Chase the Morning

Welcome Beauty, Banish Fear...

ceiphiedknight — Sun, 20 May 2012 22:17:04 GMT

If I could thank my ex-fiance for anything, it would be for making me brave.

He didn't do it on purpose. Oh, no. He never purposefully did anything kind. Any gifts or kind gestures I received were apologies for something horrible he had done.

But he did, unintentionally, make me brave.

I will never be one of those women you see on the news, taken advantage of by someone slightly smarter than they are. Someone who knows how to control and manipulate. No, because I question everything.

No one decides my fate but me.

Whoops!

ceiphiedknight — Tue, 13 Mar 2012 16:54:53 GMT

I completely missed the deadline for LJ Idol yesterday, after fighting the good fight and just getting back into the main competition! Alas, I was too busy obsessing over ABC's Once Upon a Time. If you haven't seen this show yet, and you enjoy fairy tales (not just Disney, they make references to the Grimm stories, various nursery rhymes and all sorts of things) and if you enjoy shows that unfold over time (like LOST) then I can't recommend it enough.

I spent all weekend and all last night watching OUAT fan videos, starting a new fanfic, reading fanfic (mostly about my new OTP, Rumplestilskin/Belle) and compiling a Rumbelle fanmix of music while making Rumbelle graphics. Pathetic? Absolutely. But my mind often fixates on things like this, innocent things that make me happy, especially in very stressful times. And I've had a lot of stressful things going on lately.

Anyway, that's what happened! I honestly wish I had a better reason to give, but it is what it is.

If anyone got to "know" me through the competition and would like to remain friends, please feel free to add my real journal over at sensitivinferno since this one was made specifically for LJ Idol and will probably see little use now.

See you around!

Second Chance Idol :: Week Three :: Second Look

ceiphiedknight — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 03:44:58 GMT

Don't feel that you have to watch the video, but I thought it would complement this entry. Perhaps you'll feel interested enough to watch it at the end, once I've finished saying what I feel I have to say.

The song is called "80s Ladies" by K.T. Oslin, a former country music singer. I was only six years old when it came out in 1987, much too young to fully understand the video or the song's meaning. However, when I started middle school in 1993, I eventually formed a bond with two other girls, my best friends, and it became our song.

The song, which is about the friendship of three girls over the decades of their lives, became like a theme to us. We even decided which one of us was "pretty", which was "smart" and which was the "borderline fool" from the opening lines of the song. I was always the borderline fool.

We used to love to make home movies back in those innocent years, and we made our own music video to the song. The three of us were inseparable in that way. We thought it really meant something, this song about three friends staying together despite the ups and downs of life, or the distance between them.

But over the years, our circle of friends swelled to include others. What none of us ever expected was for our own feelings to shift, and for real life to include fights and the dissolution of some of our friendships.

I tried to hold on to the song, though. I can't really say why. Two different girls from high school became my best friends, and they are the two who have remained. For fifteen years, they have remained.

But those first two girls, the middle school girls...we're not friends anymore.

With one of them, it was simply a matter of losing touch and no longer having very much in common.

But with the other, there was a falling out of epic proportions. It literally hit me like a ton of bricks on the day I realized that we were no longer friends. And the funny part is, I was the one who ultimately made the decision. I decided that she had done something unforgivable. But it wasn't an easy decision, and I cried in my small apartment while clutching an old photo of all of us together. I'll never forget anything about that moment. The sunlight streaming through the blinds, the heat of the day.

Still, whenever I hear this song, though the songwriter lived her life during a different era, I can't help but think of them. Of her.

I love all of the friends I have now. I love the two girls who were in my wedding and who I still consider my best friends. But we never quite decided which of us was pretty, which was smart or which was the borderline fool.

Something tells me I would still be the fool.

Second Chance Idol :: Week Two :: High Wire Act

ceiphiedknight — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 00:41:54 GMT

I wanna end all this suffering
I do believe a second chance is coming
Love is a high wire act
Got to be an acrobat
And I know you can still be that...

- Don't Look Down, BBMak

It's hard to balace Real Life with what I want to be.

Although, it would probably be easier if I had the faintest idea of what it is I want to be.

I'm constantly torn between wanting to remain an irresponsible child who makes costumes and travels anywhere I want, and wanting to finally choose a career and maybe have a baby.

I think I would be a great mom, actually. For starters, I have an awesome "mom voice." Like the throaty, angry voice of a mom who is REALLY pissed about something. I yell at other people's kids all the time! It's just practice for the future, I say.

Most importantly, I would truly enjoy things like watching cartoons with them and taking them out to the newest Disney and Pixar films. I still have a really strong grasp on what it was like for me as a child, and I think that my own associations would make it easier for me to identify with them as they grow. I was an only child, but I was so creative and intelligent that to this day all of the things that meant a lot to me back then, all of the worlds I invented or took part in, still have a special place in my heart. I feel like games of pretend with my hypothetical child would be as easy as riding a bike.

But I think I'm still too selfish. I enjoy spending time with my husband and our pets. I enjoy being able to pick up and take off to another state if we feel like it. I also really enjoy sleep. Like, a lot.

Life isn't what I expected it to be. I'm still living in the same basic area where I was born and where I grew up, but it's not the same. The restaurant where my late Uncle used to take us to breakfast is gone now, replaced with a bank. There are huge overpasses where there used to just be stoplights. There are malls and apartments where there used to be woods.

