Those Who Know, Don't Speak...

...if only those who don't know would also not speak, we'd be in business.

See, while having coffee this morning, I checked out my usual websites. Among which is Fetlife. There's the feed...there's my friend, X, saying he looks forward to seeing this new guy at some event. Why does the name of New Dude seem familiar?

OH SHIT. IT'S MR. LEFT-HAND-PATH FROM A FEW YEARS BACK.

Mr. LHP and I butted heads most vigorously during one of my sad little forays into the Houston pagan community. He kept insisting that he knew this and that and the other about traditional, oathbound Wicca. But, of course, was not an actual, vouchable initiate.

Needless to say, my protests that if you are not an actual part of an oathbound trad, you do not know the oathbound stuff you're claiming to know and are therefore wrong, fell on ears firmly plugged with fingers and unicorns and white light and shit.

Now he's likely to be hanging out with people who are my friends, but whose minds are sometimes just a leeeeetle too open. Explaining to them that this dude is a moron and should be ignored posthaste is unlikely to garner anything but "Well, he's not that bad...". Which he is.

Oh, come on, you say. He's not hurting anyone. The hell he's not. If you claim to know shit that you can't possibly know, then you are a liar. Or delusional. In the one case, you should be shunned. In the other, either ignored or have it suggested that even the Dragonriders of Pern could probably use some therapy.*

This is why I refuse to have anything further to do with "the community" - the kinky one or the pagan one. Too much drama. Too much bullshit. Too many people who feel, rightly or no, that their lives are sad, meaningless, and mundane - and think that being a Dominant/vampire/Grand High Poobah Clergy Pagan/animal-human hybrid will make everything better. Especially if we mix everything together!

Yes, ladies, gents, and others. The day has come. The ocelot has turned into the kind of Old Fart who says shit like, "Y'know, that's great and all, but I really think they're taking this just a little too far."


*I kid you not - there were people in Colorado who really, truly thought (or told everyone they did) that they were Dragonriders of Pern. This despite the fact that they were one of the most out-of-shape bunch of weenies it has ever been my misfortune to slap eyes on.

Because The Salt Across Her Office Doorway Isn't Working.

One of my co-workers is the type of person whose basic personality conflicts with mine in the way that makes me want to whack her with my old Stanford-Binet scores while shouting, "STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE I AM STUPID". She also seems to have some weird desire to make herself look good by making me look less good. My immediate boss is aware of this and always comes to my defense when she hears Annoying Co-Worker doing this.

Today's conversation convinces me that administering Bewitched Baked Goods is going to be necessary:

AC-W: There's a lady on the phone etc so forth blah blah.
ME: (In my head: so why didn't you transfer her to me in the first place?) OK, well, if you told her how to XY the Z, I'm not sure what else I can tell her.
AC-W: Blah blah blah unwillingness to deal
ME: OK. What line is she on?
AC-W: Line 2.
ME: (nota bene: when you put someone on hold, the light for that line blinks) Huh. The line isn't blinking, though. (genuine confusion on my part)
AC-W: (smugly) Yes it is.
ME: No, no it isn't. I can see all 3 lines, none of which are blinking.
AC-W: (still with the smug) Well, it's blinking on mine.
ME: Well, it isn't on mine, so can you transfer her?

It would be bad, wrong, and a violation of Annoying Co-Worker's Free Will to put charmed baked goods in the break area, wouldn't it? I should just surround myself with white light and hold a rose quartz crystal and think loving thoughts at her. I should try to convey in "I messages" that she can talk to me as though I am an intelligent adult, and that my communication style differs from hers, so here's how we can work together more productively.

Or I can hex the hell out of some godsdamn bread and cackle every time she takes a bite.

Open Letter To The Idiot Landlord.

Dear Idiot Landlord,

We told you that the tree where we park needed trimming so it didn't throw another branch through another of our windshields. You have yet to do so. You have been far too busy pulling out old trailers (so that you can rent still more substandard housing) and tending your garden.

Don't make me blight your crops, you rapacious, tax-evading bastard. While I would feel bad about hurting innocent plants, I would not feel bad about giving you a serious case of the pants-ruining shits.


