Tantrums and Time Out—For Adults!

So, the last few weeks have been interesting, to say the least. Between trying to get off my butt and finally get into school, going on vacation, and trying to keep my head above the waters of debt, I’ve been pretty busy. (Also, I’ve been up to my neck obsessed with a certain anime, but we won’t talk about that. We prefer to forget that.)

Then came the inevitable meeting with my counselor. Most shoved under the magnifying glass this week was my temper. See, I’ve caused a few problems with my roommates. I can be quite nasty. Even when I’m not trying to be, it just spills over. They’re scared of me, at those times.

Of course, I’d never hurt them. I would never come after them with a pair of scissors, for instance. No, I learned long ago not to physically take my anger out on others. I just get shouty and throw things and storm off. That’s good control, right?


Controlling my temper is a problem. I’m the first one to admit it. If I were in Pixar’s Inside Out, my primary emotion would be anger. Whenever I’m sad or afraid or feeling some other negative emotion, anger, like a knight in shining hatred, takes the helm. It’s been my defense mechanism for so long that I don’t know how to deal without it. What do you do? Let it out, no matter how safe you think your outlet might be, and you scare people. Turn it inwards, and you’ll only end up hurting yourself. It’s an unending dilemma.

Along with that comes the problem of fear. Using fear against others is one of my greatest weapons, only encouraged by five years working at a haunted house. It’s an addictive thing. Because, when people are scared of you, when you see their eyes widen and they back away, you no longer feel afraid. You are the one with the power, and suddenly every insult they’ve ever thrown at you, every time they’ve laughed, doesn’t matter anymore. There’s only the power, and who has it.

This, and more, I discussed with my counselor. Who brought up a few interesting points.

First, I need to think about what I want out of relationships with those I’m closest to. Do I want them to fear me? Do I want to lord that power over them? Well, if so, I’ll just be repeating the abusive cycle. This is why so many abuse victims turn into abusers, themselves. They can’t let go of those coping mechanisms that don’t apply outside of where they were abused. For instance, my mother backed off when I got angry. That’s how I was taught to make her stop. But now, living about two hundred miles away from her with my three roommates, I don’t need to respond that way anymore. Trying to unlearn the message you inhaled from childhood isn’t easy.

Second, my counselor explained the concept of time out. When children do something, good parents send them into time out. Why, he asked me. I answered, because the parents need a break. And then I realized—the purpose of this was to give the parents a chance to diffuse their own tempers. To keep them from doing something they’d regret.

So, that’s my other new project. To take time out, and think about my goals. How I want my relationships with the people in question, like my roommates, to go. I can choose to make them fear me—to make them back off. I can also choose to chill, open up, and explain the problem to them, and attempt to make things better via communication.

Well, it’s a daunting task. Actually talking to people about feelings in the past has ended in bad news for me. But my roommates are not my parents. They are not my sister, even though she’s gotten so much better. They’re good people, and I need to give them a chance.

Horrific Thoughts

My current by-myself-project is a horror story, so I’ve been doing a bit of reading up, trying to get some ideas to take it above mere lameness. But how?

I have this obsession with fear, in case you weren’t aware. The simple horror of our everyday lives. What’s hiding under the bed. Always best when combined.

But finding the right combination? Now that’s the tricky part. Ghosts? Haunted houses? Demons? Witches? Abusive monsters?

Today, I stumbled across this lovely post. It really got me thinking. What’s scary to me? Something that won’t make the average person shudder—just me. What does the great Mac fear?

Hm. Well, let’s see. I hate being taken advantage of, for one. (Anyone here not scared of that? Wow. Nobody. What a surprise!) That extends into so many things. I hate being tricked. Lied to. Manipulated.

I hate being helpless. Not being able to do anything. Especially when someone I care about is in trouble. Like when I had to sit and wait and find out whether my friend who might have killed himself was alive or not (he wasn’t). When I had to sit back and let the vet put my cat to sleep. Or when my sister was arrested again, mistreated by the cops, and I was stuck at work.

I’m scared of going back to what I was before. Being forced to go back to my parents’ house. Back under their control. It’s more than a lack of independence, though. It’s a prison of junk. Impassable walls of insanity. Trapped in an endless maze with no exit. Trapped in that life, where I had no idea how to help myself.