I never expected this. But I also never expected to even entertain the idea of maybe being a mom someday. I don't think we'd be the kind of parents that would change, though. I think the kid would just be another adventure, another thing added to our lives. Added, not taken away.

I think I'm getting there. Slowly but surely.

We'll find the perfect balance. Someday.

Second Chance Idol :: Week One :: What's Missing

ceiphiedknight — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 15:45:55 GMT

Home.

They say it's where your heart is. Or where your family is. But I've never felt at home since my parents sold the house where I had spent twenty years of my life.

It was 2003, and I was in Philadelphia, so they decided there was no time like the present to sell the only home I'd ever known and move an hour West. They had their reasons, but I never got closure. I never got to say goodbye.

As such, I have a bit of an unhealthy fixation on my old house. Whenever I have a dream that takes place anywhere, it usually takes place in that house. My memories of every nook and cranny, of every pattern on the wallpaper, are so vivid and intense that I've often wondered if there is something legitimately wrong with me. After all, it's just a house. Just some wood and brick and mortar.

But it's so much more than that. To me, even to this day, it represents a life that I took for granted. That house is my anchor to peace. Within those walls, even when I was being an angsty teenager or pissed at my parents about one thing or another, I was at peace. It was my safe haven.

There has never been, and will never be, the perfect mixture of smells from the neighbor's garden wafting into my open bedroom window on a summer's night. There will never be the perfect pattern of light created by the rising sun in my East-facing bedroom.

A computer, a gift from my parents, sat in the corner of my room by the window. The desk was covered with cards and photos from my friends. A trashcan full of cream soda cans and jelly bean flavors that my best friend and I had deemed unacceptable sat nearby.

There will never again be the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of laughter from relatives long gone. On a Sunday morning, there will never again be the WMZQ Top Country Countdown blaring on the radio from the sunroom.

These were happier times as I padded downstairs, barefoot, excited to try and pick out each voice from the kitchen. Whether it was one of my Uncles, or my grandfather, it was always someone. I would turn that corner and be greeted with smiles and, often, the offer of a breakfast burrito brought by one of my late Uncles.

I will always have my memories. And, obviously, they are strong and unyielding. It would take a lot to make me forget the sights and smells of my home. It would be nearly impossible for me to forget all of the good times I've had there.

And yet, because that home now belongs to someone else and I will never again be allowed within the walls, I feel a sense of loss and longing that has never so much as ebbed after all of these years.

I have daydreams about pulling into the driveway, walking up to the door, and asking the current owners if I could possibly go take some charcoal prints of the initials written into the concrete of my dad's old workshop in the backyard. Many of my relatives who have passed since then helped him build that workshop, and when they poured the concrete floor they placed their initials just inside the door. I feel that it would be as valid of an excuse as any to set foot, however briefly, back on the property.

But I don't know if I have the guts, as they say. I don't know if I've reached that level of desperation.

But before too long, I may have to do something to get the closure I so desperately need. Especially before I finally leave Virginia behind, for good this time.

Let's try this again!

ceiphiedknight — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 15:05:03 GMT

Posting my intentions to join Second Chance Idol!

LJ Idol :: Home Game :: Some Assembly Required

ceiphiedknight — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 03:48:40 GMT

I'd obviously heard of delayed reactions, but I'd never had one before. Or at least never one so delayed that it took a good sixteen hours to kick in.

But then, years ago, I went out and saw a little movie called Serenity which is based on the cult sci-fi show, Firefly. There is an absolutely senseless character death at one point, and I think I may have gone into shock. How silly, right? To be so upset over a fictional character!

I shook it off and went home. Slept the night away.

The next morning, I woke up in tears. I was literally sobbing over the loss of this fictional character, even though I had slept an entire night and thought I had put it behind me.

Delayed reaction at its finest.

The same thing is currently happening, which is why it's so fresh in my mind. I just watched the series finale of a show called Chuck, which has been my favorite almost since it first aired five years ago.

There are a lot of reasons to feel attached to a show like that. You get comfortable with the characters, so you feel an actual sense of loss when you can no longer watch them. For me, it's also an association with all of the things I've done, and all of the things that have changed in my life, over that five years.

I've been through three jobs since 2007. My best friend has moved five hours away. I've moved, myself. I bought my first new car. And this show...this silly show...was something I could count on through all of that.

I'm not weeping openly, as I've been telling everyone I would. I haven't popped open the Ben & Jerry's ice cream that I've been saving for just this moment.

I suspect that it'll hit me sometime tomorrow. Hopefully somewhere private.

At times like these, I wonder if I'm broken. My body is a sack of bones and blood, and it works the same as anyone else's sack of bones and blood...but there are parts that go deeper than that. The deep parts; the ones no one will ever be able to see, even if they cut out my heart, are the ones that I think are broken.

There's nothing wrong with being deeply moved by things, whether fictional or not. But why can't I just cry? When my mother called me nearly four years ago to tell me that my cousin Ricky had been killed in a work accident, I was quiet on the other end of the phone for a long time. My mother, hardly the most empathetic person I know, snapped at me that she thought I'd be more upset.

I was. She had just told me that my closest cousin, the kid who was like a brother to me when we were growing up, was dead. Yes, I was fucking upset.

But I didn't cry until the day of his funeral. I didn't cry until I got up and spoke heartfelt words about him, unrehearsed, and took my seat again.

