Saving My Outlaw Boyfriend In Feudal Japan

I love sleeping.  I love sleeping because, A. it makes me feel good when I wake up, B. it is an escape from my (deeply flawed and sometimes quite upsetting) waking life, and B. because I get to dream interesting dreams.

(By ocwajbaum on DeviantArt)

I love dreams!  Dreams are like watching a movie, creating a movie, and starring in a movie all at the same time.  What's not to love (especially if you love movies)?

And I've been sick, which means I've had even more vivid and wacky dreams than normal (which is probably the only upside to being sick).  Last night's dream comes to you from Feudal Japan (sort of).  I have had several dreams take place in my subconscious brain's equivalent of Feudal Japan.  I don't really know why, but it's exciting.

(Sings, "everybody was Samurai fighting...")

In this dream, I had a boyfriend from Japan who was an outlaw of the empire.  So we had to live deep in the mountains.  But one day, for some godforsaken reason, we decided to pay a visit to a prominent town.  I told my outlaw boyfriend that he should probably grow his beard and wear a disguise so that he wouldn't be recognized and killed, and I would have to wear a disguise too. 

So I donned my disguise and walked into town on the arm of my boyfriend.  Eventually, we met a man on the road, at which point I jumped at the chance to regale him with the cover story that I made up and which he probably couldn't care less about.  But dammit, I made up a cover story, so I was going to tell it to someone.

(Just two humble peasants here, sir.  Come, listen to our tale!)

As I chatted the poor guy's ear off, my boyfriend fell further and further behind, probably because he was embarrassed by my dramatic tale of woe, until at last we reached the city, where the man directed us to the nearest public library.

(OK, so my subconscious brain could not comprehend a time period where public libraries didn't exist.)

Coincidentally, the public library in this prominent city in Feudal Japan looked exactly like my library in rural Wisconsin. 

(Sorry, no scrolls here.  We only have 21st century books.)

As we entered the library, lo and behold! There was the Emperor of Japan, right there, perusing the comics section!

(He apparently loves The Far Side.  Probably because of its high brow humor.)

Oh no!  Not the Emperor himself!  Surely he will recognize my outlaw boyfriend!  (Is it bad that the first thing I thought was, "now I made up that great cover story for nothing"?)  I quickly took cover behind a book shelf and beckoned my boyfriend to do the same.  That's when I realized my boyfriend did not, in fact, grow his beard like I told him to.  "He will be recognized for sure!"  I frantically beckoned for him to duck down behind a book shelf.  Alas!  My boyfriend was very pretty to look at but dumb as a brick.  He started running and yelling and drawing a lot of attention to himself.

(I Google'd "Feudal Japan Boyfriend" just for funsies and Google Image did not disappoint.)

So, as everyone ran after my boyfriend, I hid behind a bookshelf.  After all, that dumb boyfriend really brought this upon himself.  As I sat there, a few patrons wandered through the bookshelves.  I put a finger over my mouth and said, "ssssshhhh".  By that, I meant "don't tell anyone I'm here", but they probably just thought I was shushing them because we were in a library.

("If only we would have just stayed hidden in the mountains instead of attempting this foolish trip to the library!")

But, I heard the sounds of the Emperor catching up to my boyfriend a few aisles down, so I sneaked around behind him just in time to see the Emperor raise his sword to decapitate my (prostrate and pleading- why did I like this guy again?) boyfriend.

So, I did what any good girlfriend would do.  I threw a book at the Emperor to distract his attention.  Then, when the Emperor swiped at me with his sword, I danced out of the way and hoped he would pursue me so my useless boyfriend could start running again.  Unfortunately, the Emperor didn't really care about the girl who just threw a book at him when compared to the outlaw he'd been hunting for years, so he went back to attacking my boyfriend.

(Prepare to die!)

As he raised his sword for the killing blow, I rushed forward and grabbed his hands.  Clearly, the Emperor did not expect this move, because I was able to turn the sword in his hands, so that I could use the momentum of his killing blow to instead wound the Emperor.

(It was a mighty struggle)

I ended up decapitating him.

("Oooops.  Sorry about that.")

I killed the Emperor.  Oh, shit.  Even in my dream I realized the magnitude of the situation.  Oh well, we were as good as dead anyway.  Might as well go for broke.  So I took my boyfriend by the hand and we started running for the hills.  