Of course, I am also quite insecure, and scared of not being loved. But also scared of it, because I’ve still got the insane maze of my own mind to navigate. Letting someone in? That’s terrifying.

Well, I suppose we also can’t forget finances. I’m so scared of going broke. But that can go back to having to rely on my parents again, back home, and so forth.

And this lovely session of the Rantings, Ramblings, Ravings, and Musings has given me ideas. I hope I can make them work!

Miss Moe


This is my baby girl, Rinna. Also known as Moe. Or Momo. Himalayan or Ragdoll, she’s a gorgeous little stinker. Also incredibly skittish. I got her for my nineteenth birthday, because there were a lot of mice in our house, and the cats we had were too lazy to go after them. Of course, when I saw her picture, I thought she was adorable. But it wasn’t really until I met her—and saw her cowering in the back of a cage and hissing, that I fell in love. Because she reminded me of myself, and I immediately felt the need to protect her. The first time I held her, she was shaking like a leaf. But she stayed in my lap all the way home, where she proceeded to hide under my bookcase.

I could not think of a name for the little poop to save my life, so I started off calling her Bob, but then it became Moe, after Moe of The Three Stooges. Naturally, that became Momo, because her coloring is like Momo from Avatar The Last Airbender.

See the resemblance?

Anyway, my new kitten had a couple of knots in the fur of her neck. So I pulled her out from under the bookcase, sat her in my lap, and cut them out. Imagine my surprise when she started purring. SO CUTE!

In short, getting Moe to be less scared has been a long journey. She has her safe places, under my bed, on my bed, or under one of my roommates’ beds. And she’s still pretty scared if someone raises their voice too much. But I hope being my cat has been good for her. I know it’s been a good experience for me, because I can’t treat her in the dismissive way I treated cats as a kid. I can’t get in a rage around her. In her own way, she’s making me a better person. And I love her for that.

Besides, look how cute she is!IMG_20131116_173023_466

Musings on Horror (Sinister 2 spoilers abound!)

Did I say spoilers? Yes, yes, I did. Ye be warned.



I got to see Sinister 2 tonight with one of my roommates, who also loves horror movies. (Guys, it’s good to have a friend who works at the local theater.)

And I’ve never been so scared by a horror movie, in all honesty.


Yes. I was terrified. And these were the scenes that aren’t the boogeyman and his army of creepy children.

It’s horrific not because of any of that. It’s a woman on the run from her abusive husband, taking her twin boys with her. One of whom was beat up by his father.


Dylan, the one who was Daddy’s punching bag, is a quiet, scared kid. His brother Zach is the one who’s more like Daddy, starting so innocently with pushing and name calling. Dylan is the one chosen by the evil army of undead children, but Zach can see them, too, and he’s jealous. Even more, he knows he’s better than his weak brother, so he can’t understand why they picked the “pussy.”

Only one small piece of the horror revolves around Dylan being forced to watch the homemade snuff films with his sadistic new friends, while the evil child-eating thing lurks in the background. The main horror is domestic abuse victims trying to escape the abuser. He hires private detectives to track them down. He drives up to the front door with cops, unaware of Dylan inside, hiding under a bed.

It’s also in Zach, who lets his jealousy get the better of him, and beats up Dylan. Who is far too much his father’s son—Round Two just waiting to happen. He takes up the mantle of “filming” that Dylan doesn’t want.

It’s also in the mother, herself. A woman who finally did something to protect Dylan, but not soon enough. A woman who has no choice but to watch Zach become like his father.

This bastard father regains legal custody of the twins, and their mother has to come along for the ride if she wants to stay with them. That’s the real horror—being forced back into that. Having to wait to eat until Daddy starts eating. Jumping when he shouts.

That dinner scene was the worst of it for me. Seeing that awful silence at the table. And, when Dylan says he isn’t hungry, his father picks up a handful of mashed potatoes and shoves them in his face.

It wasn’t the blood, gore, or violence I flinched away from. It was that one moment. That one moment horrified me more than any horror movie has ever done. It was raw, primal emotion. Breaking me down to the things every horror movie tries to do. I couldn’t help caring about the family, and wanting the best for them. Biting my nails in nervousness that they would be killed.

And also, we have Deputy So and So coming back, getting involved with this family. The perfect adorkable hero. What’s not to love?