I was just so tired of feeling. Five years earlier, we had pulled up to the same funeral home where my favorite Uncle, Ricky's father, had been given one of the most amazing services I've ever seen.

He'd been a local fire chief for thirty years, and Ricky had also been a firefighter. Most people in my family have been at one time or another.

When we pulled up to the same funeral home, and saw the same yellow fire truck with the big black bow and ribbons on the front...the truck that would carry my loved one, once again, to his final resting place...I couldn't feel anymore.

I've lost too much. So whether real or fictional, maybe I'll always just be delayed and broken.

There came a point where I cracked, and nothing could put me back together again.

LJ Idol :: Week Eleven :: Open Topic

ceiphiedknight — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 00:50:36 GMT

Large brown eyes, shadowed by a curtain of chestnut hair, gazed out from behind the walls of the local tavern.

S'lanna rose and pressed her lithe body flush with the flickering shadows on the wall, hiding herself from the light coming from within the very tavern she stalked.

Drunken men were easy targets, and generally S'lanna thought better of her skills, but she was too tired and hungry to be picky. It was her exhaustion and growling belly that had brought her to The Singing Dwarf, one of the shadiest pubs in her home nation of Zirien.

Because, should her thievery ever go wrong, it was best to kill the lowly and unwanted dregs of society. They were less likely to be missed.

S'lanna waited in silence as the voices inside the tavern grew louder and more obnoxious. The lights began to fade as the voices swelled, and her first target stumbled out of the back door and into the alley.

He was at least a head shorter than S'lanna and reeked of cheap wine. His body swayed as he approached a rickety fence that served to cut the tavern's alley off from the main road. S'lanna watched in disgust as he lowered his pants.

Though, she had to admit, there was a positive spin to the situation. If he was having difficulty just taking a piss, robbing him would be almost too easy.

The thief removed a dagger from her belt, just as a precaution. It was a short blade, no more than twelve centimeters in length, with a handle made of finely carved bone. It fit perfectly in her small hand, and had slit more than one throat in the past.

She slowly approached her prey, blade at the ready, her thin fingers stretching toward the intoxicated man's coin purse...

“Excuse me, you there, what are you doing?”

S'lanna spun toward the male voice coming from the side of the tavern. Her target turned around, as well, stumbling a bit and sending urine flying into the fence.

The game was over before it had even begun. S'lanna whirled and muttered several words under her breath, much too softly for anyone to hear.

Holding her dagger close, the thief's body suddenly exploded into hundreds of tiny metal marbles. The marbles bounced a couple of times on the hard, cold ground and abruptly disappeared.

The drunkard blinked in confusion. The man who had interrupted the theft glared at the place where a tall, thin young woman had just been.

Longon hated thieves, but he hated sorcerers even more.

LJ Idol :: Week Ten :: Sticks and Stones

ceiphiedknight — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 03:55:42 GMT

Whoever said, "words can never hurt you" must have been deaf, dumb or a bully.

From kindergarten until fifth grade, I attended the same school. I had the same friends, the same teachers and the same familiar routine. One of my parents would drive me to school in the morning, because my school was outside of the normal zoning area of my home. Therefore, no bus would pick me up. The reason for this was because, in the afternoon, I would take the bus from school to my grandma's house. She and my great-grandma were my caretakers for a large and important chunk of my childhood. They would watch me every evening, feed me dinner, and sometimes have me quite late into the night. That is why, for six years, I attended the school that was right across the street from my grandma's home, and not my own.

Unfortunately, around the time I was preparing to "graduate" from elementary school to middle school, my great-grandma suffered a very serious stroke that put her in long-term care at the hospital. She stayed there for years, until she passed away. She never got to go home again.

My grandma was with her day and night. She simply refused to leave her mother alone in that horrible place, and my grandma is the kind of person who needs to take care of people. She didn't trust the nurses to give my great-grandma the kind of care that she deserved. Because what she deserved was dignity and kindness, always.

This, however, put my parents in a lurch. Every afternoon they had to arrange for someone to pick me up from school and then transport me to the hospital for my grandma to watch me until my parents came to pick me up. Luckily, as an only child, I was always able to amuse myself. To this day I can recall the cedar smell from sitting inside the closet of my great-grandma's room, and I find elderly people incredibly enjoyable.

After fifth grade, my parents enrolled me into the middle school that was within the zoning area of my own home. That meant I would have to say goodbye to all of my childhood friends, and start at a school with a bunch of kids who had already known each other for six years, and did not know me.

On my first day of sixth grade, during gym class, I will never forget the first taste of bullying that I had ever had in my entire life.

We were doing jumping jacks when a boy named Andrew, who had been in several of my other classes that day due to our last names being alphabetically similar, turning to me and glared with burning eyes. No one had ever looked at me with such hatred and disdain. With no provocation that I was aware of, this boy growled at me, "You're my mortal enemy."

And thus began four years of torture.

Andrew was popular. He played junior varsity football and was generally well-liked by everyone. But for some reason, he hated me. He made fun of my glasses, my teeth and my nose. All of the traits that I had never before paid any attention to. At that time, I had a big gap in my two front teeth that would later need orthodontic treatment, but I had not even lost all of my baby teeth yet. I was berated daily for things I couldn't control, and I was eleven. I was called every name under the sun, compared to various barnyard animals and of course called the usual bullying favorites such as "four eyes" and "big nose." Frankly, I had never even noticed the bump in my nose from my German lineage until my classmates pointed it out. By the time I reached seventh grade, I wanted a nose job. I was twelve, and I wanted plastic surgery. That is wrong on so many levels, I can't even fathom what my mother must have thought when I brought it up to her.