No love,
the ocelot

Go Home, Universe, You're Drunk.

Dear Universe,

It is not funny to dangle shit I want/need in front of my nose only to make it distinctly other than what was initially advertised and/or snatch it right out from under me. Stop it. It is pissing me off.

No love,
The ocelot

(Details:

Someone was supposed to take this puppy that showed up on Wednesday night, when it was supposed to be 30F as a low. Now, it's "I don't know when I can get her and maybe my cousin wants her but I don't really know."

One of the boarders at the barn was supposed to be renting a 3-bedroom, 2-bath house for $900 a month. Catch is, we have to let her and her 13-year-old daughter stay in one of the bedrooms on Saturday nights so they don't have to drive up from Galveston for Sunday morning lessons. Which makes it a two-bedroom, one-bath house that I now will not be able to not rent without Barn Owner being pissy at me and possibly shitcanning me.

Got a new job (thanks to Evn), but realized last week that I had forgotten about the stupid wage garnishment (due to the student loans my ex decided to simply not repay for months on end), and am hoping New Boss doesn't decide that I am therefore too much trouble to have as an employee.

Also, Husband had his eyeglasses flung accidentally into a fire on Thursday, and contacts (which were the only thing he could get today) are not working for him at all. )

The First Rule Of Witch Club...

"Let's pretend. You're the Department of Transportation, okay? Someone informs you that this company installs front seat mounting brackets that never pass collision tests, brake linings that fail after a thousand miles and fuel injectors that explode and burn people alive. What then?" - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Let's pretend. You're a witch, okay? Someone informs you that despite the fact that when you moved into the shared house it was with the agreement that no other housemates would be moved in without everyone agreeing, he's moving in his girlfriend and her two kids and you have no choice in the matter, and he's gotten the crazy landlady's ok even though he can't get her on the phone for anything else, like the central air that hasn't worked since April. And he's being a complete asshole about it and bothering you while you're at work. What then?

Then you take the dryer lint he's too dumb to remove to a safe location, the poor frog your cat probably smothered to death, a sigil, your own piss, and then mix it all in a freezer bag like the Devil's own marinade and bury it under said housemate's window.

I didn't set out to become North America's answer to Graveyard Dirt. But when pushed, I shove.

Wherein The Ocelot And Her Husband Converse About The Dark Arts.

After a very bad day for the ocelot and her Husband (including tomfuckery at his job, a bad day at hers, her trying to go to a coven meeting that was not happening although Trothwy had said they weren't meeting this week because she is now incapable of remembering anything, and a flat tire that couldn't be replaced because it was seven-thirty before said tire could be tended to), the following conversation was had.

ME: Um, about "Abre Camino". Y'know, the road-opening thing. Apparently this can get kinda rough.

HIM: Hm. You put that stuff on my boots, didn't you?

ME: (somewhat defensively) You watched me do it.

HIM: Yeah. That Santeria stuff doesn't fuck around. Anything else you bought at the botanica that I might want to know about?

ME: Um...John the Conqueror root. (pompously) Traditionally Hoodoo. And Voodoo. Not Santeria.

HIM: Let's confine ourselves to one magical system at a time, shall we?

ME: Pfft. It's fine. (rationalization ensues)

HIM: Yeah, how are you going to feel if your day tomorrow is like the one I had today? It's like the Universe took its bulging cock and slapped me across the face with it and said (drops voice to a dirtily seductive tone), "Hey, look at this."

ME: I am so putting this on my blog.

Wherein The Ocelot Makes With The Magic.

So.

Fundie Housemate has been moping around because Husband and I were fine with his "prayer meeting" in the communal living room (his personal one is almost as big, so the question of why it had to be out there in the first place remains unanswered) until he announced that there would probably be drumming. Electronic drumming. From 9 until 11pm. Y'know, the hours when people who are fortunate enough to have jobs are sleeping.

We have to get up at 5am even on Saturdays, so being kept up by a lot of noise didn't thrill us. We expressed this concern. At no time did we say he couldn't do this - just that we did not want to be kept awake or awakened by it. Out concerns were not addressed.