In short, I think this movie will sucker punch abuse victims. Personally, I loved it. Almost like cutting, horror makes me feel. During a horror movie, I realize that I’m alive. And I’m grateful for that fact. That I can leave this world of dismal darkness and gray color schemes behind, and go out into vibrant colors and sunshine. But horror isn’t for everyone. Especially not Sinister 2.

But, in Mac’s list, it might just have made the Top 10. Heck, Top 3? Top 1? Just maybe.

My Mom thinks I Sold My Soul for Rock ‘N’ Roll

We all know that rock music is pretty awesome, right? I hope so. If not, you live in a sad, sad world trapped under an entirely different kind of rock. Poor soul.

I went to my first rock concert with my daddy when I was fourteen. Def Leppard. And it was friggin’ sweet. One of the things that was really great was that even though my mom didn’t approve and tried to stop me from going, she didn’t succeed, and I came back with a t-shirt.

The next day, of course, I got lectured about the evils of rock music. Because I was proudly wearing my new shirt (with the Hysteria logo on the front).

Def Leppard: Hysteria

Freaky, right?

We got in quite the argument over my evil music and evil shirt, but this time, I wasn’t about to be sorry. She was the one who let me go. This scuffle got to quite a high point. My mother grabbed me by the collar, pulling me up to her.

Of course, I was terrified, but I wasn’t about to show that. Instead, I just grinned at her. She muttered something about me looking so proud of myself, and walked away.

My first point in the game.

She’s tried to “lose” that shirt in the laundry, but I’ve always made sure to find it again. After all, she already lost my dad’s vintage shirt with the same logo. I wasn’t about to let her lose mine.

And since then, yes, I’ve been to other concerts, slowly getting heavier and heavier, and I’ve gotten t-shirts from most of them. And oh, how I love them! I shove it in the face of my mother and aunt at every opportunity. I am the devil child. I wear black, though it is depressing to those two, band t-shirts, and eyeliner. HORROR!

I went to a rock festival a few months ago, and had the time of my life, bringing my sister who’d never been to a real rock concert before. I like to think it was really good for both of us.

I can’t even begin to describe the feeling a rock concert gives me. Such freedom from the stifling, stuffy childhood I had. Not just that, but everything. It’s nice to just stop worrying, for once, and lose yourself in the energy of the crowd.

When you imagine a typical teenage rebellious stage, you imagine black, piercings and screeching rock, right? Not me. My rebellion was around ten or eleven. It’s called country music. One of the quickest ways to piss off my Daddy.

Most people I meet often find something to like about my taste of music. Particularly my current coworkers, who seem so shocked to hear me listening to classic rock and metal. I tell them the same thing every time—my dad raised me right!

Beauty and the Beast? Oh, Please.

WARNING: Rant ahead. Containing strong language, and much disgust.

Are you prepared? Yes? Then let’s go!

As you may know, Mac is a closet romance fan. Yes. Make all the jokes you want. Go ahead.

My tastes have always been closer to romance as a side-genre, but while going through dramatic times and wanting something of a lighter nature to distract me, I decided to give romance another chance. What better way than a Kindle Unlimited account on Amazon? And a Beauty and the Beast retelling? Heck yeah!

This is where I stumbled across this lovely gem: Beauty and the Beast by Angela Fattig.

Fuck them and leave…
And the most important one…
Don’t give them your heart.
For both Shannon Taylor and Jareth Stein it’s been the same thing. Day after day, year after year.
Shannon Taylor knows all about hurt and betrayal. It’s something she never talks about. Not even her best friend knows.
High school is a very unkind place. Hell the whole childhood thing is Hell. Aren’t fathers supposed to love their children not hurt them?
Jareth Stein knows the secret of life. Leave them before they leave you.
That was the lesson his mother taught him all those years ago when she left him in the hands of his abusive father for another man. Never to be seen again.
In addition to the issues Jareth and Shannon face already; Jareth’s mom comes back with a message:
If you don’t give me what I want I will destroy you and everyone you love; starting with Shannon.

It sounded great. Abused hero and heroine, and dealing with resulting issues? My catnip. Plus, all wrapped up in some Beauty and the Beast? Hell yeah! Not to mention this, directly from Amazon!

50% of ebook sales will be donated to fight child abuse. So when you buy a copy for $2.99 you are doing your part to protect a child.
Thank you for your continued support.

A book like this couldn’t go wrong, right?