Several specific incidents stick out in my mind. Once, in the seventh grade, a girl who was about three times my size grabbed a notebook that I used to write down dreams and poetry. She held it too high for me to reach, and began reading is aloud during science class. The teacher did nothing.

In the eighth grade, I had to sit next to a boy named Scott in Social Studies. He was best friends with Andrew, so of course I had to deal with his venom for the entire class. It was he who, somehow, got the entire class to start "mooing" at me, like a cow. Because my silly German surname contained a moo-like sound, I was often called "Cristi Moo-cow." But to have them actually making animal noises at me was a new low.

But then, in the hallways on the way back from lunch that same day, Scott and Andrew somehow got everyone in our grade to start doing it. Most of them may not have even known exactly why they were making cow noises, but I knew. I think that's what hurt the most, that all of my classmates were being cruel to me for no other reason than because the "cool kids" started it.

I got back to class in tears and buried my head in a book. I hoped that the worst of it was over. But then the Principal came on the loud speaker and announced to the entire school, "Students, please refrain from making animal noises in the hallways." Everyone in class turned to look right at me, and Scott led the class in laughter.

And he saw me cry, and he watched me burn, and he liked it.

Looking back, it's a wonder I never considered suicide. But that wasn't something children knew as much about back then as they do now. Plus, now I feel that children have a harder time escaping their bullies. Whereas I could just go home, now kids are followed by texts and Facebook and all manner of things. For me, summer vacation was a blessing on so many levels.

Things finally began to level out for me around tenth grade, but it took that long to find my footing. I made a small group of friends. I joined drama, choir and creative writing. I found kindred spirits and hung out with them while people like Scott and Andrew did their sports and stayed far away from me.

Still, I will never forget. Nor will I ever forgive. Youth and inexperience is no excuse for cruelty. There are many things I have forgiven in my life, and many people with whom bridges have been burned but I hold no ill will.

But if I ever run into Andrew again in my lifetime, he had better hope like hell that I don't break his face.

Since middle school, my dad has taught me how to throw a mean right hook.

LJ Idol :: Week Nine :: Counter-intuitive

ceiphiedknight — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 15:55:18 GMT

When I was just twenty years old, I was engaged to a man who I thought I could "fix." When things were good, they were great! We had a lot in common, we laughed together and we got along swimmingly. But when things were bad, he was usually drunk or high. There was abuse of all kinds. Mental and emotional manipulation, fights that turned physical...pretty much everything your parents warn you about when you're a young woman going off on your own.

I had always thought I was too smart to let such drama into my life. But I'd never been in love before.

We became engaged, ironically, on April Fool's Day in 2002. I just knew that if we were married, we wouldn't fight anymore and things would be perfect. My best friend teased me about being a "child bride" but I didn't care. My plan was to marry within a year.

But how much a meager six months can change things.

A little under two months later, one of my best friends passed away from cancer at the age of twenty. The same age as me. It threw me into a spiral of what am I doing with me life? and am I truly happy?

The answers did not come easily. I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I was floundering around, counting on a man who was, frankly, not good enough for me. And, no, I was most decidedly not happy.

I was also falling in love with one of my closest friends.

I don't know how it happened, and it really doesn't matter. But by the time I'd turned twenty-one I had left my fiancé, moved back in with my parents (though very briefly) and was determined to "take it slow" with the man who saved me.

I fail at taking it slow. In a little over two months I was running away from all of my problems in Virginia and moving in with my new boyfriend and a house full of mates in Philadelphia, PA. I had no job prospects, I had a '97 Jeep Cherokee with over 100,000 miles on it, and I only had about two grand in my bank account because I'd paid off my ex-fiance with most of my savings to cover the lease I was skipping out on.

But I was young and in love, and I wanted to get away. My ex and I worked together, so I still had to see him every day. I felt like I was in a dead-end job anyway, and I was not where I wanted to be. It seemed easier to transplant myself and start over somewhere else. What I did not know at the time, and what I only know now in hindsight and having gained the wisdom that only a decade can bring, is that it doesn't matter where you go if you don't actually change who you are. Also, poor planning does not make for a better lifestyle.

Few people I know have ever been as poor as I was in Philadelphia. We're talking practically destitute. Once my savings ran out, there were days I went hungry because I had no other choice. I had a job, but it didn't pay me enough to live on. Once, I had to beg a roommate to split his personal-sized microwave pizza with me. Fun things like going out to dinner or a movie were absolutely out of the question. My cellphone got turned off. My boyfriend lost his car, so we were relying entirely on mine. Things were grim.

My boyfriend and I left Philadelphia in one night. We got a U-Haul truck, spent about fourteen hours loading it up, and drove the three hours home.

While I'd been gone, six months once again changed my entire world. My parents sold my childhood home, the home in which I'd spent twenty years of my life, and moved an hour west. It was their house and their decision to make, but I have severe abandonment issues in regards to that decision that I have never fully been able to shake. I'm still fixated on that house, and in my darkest hours I've even driven by there and cried.

So, even though we were out of Philadelphia, we were staying with my parents in their new house. I felt incredibly misplaced. Like I could never truly go home again, and it was my own fault.