(Run awaaaaayy!)

Then I woke up.  We probably got killed right away.  Then again, it's my dream, so I should get to decide, right?  In that case, we totally escaped, I ditched my useless boyfriend in the mountains, and went on my own adventures after that... somehow not being killed even though the entire nation of Japan witnessed me behead the Emperor. 

A Tribute To Carrie Fisher

I'm not usually one to mourn celebrities.  When they die, I usually feel momentary sadness and then life moves on.  Of course I mourn for the lost memories, the amazing people they were, the way they could touch so many lives.  But I didn't really know them- I didn't look forward to hearing their voice, seeing their face, interacting with them.

But Carrie Fisher.  Damn.  She wasn't even on my radar to worry about until she had that massive heart attack.  I just assumed she would go on, doling out sass and anecdotes wherever she went until the end of time, when she would be floating around in space one day, wearing a bra like she knows she's not supposed to do, when said bra would strangle her.  And we would be sad, but also realize that she had already done her best work and so her memories would live on.

("I don't want life to imitate art.  I want life to be art" -Carrie Fisher)

The thing is, she was wonderful as Leia.  She was marvelous as Leia.  Most people would say Leia is her best work.  But, in my humble opinion, Carrie Fisher only got better with age.  She got funnier, she got wiser, she got more candid, she got more open about her struggles.  As Leia, she was ideal and yet attainable, as herself she was so much more.

("I like Princess Leia. I like how she handles things. I like how she treats people. She tells the truth. She, you know, gets what she wants done. I don't have a real problem with Princess Leia. I've sort of melded with her over time." -Carrie Fisher)

Of course, Leia is how she will be remembered, at least by most people.  And why not?  Leia was smart, sassy, in command, pragmatic, romantic, and just vulnerable enough to make her seem real.  She inspired generations of geek girls and stole the hearts of nearly every geek boy in existence.  From her iconic hair to her iconic bikini (both of which Fisher hated), she will forever be remembered and emulated.

(“The father who flipped out about it, ‘What am I going to tell my kid about why she’s in that outfit?’ Tell them that a giant slug captured me and forced me to wear that stupid outfit, and then I killed him because I didn’t like it. And then I took it off. Backstage.” -Carrie Fisher)

So, we got to know Fisher because of Leia.  If it weren't for Leia, no one would know about the amazing person that is... was... Carrie Fisher.  Personally, I enjoy her books and her interviews and her stand up routines.  She had a way of expressing the struggles and joys of life that was both funny and heartfelt.  And the advocacy that she did for mental illness was unprecedented and inspiring.

(“One of the things that baffles me (and there are quite a few) is how there can be so much lingering stigma with regards to mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder. In my opinion, living with manic depression takes a tremendous amount of balls. Not unlike a tour of Afghanistan (though the bombs and bullets, in this case, come from the inside). At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you're living with this illness and functioning at all, it's something to be proud of, not ashamed of.  They should issue medals along with the steady stream of medication.” -Carrie Fisher)

She was especially inspiring to my birth family.  We are all Star Wars fans; also, mental illness is something most people in my family struggle with.  My brother and sister (along with extended family members) all have bipolar disorder, and my sister also has borderline personality disorder.  I have depression, although it was way more severe when I was a teenager than it is now, and ADHD.  Since I have a child with ADHD and a child with Autism, and also a husband with Autism, I have learned a little bit about advocating for those with mental and developmental differences.  So I sincerely appreciate anyone who helps change society's view about people who struggle with these issues, and who can also tell stories of their struggles with such humor and relate-ability.  (Is relate-ability even a word?  Oh whatever.)

It was largely Fisher that inspired my brother to start a podcast dealing with mental illness and the arts.  He is also candid and humorous, and also did a tribute episode.  If you want to listen, follow this link:
 Positive And Negative Podcast

(“I feel I'm very sane about how crazy I am.”-Carrie Fisher)

I admit it, I wanted to meet her.  I wanted to tell her that, as Leia, she helped give women a voice in SciFi, and that, as herself, she helped give many people struggling with mental health issues a voice in real life.  I think she would have appreciated those words.  But I can't tell her that, now, so instead I have to be satisfied with shouting them out into the chaotic information highway that is the Internet, and hope that they resonate with someone who understands.  I hope that her death will push her stories to a wider audience, and that she will continue to inspire people as she inspires me.