Two days later - Thursday - FH told me rather glumly that he wouldn't be having his "prayer meeting". So we wouldn't be disturbed after all. "Oh,", I replied, and turned to a far more satisfying conversation with my cacti. He has been more-or-less ignoring me ever since, and I have been rather content with this.

Last night, he apparently decided that being a pain in my ass was far more fun. I was minding my own business and cooking, I-Pod Shuffle firmly on collar and headphones in ears. Rob Zombie was serenading me and I was fairly relaxed. Enter FH. Who starts babbling at me, despite the aforementioned headphones. I took them out to see what was going on now.

He asks if I have an issue with him, in tones that do not indicate any desire to return to a more friendly state of affairs. This peeves me, and I say that no, I do not*, and does he have one with me? He doesn't, he insists, but it certainly seems like I have one with him, and my attempts to explain that his perception is not my problem goes unheeded. He continues making mouth noises at me. I announce that I am cooking, I have been enjoying this Shuffle thing, and that I'm going back to what I was doing, now.

This is when he Makes A Mistake. Because over Mr. Zombie, I hear, "You're the rudest person who's ever lived here" and "I've tried to be nice."

OH NO YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT SHIT TO ME.**

Out go the earbuds. The Death Stare gets locked on. I intone, "OK. I AM BEGINNING TO FEEL THREATENED."

Suddenly he protests, far less forcefully, that he's not making threats, he's not being threatening. Earbuds back in, and Ignore gets set to 10. Then the freaksomeness sets in, because when Husband appears a few minutes later, FH acts like there is nothing. going. on.

I explain, when FH exits, that I am seriously over this shit, and if this dude thinks he's going to throw tantrums at me every time he doesn't get his way (eating entire sticks of my butter without asking, letting his guests come in and use whatever they like, not keeping us awake, using my sugar without asking, etc.), he is in for a full-force Bringing Down The Fiery Shit Right On His Head.

But then I think, after a fitful night's sleep. What do I really want? If he leaves, there might be someone even worse. I like the yard and even The Land, and don't really want to move. I really just want him to leave me alone, to not speak to me beyond "excuse me" or "good morning/evening", to keep his guests out of my things, and to generally behave as though I don't exist. How to go about it? I need quick and dirty. This is when I recall these things called "freezer spells". Off to Rune Soup (link) I go, and take a trip to Kroger and the local botanica.

So the ocelot's To Do list looks like this:
1. Bind FH.
2. Open roads for new, improved job and new, improved housing.
3. Try to find clothes for a 6pm wedding that aren't black.
4. Try to stem the tide of laundry by actually putting the clean clothes away.

Wish me luck - and safety. This guy's obviously got problems, and I want to be left out of them.


*Yes, I know I do, indeed, have issues with him. Hypocritical and bad. But as these are issues unlikely to be resolved by anything short of me converting or him learning the basic lesson of "don't touch what isn't yours, up to and including someone's belief system", neither of which is likely, I see no point in addressing this.

**When someone says this when you're obviously trying to ignore them, it's a threat in my book. There's the implication that you're going to start being unpleasant, and when you're already being unpleasant, well, what's next? Especially when other women who have rented here have called the cops on you for being threatening, if not violent. Other Housemate discounted that incident, but I'm starting to think I should have dug a little deeper about it before moving in.

The Wren - Le Fin.

Saturday night, the Husband and I went outside to take a look at the garden. The first thing that struck me was that those fucking coyote-piss granules are not a deer repellent - they are a deer condiment.

Then I realized the wren was gone. The wren whom the ants had so obligingly found again, and started to consume. With not a track left or a single feather dropped. Just...poof.

This Land is ridiculous.

Creepy Things.

Trothwy and Evn have heard all about the Scary Thing in one corner of the yard. It wasn't immediately evident until we'd been in the house a few weeks, then - WHAM. I was walking the dog at 5am or so, and suddenly got the feeling that Something was going to come out of that corner and eat us both if I didn't pick him up and high-tail it back inside.

I did no such thing, of course. I put a protective circle around us, waited for the dog to do business, and then went calmly inside. I thought whatever it was would see that A. trying to scare me wasn't fun and B. that we meant it no harm. I was wrong. The Scary persisted, though it's lessened somewhat.

