Mine are both male, strangely, and they're both characters from a TV show (even if one of them is just the actual person playing a caricature of himself).

Wil Wheaton: Let's find something really awesome to call him. Like Merk, Hoarder of Guns.

Sheldon Cooper: That doesn't even make any sense. By that logic, you should be Griselda, Hoarder of Cats. Besides, he owns way more books than guns. Merk, Hoarder of Books. It doesn't sound even vaguely awesome.

Wil Wheaton: Okay. What do you have, then?

Sheldon Cooper: What's wrong with just calling him by his first initial? D. It's a classic. Besides, 99% of your reader base right now knows very well who he is.

Wil Wheaton: D is boring. Besides, it's not exactly a trendy letter. We might as well call him Umlaut or something if we're doing that. At least Umlaut has a personality.

Sheldon Cooper: What personality is that, exactly? "Help! I got drunk and fell over?" Drunken colons may be funny to grammarians, but that's not exactly his personality.

Wil Wheaton: Look, manly muppet, you're just going to have to take it on faith that Umlaut is an awesome name. Maybe for a Swedish metal rocker who has fallen on hard times, but it's awesome.

Sheldon Cooper: Think about what you just said there. Do you really want to tell people that he's an ageing Swedish rocker?

Wil Wheaton: Right. Merk it is, then.

Sheldon Cooper: WHEATON!

It generally devolved from there. Those of you who have seen the Wil Wheaton-peppered episodes of the Big Bang Theory will happily tell me that I haven't captured the voices of either character. I'll just wait for my cease-and-desist letter in the mail.

Let me introduce you to the post that got me hooked. One day, Merk sent me a link on Skype (despite the fact that he was sitting three feet away from me) to a post about a giant metal chicken. I read it, laughed my big cushiony butt off, marked our 15th anniversary in the calendar as 'Giant Metal Chickeniversary,' and promptly forgot it. About six weeks later, my little sister texted me the link, and was all like 'OMG, haha!' I re-read it, because it's awesome, and went back to my regularly scheduled life.

What no one really knew was that blog post was rattling around in my brain for months, just waiting to pounce. I knew now that The Bloggess was well written, featuring my sort of humor, but I just couldn't be bothered to read it. Lazy procrastinators unite. Every month or so, I'd go and poke through her blog to see what was going on and see what else she had brought her phenomenal perspective to.

Now that Merk is off on the other side of the world on his awesome barbarian adventure, I'm at a loss. He's been gone for a month, and what am I to do? Here's where Beyonce snuck up on me and pounced. In the last week, I have gone on a blog-reading binge from all sorts of amazing talents. The Bloggess. Telling Dad. Barista Brat. 2 a.m. would come and there I would be on the couch, covered in cats and staring fixedly at a screen. It's been a problem.

I love the snapshots of someone else's psyche that a good blog portrays. I hadn't even realized that I loved them so much until this happened. The Bloggess brings a real-world perspective to depression, marriage, psychological issues, and almost anything you can imagine. She's the type of woman who I would be proud to call my friend.

Telling Dad deals with parenting, dealing with neighbors and schools, and an infinite vastness of real world living. He deals with situations with children he hasn't sired with a firm and respectful hand - 'you are here at my house. While you are here, you will be respectful of me and appropriate. If you aren't, you need to leave.' Not many people would take umbrage to their children being shown the line that gently. It doesn't step on parenting toes, but it clearly sets out consequences for the child. Many, many props.

Barista Brat started off working for Starbucks many, many years ago. She eventually put up her anonymous blog about her experiences working there, and it's amazing to see experiences that I dealt with at my days at S'bux show up there. I'm not alone. More to the point, her blog is an inspiration - she grew up with Starbucks, but has branched out and opened up her own coffee shop in her city. I desperately hope that she makes it, because it is obvious that she is truly dedicated to her craft and a very hard worker.

There are several more, of course, but these are the three that resonate the most to me - the three that I would recommend to all people. Everyone has their kryptonite, and blog reading isn't mine, but absolutely everyone could deal with a little peek into someone else's life from time to time.

As for my kryptonite? It's a secret, to be held far away from y'all until I've devolved into a proper Evil Overlord and someone needs saving.

What's in a Name? The Original Phaedra

Let's face it, that Phaedra chick was a downer. Spoiled, self-indulgent, selfish, and all sorts of s-words that all focus down to one very important point: no one really wants to be called a Phaedra. Most people don't really know her story all that well, so let's talk through it.

