As many of you know, I’ve been working hard to lose weight and tone up. It’s been an interesting journey so far-now my problem areas are only my arms, my back, and of course, my stomach. I’m currently at 115 pounds, but considering I was weighed at the doctor’s office when I was on my period and I’d just had something to eat, I’m sure it’s  a general ballpark estimate. My guess would be about 111-115, give or take.

Anyway, I’ve been eating decently, got into kickboxing, etc. Love hitting the punching bag, that’s always good stress relief.

But this blog post isn’t about me. It’s about my sister, Alicia. If you remember from previous entries, she’s struggled with her weight as well, only she lashes out in rather cruel ways (like the “Amanda has an eating disorder!” bru-ha-ha with my Aunt last May). She’s not obese by any means, but she’s pear-shaped and she is heavy for her height and body frame. She’s about five feet four inches, and while I don’t know her exact weight, I’d guess somewhere from 150-160, but like I said, I really have no idea. If I had to guess though, she could probably be in the 130-140 range and look fine–me? I gain five pounds and you see it instantly. Ugh. It’s the curse of being short and having a ruler shape, I tell ya.

Moving on, she’s going to senior prom this year and has a gorgeous emerald dress (that looks way cute on her) and I guess it hit her that holy shit, she should lose weight. Reasonable enough, yes?

Well, she came home in a mood today because NYSC doesn’t do student discounts any more and she’d have to wait until May for a lowered sign-up fee. Silly really, as the prom is in May. So her horns are all twisted and she was nasty and irritable with my mother and I tonight.

I get her frustrations. I’ve been dying to join a gym for ages but my parents refuse to pay for me.And if they pay for Alicia, I will see red because the last time they bought her a membership, she didn’t use it. Meanwhile, I would’ve been at that gym every damn day. Ugh. But I digress.

I do understand her frustrations. Society deems those who are overweight, who do not fit the ideal, to be unworthy. And then make gym memberships to be ridiculously expensive. Ditto for healthy food. It’s a never ending cycle of shame and frustration.

But there are still alternatives! She could get back into dancing and I would gladly lend her my workout videos. Hell, if she wanted to go bike riding or take up running or jogging in the Spring I’d be her jogging buddy. I have no problem being her support system and helping her out. I think it would be rather fun, actually.

TJMaxx has cheap dumbbells, and I think Dad used to have weights, but the Gods only know what he did with them.

So yea…only time will tell if this is just another fad with her or if she’s really going to stick with it.

As for me? Kickboxing with a side of Jillian Michaels.  Woo-hoo! XD

Moving on, since “30 Things About Me” is trending on Twitter, I thought I’d just list them all here:

1)I’m an Aries Sun, Libra Moon, and Sagittarius Rising. Lots of fire and water in my chart.

2) I am a Pagan Witch who is a Devotee and Daughter of Brighid, Bast, Anpu, Anput, and Wepwawet.

3) I’m some sort of energy reader, probably leaning somewhere on the clairsentient spectrum. It can be both a blessing and a curse.

4) I don’t believe in the proportionate response. If you spit in my face, I will breathe fire in yours.

5) So far, I’ve only ever loved two guys: Danny and James. I may have cared deeply about other guys I’ve liked, but so far, it’s only Danny and James that I ever really loved. And they both broke my heart.

6) I don’t need a boyfriend, but I would like to find a man who will treat me with respect and treat me as an equal. I need someone strong enough to stand by my side and be willing to deal with my fiery personality. So far, no one seems up to the task.  *eye roll*

7) I’d rather be complimented on my brains or my wit than my looks. It’s nice the first couple of times, but hello? I am not just a sex object!

8) I still have body issues, especially with my stomach.

9) I suffer from PMDD. It’s not pleasant.

10) I am Black Irish, Sicilian, Roman, Calabrese, and Neapolitan.

11) My goal is to be a writer/editor and eventually a published author.

12) Aside from NYC, Salem, MA is home. I felt entirely comfortable there and would move in a heart beat if I could.

13) I want a GSD or a husky as my next pet.

14) I can speed read.

15) I’m related through marriage to Joseph Barbera, of Hanna-Barbera fame.

16) Joseph Barbera was the cousin of my step-great-grandfather and my grandparents got a chance to meet him! He gave them an authentic Tom and Jerry cell. My aunt still has it, too.

17) I’ve been belly dancing for about eight years now. I’m pretty good at it too, if I do say so myself.

18) Joseph Barbera was born on March 24th, and I was born March 27th. My biological great-grandfather, my Uncle, and my Grandfather are all Aries as well.

19) In the Chinese Zodiac, I am a Fire Tiger.

20) I routinely stay up all night just so I can finish a good book.

21) I could live at Barnes and Noble or the library.

22) I love kick boxing, but I will always and forever be a belly dancer. It speaks the words I can’t say.

23) For a writer, I often have trouble expressing my emotions, so I turn to dance.

24) I have a tattoo on my lower back of the Hanson head phones and the lyrics “and this music is a place to hide”.

25) My next tattoo I plan on getting is a wolf on my upper back. Winter is coming, after all.

26) I’m a huge fantasy/sci-fi/history nerd. Surprise, surprise.

27) I am a Feminist.

28) I am child free, too. Do not want children. Ever.

29) I’m actually pretty shy. My talkativeness and hyperactivity is a good cover for the anxiety I feel.

30) Sometimes I dream of opening my own Witch Shoppe in Salem and going home. *sigh*

Amanda over and out.

Lately, I’ve been reading up on Italian-American identity. I’m 75% Italian, with my ancestors hailing from Rome, Calabria, Naples, and Sicily; on the flip side of the coin, I’m 25% Irish. No idea which county, all I know is that we’re “Dark Irish”.

I grew up feeling half-ashamed of my Italian heritage; we lived in a very Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn were the Guido stereotype ran rampant. My mother, who is full Italian and has dark olive skin, eventually became so disgusted that we moved to another neighborhood.