(“From here on out, there's just reality. I think that's what maturity is: a stoic response to endless reality. But then, what do I know?”-Carrie Fisher)

I will leave you with some of Fisher's stand up comedy, because her response to life's woes was always to laugh at them.  That, and it's brilliant.

("Because I grew up in a public family, I never really had a private life. And so if those issues are going to be public, I would rather them to be public the way I've experienced them rather than someone else assuming things about me. It's freeing to do it. Shame is not something I aspire to." -Carrie Fisher)

"May the Force be with you" -General Leia

Barbarian Christmas

Merry Xmas for those of you that celebrate!  Our family celebrates both Yule and Christmas... Yule, because I'm in charge of holiday celebrations and I'm Pagan, and Christmas because it can be celebrated as a secular holiday and kids expect you to celebrate it because of school and all that.  I started out celebrating Yule and Christmas separately, but over the years they have run together to become one long holiday season.  Plus, lots of Christmas traditions are really Yule traditions in disguise.  So.

One of my favorite traditions is decorating the tree.  When I was a kid, it was a special time when my family would gather together and put ornaments up while eating homemade fudge and listening to Christmas music.  And, at the end, we'd have a beautifully decorated tree.  That's the expectation.  That's the vibe I am going for.

The reality... is halfhearted attempts by the teenagers, a reluctant VikingDad, the little kids so full of energy that they can't stop jumping and shouting and putting ornaments all in one spot, cats chewing on the lights, and then there's me: trying to hold the family together (and swearing.  There's some swearing involved).  And the tree?  Well, it's definitely less than perfect, but it's a tree that I worked hard for and therefore beautiful to me.

(The expectation)

(The reality.  Well, it's not that bad...)

(Plus there's a spider ornament by the star which makes me happy.)

And then there's Santa.  I never expected that I would be the sort of parent who would encourage their children to believe in Santa.  I never told my kids that Santa was real.  I never even told them about Santa at all.  And yet, they came home from school believing that he would show up and put presents under the tree... and I didn't have the heart to tell them that he's not real and crush their little 3 and 4 year old hearts forever.

So I've been writing some presents "from Santa" for a few years now.  Not the big ones.  Not the expensive ones.  I deserve all the credit for getting those fucking expensive and hard to find gifts.  (My kids, thankfully, did not care at all about "Hatchimals".... yes!!)  But WildBoy did want a kids' tablet this year, and I'll be damned if I'm going to go through all the trouble researching which tablet is the best and also least expensive, reading all the reviews, saving up to buy the thing, waiting around all day to sign for the package, hiding it, and wrapping it, only to have my kid thank an imaginary old fart from the North Pole.  I don't think so.

(Either Ol' Saint Nick starts doing all the work preparing for the holidays, or he can kiss my ass.)

But I do give them a couple "from Santa" presents just to keep them from having their imaginations crushed under the heavy hammer of reality.

But this year, we were spending Christmas Eve with VikingGrandma/Grandpa, so I put the "from Santa" presents under the tree on Christmas Eve eve (not wanting to haul all those presents to a different location), thinking that the kids would wake up, see the presents, open them, and start playing with them before I even wake up on Christmas Eve.  Nope.  They didn't even notice them. 

(Nope, no presents here.)

The day went on and, amazingly enough, they failed to notice the presents under the tree at all!  (Despite finding the hidden one in the back of the closet the day before.)  I was flabbergasted.  Eventually, I got tired of waiting for them to notice the obvious gifts, and I told them to look under the tree.  They then commenced to tear the wrappings open and play. 

We had a great time at VikingGrandma/Grandpa's house at Christmas.  Gifts were opened and played with, food was eaten (good food cooked by someone other than me), and we sat around the TV watching the UFC.  Good times.

And VikingGrandma got WildBoy and WildGirl lightsabers.  Unsurprisingly, they enjoy whacking each other with them.  This morning they changed into bathrobes after their bath and had a very fun and very loud lightsaber duel.

(WildGirl also wore her Disney Princess backpack.  Sith lords should definitely have princess backpacks.)

(WildBoy hid behind the door to jump out at his sister.  He also stood on the stairs and held his lightsaber out in a challenge, yelling, "You shall not pass!"

Because my kids are awesome like that.