Now, this is the Creepy part.

I advised the Scary Thing, after an annoying visit by Crazy Landlady last week, that I was certainly less likely to annoy it than she is, so it might consider helping me keep her off the premises as much as possible. I felt like the idea was being considered, but haven't heard a thing since.

Yesterday, I discovered that the devastation of my garden, which I had previously attributed to moles from below and deer from above, had taken a turn for the...well, creepy. Because Something knocked half of my tomatoes off the stems, and then bit them.

Big whoop, you say. Deer, you say. Ever heard of deer that leave one row of very human-looking teeth marks? Yep. One row. Like something that only has one row, either top or bottom, of about four to eight human-shaped teeth of the size you'd find on a fairly young child.

(shudder)

I am willing to accept any rational explanation for this. In fact, I'd prefer one. But dammnit, I am a country girl, I know what deer and bunny teeth look like, and this ain't it.

Suggestions, folks? I've sprinkled coyote piss granules and put up fencing, and am considering a nice "hex sign" on the fence. But what I'd really like to know is what, or Who, is in this damn yard.

Ceremonial Magic Afoot.

I'm doing Frater R.O.'s Seven Spheres In Seven Days. So far, it's...interesting.

I started last Thursday, just as I got hit with the double whammy of the Sinus Crud and a sudden firing from the Bad Barn*. By Saturday, I was asking the good Frater if this stuff ought to be left alone by a newbie like me if she was pretty damn sick.  Based on his response, I soldiered through. I'm still sick, but I really have to wonder if I wouldn't be bedridden by now if I weren't doing this; I'm better for a while after each Rite, and have at least been able to go to work at the Good Barn.

I also joined the FB group he's set up to discuss results, though with my normal tendency not to discuss Work until it's done, I'm probably not contributing much. But I'm doing it - maybe not perfectly, maybe reading from cue cards, maybe in a way that would give any real magician fits, but sticking with this nonetheless.

Now it's off to feed the horse, get some groceries, and buy a piece of wood for a proper Table Of Practice.


*Via email, no less. The Bad Barn has apparently done this kind of thing before, or so goes horse community scuttlebutt. Considering that they apparently wanted the remaining trainer to use a horse with blood-spurting wounds in her lessons, I think this was a straight-up blessing, no disguise needed. And I think a call to the ASPCA may be in order. A little "heads-up" to Epona will happen at the very least.

The Land, Redux.

Husband and I will be looking for our own place in a few months - say, around March. We will probably not get a place with land.

The idea of moving into some just-off-the-highway rent-a-box with no woods around or near it makes me grieve. For years, now, I've lived in actual houses, mostly suburbs with a decent amount of flora and fauna. But I suspect that wherever we end up, there will be no raccoons in the yard, no owls in the trees, no Land. No more watching the stars fade out after sending the Husband off to work.

I keep praying for a trailer on some land where I can keep the horse and my dog; a little patch that we can rent from decent landlords where I can garden and engage in the kind of outdoor witchery that I'm accustomed to, i.e., the kind that isn't well-suited to a little patio in full view of the neighbors. Maybe a rent-to-own.

I keep telling myself that the Husband said, just a few days ago, that I have proven myself to be very resourceful. If I am, then surely the Gods are even moreso, and They see what I do not.

I keep going, no matter how much I want to jump up and down, shaking my fists at the sky, yelling, "WHAT EXACTLY AM I SUPPOSED TO LEARN BY BEING 41, IMPOVERISHED, DRAGGING THE POOR HUSBAND WITH ME THROUGH ALL THIS, AND GETTING THE SLATS KNOCKED BACK OUT FROM UNDER ME EVERY TIME I THINK IT'S FINALLY OK TO RELAX AND FEEL SAFE? HUH? I WANT ANSWERS, DAMMNIT!!!"

Time to spend some of this weekend at the altar, I think. There are answers, and I need to find out what they are.

Wherein The Ocelot Discovers Her Husband Is Pretty Good At Witchery.