My immediate family has never been traditionally Italian. We’re not the folks from “Jersey Shore” and much to the surprise of my non-New York friends, I don’t have a Brooklyn accent.

However, I did grow up with a few traditions:

-antipasto at every major holiday: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.

-I did go to a Catholic school for a while, but that didn’t work out so well.

-Pasta is damn good. And so is Italian bread.

-Richard and Vinnie’s! B&A! A&S Porkstore!

-Struffoli, my friends. Struffoli.

-Tartuffo. Oh dear Gods, that stuff is delicious.

-Random Italian sayings that are probably said in a bastardized dialect rather than standard Italian.

-Belief in the malocchio, or the Evil Eye. I grew up learning how to ward it off.

-Tales about the previous generations. Half the reason I wanted to become a writer was due to my Aunt Laura telling me funny stories about Granny, Pa, Denise, etc.

-The proper way to pronounce “mozzarella”.

-It’s not gravy, it’s sauce, damnit.

Yet there’s a dark side as well. On Dad’s side of the family, there’s tons of drama and really wacky sibling dynamics and dysfunction that would shock even Freud. They were way more of the typical image of Italian-Americans, but since we don’t talk to them any more, I avoided that clusterfuck of dysfunction.

We just recently came into contact with Mom’s cousins, so I never grew up in a large Italian family or whatever the stereotype is. I grew up very insular-only me, my parents, my sister, my Aunts, my Uncle, and when he was alive, my Grandpa. And of course, my surrogate Grandmother, Maddie.

After meeting my new relatives, you can tell that Mom’s side of the family is far more traditional–although they’re way more sane and y’know, actually normal than Dad’s side of the family. When they get all traditional, I’m just amused and rather fascinated, because like I said, I grew without all of that. One of my maternal relatives was shocked that I didn’t know any Italian music, but to be honest, Middle Eastern music and Celtic folk metal sound way better. I don’t understand what’s so great about some old guy singing, but to each his own.

Anyway, entertaining music choices aside, there’s also a darker side to this, too. We’ve already covered the dysfunction on Dad’s side, but what drives me up a wall as a liberal Feminist living in 2011 is that my mother and her sisters can be so prejudiced towards others-every once in a while they’ll use an Italian racial slur to describe African-Americans, they can’t stand the Jews, the Greeks, or the Irish (which I find to be funny, because hello? Your daughters are 25% Irish and your husband is half-Irish! Gimme a break.)

Don’t even get me started on the antiquated ideas of dating’ or relation’. I’m sorry, but playing head games and keeping cool towards the object of your affection 24/7 is no way to begin a relationship.

Anyhoo, I assumed a lot of it was due to the 1950′s culture they were raised in. Talk about fucked-up societal values and norms, bloody hell. Then I started reading about Italian-American identity, and realized that it wasn’t all due to the crazy 50s societal norms. Italian-Americans, especially Southern Italians who are usually more olive-skinned than their Northern counterparts, faced a buttload of discrimination because of the belief that their “darker skin” came from their “North African” ancestry. Silly really, as they’re more of the Mediterranean phenotype anyway.

Moving on, the puzzle pieces fell into place. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother and my aunts’ sneering of “foreigners” who “can’t speak English” and “won’t assimilate” is but a half-remembered fear that ran through the family line of “not being white enough”. Goodness knows out of all of us, my Aunt Susan and my sister are ivory pale. Dad and I are light olive skinned-I’m fairly light during the winter but I get a decent tan in the summer whereas my Mother and Aunt Laura have a darker olive tone (which I wish I’d inherited, ugh)

There’s always a sneering, a belief that “foreigners who didn’t become American” were inferior to my mother and Aunts. “Our ancestors assimilated, why can’t they?” is a strong rallying crying amongst the matriarchy of my family. Again, aside from growing up in the racist ’50s, I’d bet money this was due to their Italian-American families becoming “Americanized” so they too can enjoy the full privileges that their Anglo-Protestant counterparts had once ruled.

Not that I’d really want to be like Dad’s family, but I do wish I could’ve been bilingual, or at least understand more about the regions where my ancestors hailed from. With the passing of my cousin Denise, all that has been lost. My mother and her sisters don’t really want to know, and none of them are as much of a history nerd as I am. Shame, really, as history always repeats itself in one way or another.

This ambiguous ethnic identity and the prejudice my ancestors faced when they came to America leads me to a related topic: my amazing unguessable ethnicity.  I have only met one person who has ever correctly guessed my background, and that is my good friend Zack. He knew right away that I was Italian and guess some sort of Celtic/Northern European mix.

Other than that, I’ve gotten: Morroccan, Israeli, Jewish , Greek, Lebanese, Turkish, Egyptian, Dutch, Spanish, Russian, Armenian, and Hungarian. Which frankly, I think is hilarious.

For those of you who don’t know what I look like, I’m quite short, with naturally dark curly hair, big brown eyes that tilt at the ends, and a high aquiline nose which will probably always be the bane of my facial features. Out of all the features I had to inherit from my dad’s side of the family, why on Earth it had to be the nose and the whole gaining weight easily traits, I will never know. Oh, genetics.

Anyway, apparently I look ethnically ambiguous. Personally, I think I look Italian but since everyone thinks Italian-Americans look like Snooki or J-Woww nowadays, I’m not entirely surprised no one guesses. And since Sicily was pretty cosmopolitan back in the day and had pretty much everyone going through that area, I wouldn’t bat an eye if we did have some Middle-Eastern or Greek lineage if we look far enough.

My mother, however, swears up and down that I have “that Anglo look” and I look more Dark Irish, like my Dad. Again, sometimes I wonder how much of this is due to an oft-heard chorus in the family of “become Americanized” and possibly internalized unconscious shame towards her own olive skin.

Honestly, my apparent amazing unguessable ethnicity amuses me but then again, I had the luxury of growing up in an area that was historically Italian-Amercan. While I didn’t grow up with the traditions, I did have some idea of what they were, even if I was trained to reject it, in some part.