As we enter 2012, we come upon the ten year anniversary of my sudden move up north. The reason this is significant is because my husband and I (the aforementioned boyfriend, so at least that part of the story worked out) have plans to move north once more. We once again find that there is nothing for us in Virginia, but for completely different reasons. There is nothing we're running from, except perhaps our own stagnation. The area in which we live is overpopulated, incredibly expensive, and so full of traffic that the county can't even keep up with widening the roadways. It takes me about 45 minutes to get to and from work...and I live 14 miles away.

We will never be able to afford a home here, because even in this buyers market everything in this area is overpriced. Our entire county is run by Republicans, and I feel as if we'll always be a conservative, backwards red state. There are simply too many things that my husband and I don't agree with.

So we're going to make a change. Later this year, a decade since our first adventure in leaving Virginia, we'll be heading up to Maryland.

Frankly, I'm terrified. Because despite the lessons I've learned over the years, and the wisdom and insight I feel that I've gained to prepare me this time, I'm obviously still a bit traumatized.

Things went so wrong ten years ago. Who's to say that they won't go wrong again?

But I have to try. Because I suppose that failing again and at least knowing that we tried will still be better than rotting here.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat
Cause looking for heaven, for the devil in me
Looking for heaven, for the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me...

-Shake It Out, Florence + The Machine

LJ Idol :: Week Eight :: Traveling Travesty

ceiphiedknight — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 18:38:53 GMT

I don't recall whose bright idea it was to travel to Columbus, Ohio in January. In fact, I wish I did, so that I could give them a good hearty beating! Ah, hell, it was probably me.

Anyway, my husband and two friends of ours had piled into my trusty Jeep to make the trek from Northern Virginia to Columbus. We spent a weekend there and were preparing to return home when the snow began.

Sure, we'd heard the news reports. We knew they were calling for a "blizzard." But we also knew that the media loves to make mountains out of mole hills. We weren't concerned, since we planned to leave in enough time to beat the storm system.

At least, that was our intention.

Another friend of ours who happened to be in town, Kim, came to us with a situation. Her flight back to Georgia was leaving from an airport in Dayton, and the guy who had told her he'd give her a ride was no where to be found. If she didn't hit the road within the next thirty minutes or so, she'd be screwed.

So my husband, always the good Samaritan, did the only thing he could think to do. He offered her a ride.

Please note: Dayton was in the opposite direction we needed to be going. We would also be driving toward the storm. For nearly two hours.

But we couldn't abandon a friend, so off we went!

Our visit to Dayton was short. We dropped Kim out, helped her with her bags, and hauled ass back toward Columbus.

Unfortunately, the innocent snowflakes that had begun just outside of Dayton as we arrived were following us, and they meant business.

Two hours later, upon reaching Columbus again, we were in blizzard conditions. Major highways were being shut down all over the state, as well as neighboring states. We had no choice but to stop.

Back in the same city we were supposed to have vacated nearly five hours prior, we found a shady motel and decided to wait it out.

Our friends headed out on foot to the White Castle that could be seen from our motel window. We hoped for the best. In fact, that was the first time I'd ever eaten a White Castle burger. These were desperate times.

One of our friends was very anxious about having to stop, though she obviously agreed that it was the responsible thing to do. Her very ill mother had an appointment the next morning, back in Virginia, so we would have to be up at dawn to (hopefully) be back in time for her to take her mother to the appointment. Grudgingly, after a restless and cold night, we got up and made our second attempt to exit the now desolate city of Columbus.

Roads were open, but treacherous. We had no choice but to drive slowly and take our time. It was dark, and there was black ice everywhere. Our friend got in touch with her mother who said that Virginia was just as bad and that, by the way, her appointment was cancelled.

What should have been about a five hour trip ended up taking closer to eight. We literally cheered when we saw the signs for Northern Virginia. I have photos of those glorious signs.

That was the last time I ever visited Ohio.

LJ Idol :: Week Seven :: Bupkis

ceiphiedknight — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 03:39:35 GMT

When I was a little girl, our cat disappeared for several days.

My parents were worried sick, and every time we would go out for dinner or errands my mom would say something like, "I hope Fluffy is waiting at home when we get back."

One night, on the way home from a meal out, I decided to go to sleep. It was only a short distance from the restaurant, but I somehow convinced myself that if I went to sleep, Fluffy would be home when I woke up...and everything would be fine again.

Sure enough, whether luck or coincidence, when we arrived home and my parents woke me up it was with great joy on their faces.

"Fluffy is waiting on the front stoop!" my dad exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear.

At that moment, I convinced myself that I had the power to make the bad things in life all better again.

...

That was a long time ago, and as I got older my power stopped working. Family and friends would die, and no matter how many power naps I took, they would still be dead when I woke up.

If only growing old hadn't killed my imagination and easy faith. If only I still had the power to stave off my own pain, as well as the pain of those I love.

But nothing makes everything all better again.

LJ Idol :: Week Five :: Inconceivable

ceiphiedknight — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 03:06:09 GMT

My dad had called my cell phone, and his voice was urgent as he ordered me to come home. I was offended since I had just gotten Subway and the cute blonde guy who made my sandwich flirted with me by asking who my favorite Evangelion character was, due to the low cut Eva shirt I was wearing. I was only twenty, and was actually feeling pretty good about myself...but his tone and vagueness worried me.

I asked him what was wrong. I asked him if something bad had happened, but he wouldn't tell me. He just kept repeating, "come home now."