Setting: Renfaire. Time: Yesterday. Place: Prince of Wales Pub at TRF. Husband is buying beer, bantering with the bartender (a straight woman) and a performer (a young gay man). Our Heroine (me) comes up behind Husband, banters along with bartender and young man for a moment, and then -

HUSBAND: We need to leave now.
ME: What? (figuring either Young Man or Bartender has freaked him out somehow, which is pretty odd as he is not homophobic, not skeeved by older women, and a flirt to boot)
HUSBAND: (takes off out of Pub at a brisk pace)
ME: (plaintively, trying to drink raspberry mead while following) Why are we running?

Finally, we find an opportune stopping point.

H: The Ex-Husband and Ex-Co Wife were right behind us.
ME: (indifferent) Really? (thinks, gets puzzled) But I didn't see anybody. (Ex-Husband is a big man and not easily missed)
H: Yeah, well, I might have...done something so you didn't see him.
ME: WAIT, WHAT?! Since when can you make other people invisible to me?
H: Well, I thought you wouldn't want to see him and have it ruin your day, so...
ME: (brain bending at uncomfortable angles) SO YOU MADE HIM INVISIBLE SINCE WHEN CAN YOU DO THIS.
H: (a bit smugly) Didn't you think I was a good enough witch to do something like that?
ME: (sternly) That is not the point. HOW DID YOU DO THIS IT'S NOT LIKE YOU CAN MISS HIM.
H: (again with slight smug) All things are energy. So I just pushed him one way and you the other.
ME: (headbench) So now there's going to be weirdness about "Why did you two run off" and crap. It would have been better to just do the, "Oh hai seeya bye" thing. And by the way, again, HOW DID YOU DO THIS.
H: I told you. It isn't hard, and -
ME: (suspicious) Have you done this to me before?
H: (serious) No. I just thought it might ruin your day.
ME: No, it would not have ruined my day. It's a big Faire, and it is a beautiful cool day and I am here with the man I love who loves me. Seeing him doesn't do anything to change that. But you have to understand something.
H: What?
ME: THAT THIS IS LIKE GIVING YOUR KID A CHEMISTRY SET, SHOWING HIM HOW TO MAKE A BAKING-SODA AND VINEGAR VOLCANO, AND THEN FINDING HIM IN THE BASEMENT WITH A FULL ALCHEMICAL SETUP THE FOLLOWING WEEK.
H: (snickers)
ME: (despairs)

A stern "we do not make decisions for other people like that and this may be why you now have a hell of a headache" general lecture was issued. Another lecture on "let's use our witchery to create a computer glitch that makes the ocelot's student loan payments considerably smaller so she can actually pay them" will follow.*


*I'm kidding.

Weather Report.

Time: Very early or very late. Otherwise known as 6:30am.

Conditions: Cool, humid. Expect passing bugs and occasional Samahin preparation-frenzy.

Music: The daytime birds woke and sang just as Orion faded away in the creeping daylight, while a barred owl hooted its goodnight/goodmorning.

Forecast: Riding lesson, cleaning, horse tending, Samhain preparations, employer-enspelling*, vegan chili-making.

In other news, the wren seems to have gone elsewhere. I've checked its roost on the front porch, and it hasn't been there for several days. I do miss seeing that little ball of feathers. I wish it well, and am pondering whether it gave me something or came to take away something I didn't need. Maybe it did both. Maybe it was just a bird.

Yeah, right.


*One of my employers isn't really treating one of its horses terribly well. While I can't afford to lose my job over it by saying too much directly, I sure as hell can bring it to the attention of those who are In Charge Of Such Things and toss some heavy witchery at the situation.

This is what you want....Part 2.

As many of you know, I got a gig teaching riding lessons back in March. The first few weeks went pretty well. Now, not so much.

Some of the horses really just aren't suitable for my students, who are usually kids seven or under. They're just learning to walk, steer, and trot. You need incredibly docile, preferably older horses for this, and only one-and-a-half of the six horses available fit this description (there's a new one who seems less prone to have a hissy and buck, but he's still being a pain). This was less of a problem before they got another instructor and booked lessons side-by-side; now, who gets the good horse is a constant source of discussion.

Lessons are supposed to be booked in bunches of four, usually one a week, and there's supposed to be 24 hours' notice for cancellations/changes. This has not been happening. Cancellations happen up to an hour before they're supposed to be at the barn, and no-show/no-calls aren't really being penalized.