I do wonder what it would be like living away from a place where there aren’t a lot of Italian-Americans. I always wondered what it was like for Denise to make such a change when she moved to Britain–how on Earth do you even begin to explain some of the traditions? Or stereotypes? Would they even find it funny?

On a darker note, I was reading an article where a woman of half-Sicilian descent moved away from New York City and often felt like the odd one out, as where she moved to there were more British/German/blonde-haired, blue-eyed types and her olive skin tone and strong features made her stand out, often in a negative way.

It’s boggling, but let’s face it, unless your features are more in line with the more Northern Europe bone structure, you’ll be ignored and/or made to feel somehow less. Sure, there’s Italian-American actresses and short brunette actresses out there, but I have very strong features. I’ve never seen any celebrity with features–especially noses-like mine. And that’s a damn shame.

Hell, it’s why I fangirl Cleopatra VII so much. She was Macedonian Greek, but Sicilians traditionally have had ties to Greece in the ancient days and in all honesty, she probably had features like mine. It’s why I get so upset when they can’t even cast someone who is of the proper ethnic descent-why can’t we Mediterranean girls get some representation, too? Cleopatra is *our* heroine, and we need a proper role model like that, especially when we’re constantly being inundated with images of the American beauty standard.

And yet despite being proud of my Mediterranean descent, some days I’m not sure where I “fit in”. I’m mostly Italian, but I never really grew up with the traditions. I have Irish blood in me, too. I know nothing about my Irish side of the family nor any of their traditions, either. Am I Irish? Am I Italian? Do I consider myself American the way my ancestors would’ve wanted, despite the fact that I have such strong Mediterranean features?

I waver, usually. Some days I feel more Irish and other days I feel more Italian. But I’m always being pulled between the two worlds in my blood. Always.

I may have been raised in an Americanized fashion, but blood will out. The poetry of Eire lives in me too, as well as the ties to the Old Ways of Ireland and a longing for something that all those with a drop of Irish blood cannot , could not, ever name. The hot blood of Rome and Sicily sing through my veins, a possible Middle Eastern or Greek ancestor that came to Sicily or Naples gave me such a talent for belly dancing. I have a long memory and I do not forget, a trait I share with other Italian women, my relatives included. I have the Sight, like so many of the other Italian women in my family.

I come from a line of strong women who were fighters. My Granny, my Grandma, Denise…they were all strong in their own way. Can I do less than to take up that mantle?

In a way, it’s a comfort. I may have grown up an average American child, but the blood of my ancestors and their experiences still sing in my veins. Their struggles have, for good or ill, marked my family too.

For me then, this is the Italian-American experience.

Amanda over and out.

I’ve been MIA due to a few different factors. I had a job, but recently got laid off. Not that I’m all too chuffed, considering I loathed the place. I was having panic attacks practically every day, and my anxiety spiked to a ridiculously insane level.

The place was also pretty scam-tastic. They made up their own shipping charges, I’m pretty sure a lot of the items were ‘furbs, and they had pretty nasty ratings and reviews online. One of the things that made me suspicious as time went on was that they had about seven different websites under a variety of names. If you’re a legitimate company, why do you need to do that? It just didn’t make any sense.

Plus, I was hired for marketing. They lied about the hours, how to make up said hours when the office was closed for the holidays, and the job I was doing. Then, when I got laid off, they made it seem like it was a temporary/seasonal gig!

Another thing that got to me was the environment itself. The company was owned and run by Hasidic Jews. I don’t give a rat’s ass how another religion wants to honor their God, but what bothered me was a) they were *very* intolerant: their holidays were paid, but the Christian holidays weren’t AND we weren’t given off for federal holidays. Who the fuck doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving? I mean, really.  I’m not Christian by any means, but my family is and Christmas is about celebrating and honoring that bond. So yea, it was ridiculous. If you want people to respect you and your beliefs, you’ve got to respect others too. It goes both ways, y’know.

Another thing-we all know I’ve got some form of clairsentience. I’m super sensitive and I pick up on energies far too easily. I can ward, shield, and wear talismans until I’m blue in the face and I’ll *still* be influenced moods-wise based on the energy/environment I’m in.

My last job…well, they weren’t very welcoming or tolerant. I think it is pretty telling that they laid off me, a co-worker who was gay, and an African-American co-worker. It may not meaning anything, but given how crazy my bosses were, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was their intent, y’know? If I’d let my religions/spiritual beliefs be known, I would’ve been let go a lot faster.

That’s another thing. I hated being shoved back into the broom closet. I hated being caged-and we all know I don’t do well in cages. I’m a Witch, damnit. I *should* be out there doing something with my talents and helping people, like what Lori Bruno always says. I hated hiding who and what I was and having that negative energy surrounding me all week. Ugh.

So, like I said. I’m not going to miss it. I’ll miss a steady pay check, especially since I was denied unemployment (didn’t work there long enough, ugh) but I won’t miss that office at all. While I’m very worried about paying off student loans, getting my birth control so my PMDD/anxiety doesn’t make me go batshit insane and sink into a deep depression, contacts, and money for clothes, going out with friends, and hey, just LIVING, it’s going to work out. Where there’s a Witch, there’s a way.

I trust in my Gods, and I trust in my self. I WILL find that awesome writing/editing job with a great company that’s tolerant, intellectual, funny, and understands that you need to work to live, not live to work. That makes me actually  *want* to get up and go to work. That pays a decent salary and has health benefits, and understands in paid time off for vacations, sick days, etc. That’s 9am-5pm, so I can get back into belly dancing again.

I’m going to find that. I’m determined to, and you all know just how stubborn I can be. This experience is only going to serve to make me that much stronger. I’m scarred, bruised, and broken, but I’ll survive and even thrive. I’m going to live.

I won’t let this get to me. I won’t! I am a writer, a belly dancer, and a Witch. I’m going to make this work. Time for a little magic.

Anyway, so with 2012 looming over me, I’ve kicked around a few resolutions:

1) Get more active and get more training with my Witchcraft. I’ve got to pick Zack’s brain and learn those healing techniques of his. I have a feeling it would be beneficial to myself AND others.