I was worrying myself sick on the whole drive home. I was half an hour away, and during the drive I made up a Best Case Scenario and a Worst Case Scenario. Best Case was that Fluffy had finally passed away. After all, he was 18 years old and was throwing up a lot. Damn cat was cranky as hell, too. Worst Case was, of course, that Leah had passed away...or was in the hospital getting ready to do so. No offense to Fluffy, but I was definitely leaning more toward one scenario over the other.

I finally got home, ran inside, and found my parents in the sunroom. I saw Fluffy sitting happily on my dad's lap, and my heart sank. I guess, deep down, I'd already known.

My dad then told me that Leah's mom had called, and that Leah had passed away in her sleep. Before I knew it, I was in tears and my parents were on their feet, consoling me.

The tears didn't last nearly as long as I thought they would, though. Because, in the moment he had told me, something inside me changed.

Leah's mom, Donna, had asked that I be the one to call around to the other girls and tell them. For some reason, I don't know why, I'd always known that it would be my job. So I was mentally prepared, in a way.

I called Stephanie at Adrienne's parents' house and got Adrienne's new apartment number. I wanted to tell Stephanie then, but then I figured that maybe it was best left up to her own sister. I called Adrienne, and I think she went into shock, and then tears. But we had known it was going to happen eventually.

Then I called Katie. When I told her, I will never forget that the first thing she said to me was, "are you okay?" Katie has got to be the single most selfless person I know. Before her own tears started, she asked if I was okay.

All I know is that I'm so happy to have so few regrets with Leah. We saw her every week for two months. We took her places...and that was the only time she ever really got out of the house. We brought her movies from Blockbuster, and took her to China King. The last place that I ever went with her, just the two of us, was to Borders. We stood in the coffee shop next door and she ordered a Frappuccino of some kind. Then I took her home. I also know that, on the phone one night, I told her that I loved her. I'm so glad to have said the words. She had to have known that we loved her...but saying it can't hurt. I had called to see if her fever was any better and she had said, "I love you" to me before getting off the phone. Sadly, for a moment, I actually hesitated. I have a hard time with the "L" word. It's not that I don't love deeply, it's just that I'm terrified of making myself vulnerable. Loving someone is the single most soul-bearing thing you can do. But after just a split second, I said it back to her. I'll hold onto that memory until it's time for me to join her.

Leah was always there for us. She had a maturity that surpassed ours by leaps and bounds. Ever since we knew her when she was a freshman in high school, she helped take care of her little brother and sister, and helped her mother with laundry, cleaning the house and cooking. Yeah, she could be really picky and opinionated...but she was also funny as hell and told a great story. That was Leah. And she was always there when we needed her. Either with an opinion or advice to help make things better, or just with a shoulder. I'm so glad we could be there for her in her last months. It was the least we could do for all the joy and friendship she gave to us.

Leah Nicole Ganey. I still can't believe that you're gone.

I'm just not myself when you're away.

LJ Idol :: Week Four :: What Does Narcissism Have to Do With Me?

ceiphiedknight — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 04:04:17 GMT

Narcissism is my hobby.

To do what I do in my spare time, one must be at least slightly narcissistic. This can range anywhere from "my daddy didn't love me enough" to "blatant exhibitionism." But if anyone ever tries to tell you that they don't do it for the attention, even on some small level, they are a damn dirty liar.

So, with that said, let me tell you about cosplay.

It all started twelve years ago. I was just out of high school and attending my second ever anime convention. I had been going to Star Trek conventions since I was only thirteen, so I was no stranger to the idea of dressing up. I had sported my Next Generation uniforms proudly, and often wore a blue blazer of my mother's, which was about six sizes too big for me, so that I could pretend to be Dr. Crusher in her lab coat. One year, at the local sci-fi convention, my friends and I had even made Ghostbuster costumes using some of my Uncle's old gas station uniforms. So I knew, having already attended the largest anime convention on the east coast the previous summer, that I couldn't miss my next big chance to dress up.

It was Nekocon 1999 in Virginia Beach, VA. My parents drove me down with my two closest friends, and in my overnight bag was my first ever hand-made anime costume. I had only just turned eighteen.

Years later, I would learn from a friend that he had seen me that day and would have asked for my photo, except that he thought I was fourteen and didn't want to seem creepy.

Thus began my journey on the road of cosplay, or costuming.

On this journey, I have learned many skills. I can sew, sculpt, craft, paint, custom color and style wigs, design patterns and turn something 2D into reality . I've burned myself on hot glue, and I've gotten high from dangerous chemicals.

But the most important thing I've learned is that none of that matters unless you're attractive.

It's a double-edged sword. On one hand, you want to show off your hard work to the masses. But on the other hand, putting yourself out there ultimately leaves you open to criticism.

Wanting to show off your work usually wins out. I know it did for me.

I've had every flaw that I hate about myself pointed out by strangers. I've had little mistakes on my costumes, things that I never would have noticed, blatantly pointed out by people who can barely sew a straight stitch. Take one unflattering photo in the hallway at a convention and you'll be haunted by it for years to come.

Call it narcissism, call it confidence...call it Sally, I don't care. But whatever it is that makes us continue on, despite the negative aspects of the hobby, it's a very powerful thing.

On this journey, I've also met many people. People so numerous that sometimes it's surreal to think about. Some of them have become dust on the wind, but others will remain the best friends I've ever had. All because I decided I wanted to dress up as fictional characters and have my picture taken. Almost every person who has entered (or exited) my life over the past twelve years has been someone I met through cosplay.

