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.