You remember the Minotaur, right? That's a figure that most people can remember through the hazy memories of seventh-grade mythological studies. A big, muscly man mixed with bull, set loose in a big maze. Liked to eat people, seeing as how those pesky people on Crete didn't bother to cater him food.

The Minotaur is very engaged in his life of wandering the labyrinth (sans David Bowie), finding food where he can, when Theseus shows up. Big heroic figure. Theseus defeats the Minotaur with his trusty sword, and manages to find his way back out again using a ball of yarn/string. (we'll discuss all the stories involving magical string/yarn at some point, if I remember to do enough research through my bookcases, but there are a lot. Trust me. Most of the time, the ball is enchanted to help you always find your way back to where you started from.) Theseus leaves Crete, a big hero. He goes off and marries Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. They have a son, Hippolytus.

Fast forward a few years - at least 15, but let's say 18 so I don't cringe too much with what's coming. Hippolyta is dead, and Theseus needs a new wife. He decides to return to the isle of Crete, and here's where we find Phaedra. Now, Phaedra isn't exactly mentioned in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur. The Magical Helping Princess in that story is her older sister, Ariadne. Nonetheless, now the tables are turned - Ariadne is the invisible sister, and Theseus trots off with his shiny new bride, Phaedra. Happy ending, right? This is the point that most fairy tales stop, but not this one. This isn't a fairy tale, after all. Let's follow this tragedy coined by Euripides to its end.

Theseus, Phaedra, and Hippolytus are all blissfully living together outside of Athens as one big happy family. Hippolytus is a relatively typical youth. He hunts, he wrestles, and he generally does what most young men of his age do - except for the fact that he's dedicated himself to Artemis, the virgin goddess. This is the source of a lot of his control. He prides himself on being reserved, dignified, and unattached.

Phaedra, on the other hand... well, that lady is a piece of work. As mentioned above, she's indulged, spoiled, and generally used to getting every whim of hers fulfilled. Her stepson is such a fine example of manhood, discipline, restraint, and chiseled Greek physique that she simply cannot help herself; she falls madly, completely, and despicably in love with him. Theseus leaves on a trip, and she does what any self-respecting noble Greek lady would do - sends a slave with a note reading, "Phaedra loves Hippolytus. Will you go out with her? Y/N. Circle one." Hippolytus reacts as any virginity-obsessed teenager would; he runs away into the woods, leaving that poor slave to play messenger to the fact that Hippolytus is disgusted by the idea of having an affair with his own stepmother.

Here's where a modern intermission would appear in the play. Go ahead, go take a break. Get yourself a tasty beverage and relax, 'cause here's where all the really interesting stuff happens.

The slave reappears, with startling news. Phaedra has hanged herself! Not only that, but stepmama dearest has left a note telling the world that she is killing herself out of shame, for Hippolytus has raped her. Oh, woe. Sorrowful day.

What a drama queen.

Nonetheless, her string of lies takes fertile root in the household. Theseus comes home to find Phaedra dead, and upon reading the note, he seethes with an understandable rage. Hippolytus comes home from the woods, expecting everything to have blown over, and instead is greeted with accusations. Hippolytus knows what went on, but decides to take the higher path and says absolutely nothing. I cannot tell you exactly why he does this to himself, but that's what he does. Theseus curses Hippolytus to the heavens, and more importantly, to the seas. He asks Poseidon to kill Hippolytus. Poseidon, in all of his wisdom, sends a giant wave to drown Hippolytus.

There's a moral shoehorned into the ending, of course - Theseus realizes that he shouldn't have been so quick to judge, that maybe he should have done some fact searching before asking a god to kill his only progeny; but hey, it's done now. Can't undo what has been done.

So there's the story of Phaedra for you. The only thing that I really can take away from that one is the more modern 'bitches be crazy.'

All of this is really a long-winded explanation for how the name I use over on a forum has become what I'm using now - Phaedraphobia. Let's face it, we all have our material and indulgent sides. We all struggle with the wants sometimes, and there are situations where we all have trouble saying no. I sometimes have more trouble than most. My expensive taste is a problem, and I go through phases. I train myself to ignore that side of me for long periods of time, and then all of a sudden it's like a loose wire jiggles back into place and my 'wants' flicker back to life. I can't tell you exactly what this blog is going to be, but I guarantee that sometimes it will deal with me suffering from a big case of the wants. Sometimes, it will deal with me and my minor nail polish obsession. Baking. Music. Let's face it, this will probably be a little bit of everything.

But not too much. After all, I need to keep that little spoiled Phaedra inside of me as far away as possible.