2) Build an ancestor/akhu alter and develop a deeper relationship with my blessed dead.

3) Belly dance 2-3x a week.

4) Finish my novel, damnit.

5) Flat stomach and toned arms. When I can spare some cash, I need my own boxing gloves so I can beat the crap out of the punching bag in the garage.

6) Try to find more Pagan friend/a circle/coven. Would be nice to have friends to celebrate the holidays with. *sigh*

7) Work on controlling portion sizes for 2012. That’s my big thing when it comes to weight loss. *sigh*

With any luck, I’ll be one toned belly dancing Witch who has written a novel by the end of 2012.

Cheers, loves!

Amanda over and out.

In honor of 9/11, I thought I’d reflect on the day. I can’t believe it happened 10 years ago.  It’s strange to think I was about 16 years old…where did that teenager go? When did I become the jaded, cynical woman I am today? If 9/11 had never happened, would America be in the dire straights it is today? I wonder about this.

I lost my innocence, my faith in my country that day. We all did.

As Dr. Dealy, my high school headmaster wrote in our 2004 yearbook:

“They glanced into an insular American society with a burgeoning future of attainable goals and some beautiful dreams. Their families worked so diligently to arrange a safe world for them to grow in. then in 2001 everything changed drastically and suddenly. 9/11 has altered our consciousness forever.”

Blue. Bright blue skies. A blue so bright it hurt your heart. Golden Sunshine, so warm and cozy. The last heartfelt good-bye to summer. I smiled as I walked to high school with my Dad. 

‘It’s going to be a beautiful day.’ I’d thought.

How wrong I was.

I remember sitting in Mr. Constas’s Spanish class and vaguely noticing that a few of my classmates received texts on their cellphones from their parents. I didn’t think much of it, assuming that something happened with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and since they were Jewish, their parents were worried or something like that.  It wasn’t something that would affect me, as I was a white girl who was a newbie Pagan.

But they were worried, and the rumors started flying quickly, thick and fast.

“I heard they flew a plane into the Empire State Building!” Al Finan insisted. 

“Nah man, come on. How could that happened?” His friend Ronnie Safraz scoffed.

I rolled my eyes. Who could fly a plane into the Empire State Building? That was preposterous. No one would attack us. How stupid.

“What a stupid rumor.” I mumbled, preparing for Spanish class.

“No man, I’m serious. Just you wait. The military is going to be all over this!” The war-loving, military-toting Al intoned rather ominously.

I rolled my eyes again. Al was obsessed with war and becoming a soldier. I didn’t get it-would never get it. “Idiot.” I muttured just as Mr. C came into the room.

I’ll never forget when Mr. Constas’s class was interrupted to break the news: a plane had been flown into a building, but it wasn’t the Empire State Building. It was the World Trade Center, and it was two planes, not one.

To back track, I’d always loved the WTC; they were my favorite tourist spot to pass when I was in the city. I remember being in awe of their sheer height and magnitude the first time I saw them as a kid. When I lived in Bensonhurst, I could stand on a step stool and see them from the back room.So to hear that they were the target of a terrorist attack was like a punch in the gut for me.

Panic took over me. My Aunt Susan works for the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers and I was terrified for her because I had no idea how she was going to get home or if there was going to be another terrorist attack.

Anxiety and panic washed over me. Oh no. Aunt Susan! How was she going to get home? She worked for the government! Is she all right? Oh Gods. Oh Gods. Oh Gods. Was all that ran through my mind.

My high school let us call our parents, and I remember almost crying from relief when I called my mother at work and she told me that Aunt Susan wasn’t feeling well that day, and decided to call in sick.  She then told me that my father was going to meet me at school, and we’d go home since classes were cancelled for the rest of the day.

My friend Vanessa’s father was stuck in Manhattan and she asked if she could stay with us until he could get home to Brooklyn. My father and I said yes, of course. I remember walking home in a daze, Vanessa and I still in shock. For once, my usually snarky friend had no sarcasm, no words of wit that could easily come to her lips to banish this horrible feeling.

We huddled around the television, the three of us. The image of the Towers falling is one that will always be imbedded in my mind. My friend and I stared at each other, both wide-eyed and disbelieving.  We didn’t know it then, but that was the loss of our childhood innocence.

We couldn’t take it anymore. We ran downstairs and logged onto AOL;  we received so many random IMs from complete strangers who’d seen that I lived in New York on my profile and wanted to make sure that my family and I were okay. Their heartfelt concern touched me—they didn’t know me, would never meet me or talk to me again, but they wanted to comfort a New Yorker in this time of tragedy.

I’ll never forget what my half-Lebanese friend Jenna said as we struggled to process this event over IM.  “They’re going to blame us. All of the Arab-Americans, all of the Muslims. Just you wait and see. And it’s not fair-you can’t blame an entire group of people for the actions of a deranged few.”

Jenna’s words sadly came true. Isalmaphobia became the new norm in the post 9/11-world. But as a teenager, I had no concept of my white privilege and struggled to find words to reassure and cheer her.

The rumors flew around even more. There were five planes, and one was still missing. That fighter pilots were in hot pursuit of the missing fifth plane and prepared to gun it down. All while family and friends checked in and my neighbors came out to band together and process the end of our world.

I’ll never forgetting going back upstairs and seeing my neighbor sitting outside with my dad. His clothes were torn and disheveled, and he was crying hysterically. He worked near the WTC at the time and saw everything—including the people jumping out of the buildings. My neighbor had heard the thud as people hit the ground while he ran for his life. It’s a memory that still haunts me to this day.

My mother came home from work and picked up my little sister, who was still too young to really know or understand the safety of the world she’d just lost. Her school decided to not tell the students until the end of the half-day, as they didn’t want anyone to panic or worry.