Including my husband.

My husband and I technically met at work in 2001. But the reason he first came over and spoke to me was because he saw the anime posters in my cubicle. I blew him off.

The second time he spoke to me, however, was because he overheard my best friend and I talking about cosplay. This led to a common ground, and we realized we had actually exchanged e-mails with each other on a cosplay mailing list we were both subscribed to at the time. Having that one thing in common led to us learning about all the other things we had in common. It all led to a beautiful and deep friendship; and then, eventually, to love.

Having your work praised, which means having yourself praised, can be addicting. Perhaps that's why I've continued on, despite any hardships and negativity. Or maybe it's because, for every insult or mean-spiritied comment, there are a dozen positive ones.

Or, just maybe, it's because I still haven't quite gotten over what this silly, narcissistic hobby has done for me.

LJ Idol :: Week Three :: Coprolite

ceiphiedknight — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 02:32:25 GMT

There you are. You've found your stall and you're sitting quietly, waiting to do your business.

Suddenly, you realize you're not alone. There is someone in the stall next to you. So you wait.

And you wait.

This mysterious person is being eerily quiet, as if they seem to be in no hurry to leave the restroom.

That's when you realize the true, horrific nature of your situation.

You're in a Poo Stand-Off.

Neither of you are quite brave enough to do what needs to be done, so the uncomfortable silence stretches on. At first, it's simply awkward. Then, before too long, it becomes downright disturbing.

One of you has to make a move. This can't go on forever.

Finally, blessedly, the other person...that strange enemy in the other stall...decides they've had enough.

They roll their toilet paper, they flush, and they leave. You know for a fact that no poo was had.

They forfeited.

You won.

Friending!

ceiphiedknight — Sat, 29 Oct 2011 15:08:37 GMT

¤ Fill in! ¤ Friend! ¤ Follow! ¤

LJ Idol :: Week Two :: Three Little Words

ceiphiedknight — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 17:41:50 GMT

“Happy thirtieth birthday!”

I found myself desperately wishing that they would just stop mentioning it. Not the “happy birthday” part, of course. Most everyone likes to be wished a happy birthday. It was the “thirtieth” part that bothered me.

When I was a teenager, it was easy for me to say that I’d be one of those women who aged gracefully. I’d never fuss over gray hairs, or the occasional smile line. My sensibilities were much too evolved to care about such shallow things.

Back then, the idea of turning thirty was too abstract. Before I even knew what was happening, it had become my crutch.

“I’ll be a published author before I’m thirty.”

“I’ll travel overseas before I’m thirty.”

“I’ll decide whether or not I want kids by the time I’m thirty.”

It’s quite a wakeup call when you realize that the woman you pretended to be when you were five; the one who drove a red convertible, wore high heels and carried a briefcase, will never actually be you.

I drive a Hyundai Accent, I prefer flats, and I carry a messenger bag. I do fuss over my gray hairs (and subsequently dye over them) and try to keep make-up from settling into the smile lines that have only just formed over the last few years.

I have yet to be published, I have yet to travel overseas, and I still don’t know if I want kids.

And that’s all okay.

Because, if there’s one major lesson I’ve learned, it’s that I can’t be anyone other than who I am. Even though I still want some of those things, everyone on this planet works on their own schedule. There is no time limit as long as I’m alive and capable. For example, one of my favorite authors, Mary Downing Hahn, wasn’t published until she was forty-one. Life doesn’t simply stop at any given age. I won’t stop until my heart stops beating.

So, for my thirtieth birthday, there was no need to pretend. No need to drink martinis with my pinky out. No need to wear high heels or arrive in a convertible.

I can only be who I am, so I’ll be celebrating in the best way I know how. And that is by being dressed up like a Disney princess at a pirate bar.

I’m me, I’m thirty, and I’m not ashamed.

LJ Idol :: Week 1 :: When you pray, move your feet

ceiphiedknight — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 01:01:18 GMT

Being an atheist is hard.

Sure, I know what you're thinking. "Gee, Cristi, how could not believing in anything possibly be hard?"

It's not the not believing that's hard. In fact, there are a great many things I do believe in.

What's hard is the stigma that comes with being an atheist. Living in the United States, I often feel that "freedom of religion" really means "freedom to practice the religion that the majority agrees with." And when that religion is no religion? Well, it's often hard for people to wrap their brains around.

I've literally been asked, "If you don't believe in God, how do you know the difference between right and wrong?"

That's easy. Because I live by my own moral code, and I choose to be a good person due to my own free will. I pay taxes, I adore animals and I tolerate children. I don't lie or cheat (I'm terrible at both, anyway) and I donate to charities. And I do these things without believing that I'll be getting some kind of eternal reward out of it.

However, being an atheist who was raised to unquestionably believe in God has put me at odds with myself for many years.

My parents attempted to send me to Bible School when I was four, instead of normal kindergarten. I obviously don't remember much about it, but I do know that my very religious Aunt Judy worked at the school, and that both of her children attended.

I remember walking as a group down to the Chapel section of the school for morning prayer. I remember that everyone around me bowed their heads and clasped their hands, but I chose to look around with my hands in my lap and observe the prayer rather than participate. Frankly, the whole thing made me feel very uncomfortable. Everyone doing the same thing in the same way seemed unnatural.