We're not supposed to take students under six years old. I now have two.

I wasn't told that I need to speak Spanish for this gig. Lucky for them that I do, somewhat, because three of them really don't speak much English. Sadly, "there's a fire in the kitchen", "do you like to play volleyball", and "I enjoy eating paella" are of no use in this particular case.

Scheduling lessons seems to involve at least three emails/text messages a day, on average, and the barn owners seem to have this odd idea that I am "on-call" to answer same constantly, including ones sent at seven o'clock at night. When I'm already at the barn, this doesn't bug me, but when I've been home for two hours? I'm not a doctor, vet, or computer tech, people.

I'm doing what I love, but this other stuff is driving me nuts. Once again - be careful what you ask for.

I've been trying to relax, roll with it, chalk things up to being there less than two months. I've been contemplating taking over my own scheduling, now that I have a decent number of regulars, and being stern about last-minute changes and cancellations - I just don't know if the owners will let me get away with it. On the other hand, if I do start enforcing the rules and people do bitch about it and I do get canned, how long can I really put up with how things have been going? I can always add this to my resume and cast the net again.

And a smart witch would toss a little magic at this situation, which I plan on doing this weekend. In the meantime, I've missed y'all, but have no fear, I'll be back soon.

Wherein The Ocelot And Kenaz Filan Butt Heads And Depart From Reasoned Discourse.

So apparently, it's OK to call someone on transphobia, but not sexism. And thinking that just because feminists have made strides forward doesn't mean we're all comfy and can forget about that sexism thing makes one a "gender essentialist", even if one wasn't even assuming things about someone else's sex/gender identification. And if you don't say, "Why, yes, things are much better," then you'll get attacked.

Oh, and if you are one of two women who criticize someone who does, apparently, identify as a man for being sexist (as if women can't be sexist!), you can expect to get told that at least they weren't comparing Z Budapest to Hitler and if you can't explain why the patriarchy is still entrenched then you're a troll and told by their followers that women are trying to disempower men and need to shoulder responsibility.

Fine. The shoe doesn't fit, but I'll jam it on anyway.

If you won't tell people of color what their experience is or isn't when they call you on racist behavior, don't do it to women when they say you're being sexist.

If you won't tell gay/lesbian people what their experience is or isn't when they call you on homophobic behavior, don't do it to women when they say you're being sexist.

If you won't tell lower-income people what their experience is or isn't when they call you on classist behavior, don't do it to women when they say you're being sexist.

Asking a woman who says you're engaging in sexist behavior "why [do] you believe that 50+ years of efforts by several generations of feminists have been so fruitless and why the patriarchy remains so firmly entrenched despite all this work" and then use the phrase "wilfully obtuse" about her differing opinion is SEXISM. You're asking this woman (me, in this case) to educate you, and that's not my job. And I've even managed not to resort to insults. Or to point out that unless you're a lesbian separatist, you probably won't get the whole scoop on that movement today by quoting the New Yorker and New York Times.


Nor have I pointed out that when women try to gain equal rights with men, we're still accused of  "gender essentialism" or told  (by a commenter) that "women will have to step down several social notches and actually shoulder a little responsibility for society" - and all this is still acceptable. 


I criticized someone who identifies as a man, apparently, and basically got called a troll for my trouble. Hm. No wonder "I Blame The Patriarchy" still has those discussions about separatism. But I'm sure that isn't a good enough source for some.

Hey, this looks familiar...

While noshing and waiting for a miserable sinus headache to go away so I can continue the CLEAN ALL THE THINGS gulag, I was reading a Strategic Sorcery post about Raven Grimassi. And down in the comments, I found a link.

Of course I clicked. How could I not? Ah. Werewolves. Werewolves with Principles of Belief, no less. Thirteen of them! Thirteen of them...which look really familiar....HEY, WAIT A SEC: Thirteen Principles of Wiccan Belief .

Well, the werewolves did change some words and phrases, but I think you could still call them Wereplagiarists, as there's none of that pesky source attribution or anything like that.

And now I am going to go take some drugs and have a lie-down. This kind of crap always makes a headache worse.