Day turned to night, and eventually Vanessa’s father made it to Brooklyn. He’d walked over the bridge, having seen people fleeing Lower Manhattan in droves. He thanked us for making sure Vanessa had a place to go, and then they left. I went back online, trying to process the tragedy. It was unfathomable. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

As the days passed, I remember the candle light vigil my block had ; Jenna and I stood side by side with our candles shining in the gloom-both physically and mentally.  The ash that pervaded the air, just a few days later. Knowing that the Army Base was right nearby. The tribute in lights. Buying an American flag necklace from an army veteran. Listening to the stories of those who lost loved ones in the attacks.

My childhood truly ended on that day, although I didn’t know it at the time. Now as a 25-year-old adult stuck in a job that she hates just to make a living, living in a country in a Recession and being jaded and cynical about American in general, a part of me wishes I could return to that time when I knew I had a bright future ahead of me, when America was safe and secure.

Now, with the thick undercurrent of Islamaphobia and the media using the terrible images of 9/11 as chess pieces for a politician’s game of thrones and power, with America staring down a bleak economic future, I wish they would stop exploiting the tragedy.  NYC still hasn’t healed-how can we, when they keep replaying the tragedy over and over again.

If you truly want to honor the victims, promote education and tolerance. Use the darkness of the event to bring forth more light in the world so we can stop these kind of attacks in the right way. Remember to live and remember the victims as they were in life, not death.

Then, and only then, will we make peace with what happened and be able to fully heal and move forward as a state, as a people, and as a nation.

“The students of Bay Ridge Prep have demonstrated amazing abilities to cope and rise to the occasion of these stressful times their discussions of philosophy, literature, and the possibilities of scientific advances in the 21st century of which they are purebred, are replete with hope and prayer for the making of a brighter day.”-Dr. Dealy, Headmaster

“Even the darkest night will end and the Sun will rise…”-Do You Hear The People Sing (Finale), Les Miserables

At long last, the Energy saga is over and done with. Thanks be to all the Gods.

As you know, I’m still angry that James had the nerve to text me.  It’s a huge slap in the face, especially since the James that I fell in love with would’ve never have done that. In a lot of ways, it breaks my heart to see that he’s turned into a douchey dudebro. He had so much potential, and it’s sad knowing that the man I loved is gone, and probably will never return.

Anyway, so Adam sent me a Facebook message. First one was about being safe in the hurricane, which was nice. I will give him this-he’s the only one out of that foursome with any sort of class. We chatted for a bit, and I told him about Salem. He thought it was cool that I found a place that’s so accepting and understanding of the Pagan religion.

Moving on, the second one was about their upcoming November show. Cue me going “oh hell. How do I say I’m not going?” Had it been James, ZT, or Ian I would’ve told them to fuck off. But I’ve known Adam since I’m 14 and he’s always been very nice to me, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or anything like that.

So I told him the truth. I was an anxious mess, but I had to tell him the truth.  I told him that I was angry and hurt by James’s treatment of me. I don’t care that he’s got a girlfriend, because if he handled it so much better, I’d still be friendly with him and I would’ve gotten over it faster.

But he doesn’t text me back when he KNOWS I need comfort after my cousin passed away, doesn’t remember my fucking birthday even when it’s all over Facebook, acts like he’s interested in me as a girlfriend and then pulls away and says he never saw me as a romantic love interest, leaves me hanging for TWO FUCKING WEEKS AND THEN DECIDES TO TELL ME HE’S GOT A GIRLFRIEND OVER A DAMNED TEXT MESSAGE, NO LESS, ignores me at the last show, and only surfaces when he wants something for the band.

Yea, no. I think I have every right to be furious and to wash my hands of this fuckery. Which is essentially what I told Adam, just in a classier manner haha.

His reply:

Irene’s heading my way. O_O I’m not entirely worried-we’re not in a mandatory evacuation zone, we’re far from the water, and we’ve got supplies. I’m just worried about the power going out. Our electrical lines are above ground, and we get a lot of blackouts in the summer. >_<

Still…NYC isn’t prepared for this sort of weather. People are scoffing at it, but still…we’d be in trouble if we ever got with a Category 2-5. So…better safe than sorry is what I always say.

On the bright side, I’m rocking out to “When You were Young” by the Killers in honor of Irene. Welcoming her with a bit o’song, hehe.

Anyway, in other Amanda news, you’ll never guess who texted me. I almost fell over, and then I immediately started cursing at the cellphone.

Yea. It was James.  I kid you not.

He goes: “Hey Amanda, hope you’re well. Do you have any footage of The Constant with the Kid Gashi?”

Me:  (out loud) You fucking bastard. You fucking son of  bitch. You don’t talk to me at all during the concert and ignore me for your underage “girlfriend”, you don’t text me when Denise passed away and I was hysterical crying for two fucking hours, you don’t tell me right away that you have a girlfriend and leave me hanging for two weeks, and you treat me like a fucking fangirl…and now you want me to send you footage? WELL, FUCK YOU.

What I texted back: “Oh hey. No, I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

But it gets better. Then the bastard has the nerve to ask if I can text Hillary and ask her if she has any footage! Asshole, it’s called fucking Facebook. Get off your skinny ass and message her yourself. I’m not your little errand girl.

What I texted back: “She’s in Salem, MA at the moment. Sorry, gotta go box and hit the punching bag.”

Yea, bitch. I hit the punching bag like a fucking boss and I was imagining your face. Ugh. I’m so angry at him. What a sleazy asshole. If he expects me to fawn all over him, he’s got another thing coming. I’m a Witch. I don’t roll that way.

On the bright side, I got a kick-ass workout thanks to him pissing me off, so all’s well that ends well.

Ugh. Men. More of ‘em need to take after Daniel Radcliffe, I’m tellin ya.

Amanda over and out.

I’m learning to box! I’m so excited-Dad’s teaching me and Alicia. He’s going to get me my own pair of gloves soon, but for now, I’ve been using Alicia’s. Had my first lesson today-hit the punching bag for 5 rounds. My wrists ache-they’re basically going “what is this madness?!” and my shoulders hurt, but damn if it isn’t fun.