After the prayer session ended, we went back upstairs to the classroom. One of the teachers walked over to me as I drew a rainbow using delightfully scented magic markers.

I used every color for my rainbow, hopelessly out of order (I'm sure,) and at the very top I made the largest arch black. It was the marker that smelled like liquorice.

"Honey, rainbows don't have black in them," said the teacher.

"Mine does," I answered.

I never went back to Bible School again.

I've often wondered what it feels like to believe in an omnipotent presence outside of myself. The idea is fascinating! I even went through an upheaval about six years ago when I became friends with a very religious co-worker who decided that I needed to be "saved" because she liked me too much to let me go to hell. I tried to feel the same way that she did. I always listened attentively as she recited the week's sermon to me, but I just couldn't do it. I found it interesting, but in the same way I find an episode of Game of Thrones interesting. She might as well have been telling me that Jesus walked into Mordor.

I once asked her if she believed in Unicorns or the Yetti.

She answered, "of course not."

I smiled and said, "exactly."

But, you see, it's not that I don't believe in anything at all. I believe in love. I believe that people are inherently good. And I believe that this world we live on, as a whole, is a powerful force of its own. But I simply can't find it within myself to believe that any kind and loving God would have given my eighteen-year-old friend the cancer that killed her soon after she turned twenty. I can't believe that it did anyone any good to have my cousin die in a freak work-related accident before he turned thirty.

My dad once told me that those things aren't caused by God, but by Satan who is trying to make us question our faith in God.

My young friend, Leah, had just passed away.

So, with a voice dripping with bitterness and resentment, I had answered, "It's working."

After my cousin Ricky died, I actually questioned myself. I thought that, maybe, if I'd actually prayed to keep my family safe like so many other people do, he wouldn't have had his accident. But then I realized that I was being silly, and that grief does strange things to people.

So I do the best I can. I try to live my life with compassion and love, and if someone is kind to me I pay it forward times ten. When bad things happen I go to the source and try to fix it, instead of cursing some unseen evil.

I figure that, if I'm wrong, God will decide that I'm a good egg anyway. Maybe he'll say something like, "I don't really blame you for not believing in me. I made it really hard, sometimes."

I'd imagine that God is a rational kind of guy.

LJ Idol : : Week X : : Introduction

ceiphiedknight — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 00:07:32 GMT

The things about myself that I'd want people to know are, at first, very shallow.

So, since this contest is about putting it all out there, I think I'll focus on the things that I'd rather people NOT know about me.

I overthink everything. I don't dawdle to the point of not being able to make decisions, but I do weigh all of my options very heavily. This includes coming up with some killer worst-case-scenarios for any circumstance you could possibly imagine.

I can be logical to the point of seeming insensitive. I don't mean to be cold, and the truth is it hurts me deeply when people assume that I am, but I'm reasonable to the point of being irritating.

I'm scared of taking risks, so I always advise my friends and loved ones to do so in my stead. Only recently have I begun riding rollercoasters again, after a long hiatus.

I've been to more funerals than I can count on both hands, starting at a very young age.

I'm an escapist with her head in the clouds. I have very vivid memories of pretending that my house could transport me anywhere, like Count Duckula's castle. I distinctly recall giving my mom a very detailed play-by-play of every episode of DuckTales that involved Gizmoduck, because he was my first superhero love. I became obsessed with the idea of crime-fighting, and often zoned out in class during elementary school because I would be "helping" the Rescue Rangers find clues throughout my classroom for some case they were on. When I was ten years old, Darkwing Duck premiered and opened up a whole new world for me. Darkwing led me to Batman, and my love of Batman was my gateway drug to all other comics. When they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I no longer answered, "a cowgirl" (my preferred profession for many years), I answered, "a superhero."

Suffice it to say, I did very poorly in school. Classes simply couldn't hold my attention when my teachers had such amazing fictional heroes as competition.

I started middle school with no friends in the world. I had changed schools, so I had to say goodbye to all of the kids I'd known for six years of my life up until that point. Those were the worst three years of my life, and Star Trek literally saved me.

Discovering Star Trek was like making a new friend. A friend who never let me down. Once again, my mind was occupied by fantasy. Except this time, it was to block out the pain and sadness.

I'll spare you all the stories of emotional and physical abuse I endured until my sophomore year of high school. Or perhaps I'll save it for a contest entry.

All of these things, though; from the loss of life, to the bullying, to the desire I discovered within myself to CREATE things, all contributed to the person I am now. Exploring other people's worlds and visions made me contemplate my own.

I've written over a million words in my nearly thirty years on this planet. I've drawn and painted. I've crafted and sewn. I've acted and scripted and sang. I've performed off-Broadway in New York, and I've seen plays I've written performed by my peers. I've entered costume contests, and I've judged costume contests. I've traveled all over the States, and I've met many of my favorite celebrities (mostly from Star Trek.) I have friends all over this country, and in many others. My hobbies and interests led me to my wonderful husband, who shares most of my passions.

I want to go everywhere. I want to see everything. I want to be a part of something bigger than myself. I want to eat exotic cuisine and drink expensive wines.

I want to be a published author. I want to be strong and handle any future pain with my shoulders straight and my head held high.

And, mostly, I want to love with everything I have.

You know...maybe letting you guys in on this stuff isn't so bad, after all.

First Entry!

ceiphiedknight — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 16:33:50 GMT

Announcing my intentions to participate in Season 8 of LJ Idol!