Star Wars Christmas Eve

I love Star Wars.  So, as a filler until I get some really great content out here, I'll share some of my favorite SW Christmas images.  Enjoy!

Winter Can Go Fuck Itself

I hate winter.

I know, I know.  I live in Northern Wisconsin.  I'm from Minnesota and South Dakota.  I should be used to it by now.

I still loathe it. 

Yesterday it was -21 degrees Fahrenheit.  And I had to work. 

Saturday, it snowed a bunch.  I don't really mind snow all that much.  If it's 20 or above and snowing (with no wind), I'll go shovel my driveway for an hour and a half (which is how long it took to shovel my driveway on Sat) and I don't really care.  Snow shoveling is good exercise.  Snow is pretty.  I'm OK with that.

But, when it gets down past 20 degrees, I lose my shit.

(Oh the weather outside is frightful.  And the blowing wind is spiteful.  My car is stuck in the snow.  Winter blows, winter blows, winter blows.)

Every winter, I turn into Garfield.  Only instead of the constant refrain of "I hate Mondays", my constant refrain is, "I hate winter."

(I'm not a terrible fan of Mondays, either.)

So, Sunday I got up early in the morning to go to work.  My car started after the 3rd try, so I was doing pretty well.  I wore a tank top, shirt, flannel sweater, lined jeans, coveralls, coat, hat, boots, gloves, and scarf.  Overkill?  Not for fucking -21 degree weather it's not.  I was a big ball of nope.

(My "nope" face.)

The guard shack has a heater in it, so I turned it all the way up.  The funny thing about the guard shack is that it gets stupidly hot when the doors are closed, and then stupidly cold when you have to open the door to help a customer.  So the whole day was a vicious cycle- I would crank the heat up, get really hot and start to sweat, a customer would come, I'd open the door and all that sweat would freeze, I'd shut the door and remain cold for a few minutes, then the shack would heat up again.  I'd start working up a sweat, but the minute I'd decide to turn it down a little, a customer would come.

 (That's a nice thought but sweating won't actually help you stay in shape.  My point is, there's no upside to any of this.)

After sitting in the guard shack with the door sometimes closed and sometimes open (listening to Christmas music, because I have to listen to what they play in the store), I had to do a yard walk before I could go home.  A yard walk is just what it sounds like, I have to walk around the whole lumber yard.  Except I couldn't see anything, because my glasses were all fogged up.  And the thing about -20ish weather is that, as soon as anything comes in contact with the air, it freezes.  So I had a layer of ice on my glasses.  Plus my nostrils were frozen shut from trying to breathe.  It was not pleasant.

(Aren't I pitiful?)

I usually like my job.  But, I like nothing when it's that cold out.  Absolutely nothing.

It's the most horrible time of the year. 
With the kids all complaining and relatives saying "be of good cheer." 
It's the most horrible time of the year.

It's the crap- crappiest season of all. 
With those frozen stiff fingers and colds that all linger and all the cars stall. 
It's the crap- crappiest season of all.

There'll be snow plows in ditches, and turtleneck itches, and dogs that won't pee in the yard.
All the car doors are freezing, and kids are all sneezing, and icey security guards.

It's the most horrible time of the year.
With old ladies slipping and drivers all flipping you off as you steer.
It's the most horrible time,
The most deplorable time,
Oh the most horrible time of the year.

New Toy!

My brother gave me a gift for Christmas.  He bought me exactly what I wanted... a tactical kama!!!

(Me and my new toy!)

What is a tactical kama, you ask?  It's an amazing weapon/tool.  Traditional kamas were used by Japanese and Filipino farmers for harvesting crops.  In Okinawa, the kama was adapted to use as a weapon after the Japanese banned traditional weapons on that island.

(Traditional kama)

A tactical kama has a textured grip, a very sharp point, and a notch at the base of the blade where the handle attaches.  This is useful for blocking and trapping weapons.

 
(Tactical kama)

The textured handle makes it difficult to do some of the hand switches in Kobudo (Okinawan weapon martial arts), but the notch is useful for blocking and trapping and the shape of the blade is especially devastating.

(A situation where the notch would come in handy)

I need two of them to really be able to do a lot of the Kobudo techniques- so, I'll have to save up to get another one.  Then nothing can stop me! 

I'm very happy with my Christmas present!

(Maybe TOO happy... Muahahahahaha!)