It’s a great stress reliever, too. Grouchy about being unemployed? Punching bag! Pissed that you can’t seem to meet a respectful, intelligent, nerdy Feminist man? PUNCHING BAG TIME, YO!  Annoyed at someone? Get out your boxing gloves and hit the punching bag!

Plus, it’ll help with weight loss and toning up. I know I can’t spot reduce (but oh, how I wish I could!) and honestly, I just want a flat stomach and toned arms and back. I know I’ve come a long way, but damnit, I just wish it didn’t take so long! ^_~ But Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I must perservere on. And watch my portions intake, hah.

Oh, and another good thing about hitting the bag? Excellent self-defense technique. I’ll learn how to properly throw a punch, and build up strength. Yay!

Anyway, on an OT note…why is it that I attract the loons? That guy Rich from the Field Trip? Total creep. We were talking via FB message about Pagan stuff-book recs, websites, discovering a pantheon, what a Seeker should know, newbie Pagan info, etc and then at first he says he’s “awkward around women”.

Okay. I’ve met a few awkward and shy guys in my life, no big deal. Hell, I was the awkward, shy, fat, and nerdy girl up until a few years ago. I totally get it. I resolve to give him a chance.

Then after a few more messages, my creepy radar pings to high alert after he wants to know where I live, how far it is from the city, etc. It’s not even in a “oh, you live in the outer boroughs, how long is the commute, that must be annoying blah blah blah” general question, it’s a way too personal question to ask, especially since I only talked to the guy for 5 minutes at the FT and half the time I was rambling about HBIC Lori Bruno and Hex.

Of course, I lie. I’m not dumb enough to tell him where I live, and I know the Slope well enough to make it sound plausible. Try to steer it back to Pagan topics-I don’t mind helping a newbie out, but I do not like creepy men.

It gets worse. He starts using idiotic pet names like “babe” and “sweetie”. Again, if I actually talked to him longer-or it was one of my guy friends, like Matt, I wouldn’t care-BECAUSE I ACTUALLY KNOW THEM. The mere fact that he uses stupid, diminuitive pet names for me when he doesn’t know me at all shows a huge lack of respect for me, my intellect, and women in general. It’s not being nice, it’s not fucking cute, it’s disrespectful and reeks of Faux Nice Guy-ism.

But yea. He makes the dumbest comment ever,  which is “How is someone amazing as you still single, you’re beautiful!” Phil actually said the same thing to me, so my creep radar was pinging like mad.

First off, thank goodness I took down my relationship status on FB. Second of all, how misogynistic is that?! Of COURSE an amazing woman needs a boyfriend.Of course. *sarcasm*

And of course it was all about my looks, which just shows that I’m a trophy/status symbol (Faux Nice Guys usually go for the “hot chicks” to up their ranking on the alpha male scale).  Jesus H. Christ, can they never praise my intellect? Looks fade, but your mind is forever.

I went into icy bitch mode, never fear. Told him my relationship status was not up for discussion-he “apologized” but then went back to the stupid pet names. Between that and the horrible spelling, I decided enough was enough and didn’t respond back.

Haven’t heard from him, thank goodness. But ugh, what a creep. Because yes, hitting on someone via FaceBook and acting like a creepy mofo in general is so attractive to women.

And awkward around women my ass. True awkward, nerdy, decent men would never do that.  I am so sick of being treated like a piece of meat. I am not an object, I am a living, breathing woman who is intelligent, funny, and fiesty.

And as someone who has legit awkward/nerdy friends, I’m pissed that Rich is all “LOL I’m awkward” as an excuse for his creeptastic, misogynistic behavior.

Ugh. Even my dog is smarter than this fool.

Moral of the story? Women are not a piece of meat. Be kind, respectful, and not creepy.

Amanda over and out.

I just got back from my first Paranormal Research Society Field Trip in Salem, MA. Now, if you know anything about me, you know I’ve been itching to see Salem for myself, and the FT was just the icing on the cake.

I can’t even begin to explain it. In a lot of ways, I felt more at home in Salem than I do in NYC. We all know my family is dysfunctional, and I needed a break. It just bites that I got into a huge fight with my father on Tuesday about job hunting; not to mention both my mother and Alicia are two of the most negative, condescending people I’ve ever met. It really messed with my post-Salem high, to be honest.

But Salem? In Salem, I felt so much happier. I was much more my normal self-bouncy, happy, crazy, silly, and funny.  Here in NYC, I haven’t been like that because I get shot down by my relatives.

In Salem, it was perfectly okay to be a Pagan. To be crazy. To be myself, and not have anyone judge me.  And that was utterly refreshing.

Salem has an energy unlike any other. I don’t know if it’s got something to do with all of the Pagans performing rituals there or what, but the energy’s off the charts there. Add in some spirit activity at night and…whoa. Just whoa.

To begin, Jan and Evy picked me up early Thursday morning and we road tripped it to Salem. It’s so funny-you know you’re leaving NYC when you see more “green” and less “city”. I knew the minute we rolled into Salem-had more of a quaint vibe, but there was something about it that reminded me of the Downtown Brooklyn/Court Street area. I was instantly in love.

Jan, Evy, Amy, Anya, Deanna, and myself were staying at the Salem Inn, which is the cutest place ever. Not a fancy-schmancy hotel, but it was just so damn adorable. Our room was small but cozy. Nice decorations, too.

So we get there and of course the rounds of settling in, pick people up from the airport, etc start. It’s fun, though-we get a chance to get a good gander at Salem.  Gorgeous, gorgeous place.

Eventually, everyone rolls in and we start getting ready for the Pre-FT dinner at the restaurant in the Hawthorne Hotel. Makeup is put on, we go, and we have a great time. We wound up migrating to Rockafella’s and dancing our hearts out to the band, who is called Midnight Goggles.  And yes, there was some belly dancing thrown in. What? Pagans and belly dancers, we just go hand in hand. Hah.

It was fantastic to get a chance to meet forums people in person-Lobo, Pat, Robert, Doc, etc. They’re all awesome and hilarious people that made the trip extra-special. Love you guys!

Friday kick-started the official field trip. I really enjoyed Michelle’s lecture, but I do wish there was more Pagan events/rituals.

I felt there was some elements there-Michelle, Eilfie, and that Pagan Elder who spoke on Saturday whose name I’m blanking on were representing that front, but keep in mind I’m used to Pagan Pride Day, where there ARE both rituals and workshops. I would’ve killed for an open ritual/drum circle on either Friday or Saturday, just ’cause I don’t get a chance to experience that very often.

Anyway, back to the field trip. Michelle’s lecture was fascinating. She knows so much and she’s really sweet. I also enjoyed Eilfie’s lecture on Hecate and thought the black dogs connection was interesting, especially since I’m an Anpu Kid.

The rest of the team are very nice, too-Katrina, Heather, and Sergey are very easy to talk to. Very sweet and kind-hearted too. You can tell they’ve got their heads on straight, you know?

And Ryan? Poor guy is surrounded by fans. He’s nice as well, but I felt bad. He looked tired, as I’m sure he was. If the roomies and I got little sleep, I’m sure he had even less than we did.

I was disappointed we didn’t get a chance to see the Witch House as a group on Saturday, though. We saw Cry Innocent, though. That was pretty cool-I love interactive plays like that. And it helped that the two male actors were easy on the eyes, ha! The emo-lookin’ one complimented me on my necklaces too, ahahaha. He was adorable though, despite the hair cut/hair style. Meow!

Also, at one point roomies threw sheets over themselves and started a ghost flash mob. Which was pretty much the funniest damn thing ever, aside from the crazy local guy we encountered. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life-best idea ever, let me tell you.

Then we went to the cemetary at like, 2.a.m.  which was creepy as hell. There was something there-not that I saw anything, but I felt it. Made this Jackal Kid go “Huh. Well, this is interesting.”

Speaking of ghosts…my first ghost hunt was a lot of fun. The table tipping experiment we did with Michelle was pretty cool. I kind of wonder if it’s still partially us, but I was rolling when I joined in and it started shimmying. I’ve got to tell Hillary-I just kept thinking “Serena Wilson, is that you?!” Which honestly, would’ve been pretty epic.

All joking aside, when that one girl’s deceased dog came through, I had a nagging feeling of “nope, there’s a male spirit here” and it would’ve leave me alone. Cue going to the back room by the bathroom (which I was not getting happy vibes from) where a few of my friends did their own little spirit communication-and guess what? It was a male spirit.  I was boggling, although it was pretty neat that my own impression synced up with what we were experiencing.

I wasn’t afraid, though. I talk to my akhu all the time, so a few spirits really don’t bother me. I wasn’t digging the energy in the bathroom and it startled me/freaked me out a bit, but I just threw up a few shields and stayed out of there. Easy-peasy.

I thought about doing the Ganzfeld Experiment, but my mind is weird enough. Who the hell knows what I’d see, hah.

The POE lectures were pretty nifty-I was rolling when Chris did her lecture on torture. She was just so damn gleeful about it; my sides ached from giggling. Sergey’s lecture on spellwork was also insightful-even if I take more of the Strega approach to ethics.

Which leads us to, of course…the Pagan shops. I was like a kid in a goddamned candy store. I adored the Magic Parlor-excellent prices, nice owners, and lots of shinies, as well as Omen, Laurie Cabot’s place…but ironically? I loved Hex. I know Day’s a nutter, but damn if he doesn’t have a drool-worthy shop. The pierced guy behind the counter was a sweetie, too.

And Lori Bruno? I met her for all of five seconds (to compliment her on her jewelry) but hot damn, can that fierce Strega HBIC adopt me? Two of my friends got readings from her and said she had an amazing energy that was quite frankly, off the charts. Makes me wish I had the time and the money to get a reading from her too, but oh well. One day, I will.

All in all, it was a great experience. I have got to go back-somehow, some way, I will. I felt so at home there–and it was wonderful to not have to hide the Pagan/witchy part of me.

Because even with James, while I was pretty open about who and what I was…there was always this part of me that kept mum about it from time to time. There was always this fear of not letting him see me as a Witch, because he couldn’t understand it, no matter how badly I prayed he would.

That’s why any guy I date is going to have to accept the Witch side of me, because no more cages. Not now, not ever again. Not when I know–and have met–friends who understand and accept me for it.

Speaking of James, it’s incredibly ironic that a large part of why I went to the Salem FT was to heal my broken heart. I’m not sure if I loved James, but I did care for him very deeply and it shattered a part of my heart when it all went to Hell in a handbasket back in April.

But that girl is gone. The woman before you who types this does not miss him. I know it’s very likely that I’ll never see him again and you know what? I don’t care. He is no longer a part of my life, and quite frankly? So much the better. The Witch doesn’t need him, and she doesn’t want him, either.

I went to Salem to find change, and the trip changed me in ways I didn’t expect it to. I fell in love with the Witch City, met an amazing group of people who I have to see again sometime soon, and I think I’m starting a new road, a new path in life.

It’s kind of scary, but if there’s anything this past year has taught me, is that I’m strong in ways I didn’t expect to be. Things will turn around for the better. I’m ready for it. Let’s rock and roll.

It’s time to fly. Happy Wep Ronpet, all. Dua Netjer!

“Nothing lasts forever. Things change. We change.”-Melissa Marr.

Amanda over and out.

It’s interesting to see how things can change in a heartbeat.  If you had told me back in October that James wouldn’t date me or that Anne and I would no longer be anything but the best of friends, I quite honestly would’ve laughed in your face and not have believed a word you’d said.

But it’s July, and close to Lammas and Wep Ronpet, and everything’s changed. I don’t think it’s a bad change-it hurt at the time, yes. It sucked, to be truthful. But…everything happens for a reason, ya know?

I needed that energy out of my life. I needed to learn the lessons they were given to me to learn, but in the end, they weren’t who I truly needed by my side.