Barbarian Thanksgiving

BC (before children), VikingDad and I didn't care too much about the holidays.  We would just do whatever we felt like doing.  AC (after children), holidays became more important, and we usually spent them with extended family.

However, this Thanksgiving, all our extended family had other plans.  Even VikingPrincess and VikingLad were traveling and spending time with other people.  So, it was just me, VikingDad, WildBoy, and WildGirl for Thanksgiving.  Which meant...

DUN DUN DUUUNNNN

I would have to cook.

(BarbarianMom does not like cooking.  BarbarianMom likes tearing people limb from limb instead.)

But, I thought of it as a great adventure, and a great adventure it was.  How exciting!  (Mehhh, kinda) So I did what any person of my generation does when they don't know what to do: Google'd it.  I wanted to make ham and potatoes and gravy.  Since it was only the 4 of us, and I didn't want to spend all day in the kitchen, I figured ham, potatoes, and pumpkin pie would be good enough, and I could buy the pumpkin pie.  I'd made mashed potatoes and gravy before, but not the super-delicious ham gravy my mom usually makes.  The ham, though?  Totally new territory.  Google gave me step by step instructions, so I bought all the things I needed and then, on Thanksgiving Day, I started cooking.

(Muahahahaha!  What could go wrong?)

I followed all the instructions, bought a disposable deep pan with a lid, and put the ham in the oven.  I then proceeded to do all the stuff I normally have to do- laundry, run little errands around for my mini-dictators (I mean, children), Facebook about how I was actually doing a cooking thing, and start peeling the potatoes.  WildGirl "helped" in the kitchen by dropping the peeled potatoes in the cooking pot, splashing everyone and giggling, and pretending to cut things with her fingers.  She also refused to eat her sugary cereal and instead ate some of the potato peels.  I have a weird child, but at least she's making healthy choices... ?

The potatoes went along without a hitch.  I whipped up the ham glaze, and pulled the ham out of the oven to slather it with some lovely pineapple-ginger glaze.  It was then that I noticed that the ham had no lid on it.

....

That's funny.  I know I put the lid on it when I put it in the oven!

Oh, wait, there it is.  A balled-up piece of melted plastic sitting beside the ham.

Shit.  I melted the freakin' lid.

(Rest in peace, ham pan lid.)

"Did you put the ham on the lowest rack?" VikingDad asked. 
"Uh... no?  Was I supposed to?"  Shit!  Google never said anything about putting the ham on the lowest rack!
VikingDad sniffed the ham.  I sniffed the ham.  Nothing smelled like melted plastic.  There was only the delectable scent of baking ham.  The lid didn't actually touch the ham, did it?  I didn't think so.
"It might still be edible," VikingDad reassured me.

So, I put on the glaze and put the ham back in the oven.  I first used the meat thermometer to see how much more it needed to cook, but the temperature was already high enough that we could probably eat it.  That ham cooked faster than anticipated.  Probably because it was on the middle rack.

The gravy took forever to make.  I don't think I put in enough corn starch.  I sat in front of the pan stirring for a long time before I finally gave up on the gravy thickening, and decided it was good enough.

Then, it was eating time!  Yay!  The ham turned out to be delicious, and the rest of the food, too.  Even the gravy, though it was a bit thin.  Oh well.  Not bad for a Barbarian kitchen experiment.

(It was delicious, if I do say so myself.)

While we ate lunch, we watched Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, in which Charlie Brown feeds his friends popcorn and toast instead of traditional Thanksgiving fare.

"Why can't we have popcorn and toast instead of ham?" Asked WildBoy.  WildGirl fell asleep on the bed without touching her food.

(Good grief.)

"You can have toast for supper," I said to WildBoy.  "Now eat your ham and mashed potatoes or no pumpkin pie for you!"
"I don't like pumpkin pie.  Can I have a bowl of whipped cream instead?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess.  But eat your real food first," I said.
Bleary eyed, WildGirl woke up and said, "I want potato peels!"

....

After lunch, I helped WildBoy and WildGirl make a fort, since it was too cold to play outside and the kids were all wound up.  We used wrestling mats, which had the unintended consequence of the kids trying to wrestle each other on the roof of the fort.  So I had to yell at the kids and re-build the fort about 10 times, but we did eventually have fun.

(See?  Their smiles are all worth it.)

Happy Thanksgiving!