Both my Matron Goddesses, Bast and Brighid are all about Healing (and Destruction). There’s a maxim that goes “a witch who cannot hex cannot heal” and I find as I get older, it’s true. You need the dark and light to be balanced in your life.

Relations disintergrate and die and are destroyed to make room for new ones. Anne would’ve never have been a good long-term friend for me because at this point in her life, she’s not stable. It’s easy for her to change beliefs because she was never hard-core into Paganism. It was just a passing fancy, you know?

James…I have no idea how he truly felt about me. I probably never will, and honestly? I don’t *want* to know. But in the end, I do think he was a great guy who got corrupted by fame and his dudebro-y friends. He’s also really sensitive deep down inside, and I doubt he’d really be able to handle the fiery side of my personality. Not to mention: would he have accepted my Witch/Pagan side? Fully accept? Doubtful on that, too.

I want-and need-friends who are either quite supportive of my Paganism or who are Pagans themselves. People who are steady, reliable, and stable. Ditto for a boyfriend: I don’t mind an interfaith relationship as long as he’s willing to understand, support, accept, and respect my beliefs. ‘Cause I’m willing to do the same for him, ya know?

But yea…it was time for these relationships to go. And looking back on the past few months, I feel like I have a little more clarity, so that’s good. I’m looking forward to making more positive changes for Lammas and We Ronpet.

Anyway, in less personal thoughts: my heart goes out to Norway and the victims and their family and friends of the shooting. What a terrible tragedy and it just goes to show how scary extremisim of ANY religion is. Also, it’s a good reminder that we have to watch out for domestic terrorists, too. It’s not just the “evil brown people/evil Islamic fundamentalists” who are capable of producing terror and great harm.

I feel so bad, especially for the kids. Who on Earth decides it’s a good idea to kill, much less kids? What the heck did they ever do to you? What a low-life, ugh.

I also feel very sorry for the family and friends of Amy Winehouse, too. Addiction is a VERY difficult thing to deal with and it’s such a shame that it had to end this way. I wasn’t a fan, but she had a lot of talent and I wish she could’ve had a happy ending.

The world is going mad, I swear.

Amanda over and out.

Like many other 25 year olds out there, I grew up with Harry Potter. I started reading the series in the 7th or 8th grade and instantly became hooked. I eagerly awaited the release of Order of the Phoenix, spent countless hours hooked on Fan Fiction, and debated endlessly about theories and how Harry was going to kill Lord Voldemort.

I went to my first midnight book release for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at The Bookmarke Shoppe dressed as Hermione Granger.  My Potter journey as taken me to the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two cosplaying as Hermione Granger.

It is with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to Harry Potter, in movie form. My neighborhood theater was having a midnight showing, and my friend Rebecca and I decided to go. There was a lot of young people, from 18-25/26.

We file in and we sit. And we wait. And wait. And wait. The bloody commercials were endless. The audience gets restless. There’s a few people in costume-like, wizard’s robes and such. Bless their hearts. I’d be in a better costume too, if I had the money.

Finally, the movie starts. It was…wow. Not the best it could’ve been, but it was fucking amazing.

My favorite parts:

-Hermione as Bellatrix. Oh Helena. You are flawless.

-Fred and George on the balcony preparing for battle. I flailed, knowing what was going to happen.

-The Prince’s Tale. SNAPE HOLDING LILY’S BODY? I WILL BE CRYING FOR DAYS, BITCHES.

-Neville motherfucking Longbottom. I wish they’d kept in “I’ll join you when Hell freezes over! Dumbledore’s Army!” but he’s such a BAMF, killing Nagini.

-Alan Rickman. SOMEBODY GIVE THAT MAN A FUCKING OSCAR STAT

-Daniel Radcliffe. Oh Dan. You are Harry and you were perfect in this movie.

-Ron/Hermione kiss! Emma Watson, you lucky bitch.

-”Lily? Even after all this time?” “Always”. UGHHHH. SOBBING FOREVER.

-The Ressurection Stone sequence. Oh. My. Gods. I fucking lost it at that point. My heart, tis broken.

-Harry talking to Dumbledore. Rip my heart out, why don’tcha?

-Voldemort and Harry’s last fight. HOT DAMN. Ralph and Dan were suberb, I had chills.

-Minerva BAMF McGonagall being HBIC. I fucking love her.

-Tonks and Remus dying hand in hand. Oh Gods. I was so upset at that point. AND FRED!!!!

-Helena Ravenclaw was creepy as fuck. Damn, girl.

-Harry/Luna will forever by my OTP.

-The Forest Scene. *whimpers*

We had some pretty hilarious people in my theater, too. Here’s some highlights:

Girl: *at Pansy Parkinson on screen* “You shut your damn mouth, you c*nt.”

Girl: *sobbing loudly*

Her friend: Would you be quiet? IT’S JUST A MOVIE!

Me: *Filch on screen* DAMN YOU WALDER FREY! (If you’re not a GoT stan, you won’t get it.)

Me: *sees Twilight trailer* WHAT?! Twilight before a Harry Potter movie? BLASPHEMY!

People sitting next to me: *giggles*

Some girl: *sees Fred preparing for battle* “Good-bye, Fred!”

Her friend: “Why, what happens?”

Some girl: “He dies.”

Her friend: o_O;;;;;;;;;

Everyone as Voldemort hugs Draco: “AWKWARD!”

Girl: “BUT WHY IS HE NOT NAKED DURING THE KING’S CROSS SEQUENCE?!”

Girls sitting next to me: “Look! He’s STILL wearing the same pants as he was before!” (this bit during the Epilouge)

Girls sitting next to me: “Oh my God, her face is busted! (re: older Ginny)”

I just…wow. This is the end of the movies, but we’ll always have Hogwarts. We have the books. We have the DVDs. Harry Potter lives on.

To all of my fellow fans, to all of you who grew up with Harry the way I did-I just want to say I love you all. We’re such a kick-ass community of fans.

To the cast and crew of Harry Potter and most of all, to J.K. Rowling herself, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for the memories. <3<3<3

Mischief managed.

-Amanda