So, let’s start with the language. Fuck is the first word. Now, I’m no stranger to all the curses despite my proper Christian upbringing, but this book takes it a little far. No, make that a lot too far. It’s always cock or dick, ass, pussy, etc. That’s when you start to really wonder how big the author’s vocabulary is.

That’s mildly annoying, but I can live with it. The horrid grammar mistakes, too. Like this gem of dialogue!

“If I wanted to get you into bed, all I would need to do is come up to you and tell you I was ready to fuck.” He says this in a low and deep voice that has my insides turning to mush and my panties soaked.
“If,” I question breathlessly. I can’t believe I’m still playing this dangerous game because he’s right.
He smirks. “You know I want to fuck you,” he says, “How could you not. You were ogling a hole through my cock only moments ago.”
I huff and cross my arms over my chest. “I was not ogling your cock,” I say although we both know that’s a lie.
He laughs. “Well,” he questions raising a brow.
Frowning, I say, “Well what?”
“Wanna fuck,” he asks his voice dropping even more.

This charmer who doesn’t know what a question mark is? Jareth, our hero. Yes, named after that Jareth.

He moves fast and goes right for the sex, right after our heroine, Shannon, was having a panic attack, nonetheless. Oh, but don’t worry. That was cured the moment she saw Jareth’s magic dick, and ogled it. Because that works every single time.

After one magical night of passion after this chance meeting at a coffee shop, they part ways. And then Shannon wakes up alone in the hotel room and realizes that gasp! they didn’t use a condom.


Then we move onto Chapter One. Where Jareth, (who’s an FBI agent! And a cop! Don’t ask me how.) meets up with Shannon again at a club. And guess what? She’s two months pregnant! Betcha didn’t see that coming! It was a complete and total shock!

Oh, and when Jareth sees her, in a tight red dress, we get treated to how his cock’s gone “hard as a fucking rock, my temper spiking.” Why? Well, because he wants her body to belong to him, of course.

Ah, can he get more charming? But since it was still Beauty and the Beast, supposedly, I let it slide.

And they finally learn each other’s names! How’s that for exciting? But Shannon’s trying to convince herself that she doesn’t need Jareth’s magic dick, so she gets angry and storms off.

Next chapter! POV switch again! This time, it’s our villains! Jareth’s mother, Jolene, and his stepfather that she abandoned him for, Jack. Surprise! These two are planning to blackmail Jareth out of some money. The plot is afoot! The scoundrels.

Jareth catches up to Shannon, and she can’t stay mad at him because he’s such a good kisser, and in no time, they’re having sex again. This girl has no spine. She just needed the magic dick that much, I guess.

I lost the ability to read through the rest of it again, because I already gave the awful thing back to the Amazon pits where it belongs, and there’s no way in hell I’m actually paying for it, so I shall continue without the rich, beautiful quotes I had hoped for.

So, there’s much of the sexytimes, which I’m in no position (har har) to criticize. But wait! What about the plot? Well, there’s something about protecting Shannon’s friend, Alicia, who suddenly turned out to be Jareth’s half-sister, for no reason at all. And some mob boss Jareth’s trying to stop. He and Shannon keep fighting, and he keeps being right. Because the man is always right, right?

And the day after they met up again, she’s telling him that she’s pregnant with his kid, and then he tells her all about his Certified Tragic Backstory. Sexual abuse by Daddy, in short, starting at five. When he was seven, he tried to tell Mommy, who told him he deserved it somehow. But he knew that was wrong.


When abuse starts that young, does a child ever know that they don’t deserve it? I had my fair share of childhood drama, and, let me tell you, I was always sure I was the one doing the wrong thing. Mother is God in the eyes of a child. Besides, who opens up that easily? No abuse victim I’ve ever known.

Oh, and don’t worry, it gets better. Shannon’s all, “Oh, Jareth, I’m so sorry I called you an asshole! I wouldn’t have if I’d known!”


Nobody gets a license to be an asshole just because they were abused. We’re adults. We grow up, move on, and make the decision to change. None of us get a free ride because of our victim card. If someone’s being an asshole, it’s your duty to call them out on it, and not take that shit.

Oh, and then she’s like, “I’ll never look at you differently!” Oh, bullshit. She was already looking at him differently, which was why she was apologizing for calling him out on being the asshole that he is. And there they go, pitying each other so touchingly. Or sickeningly, in my case.

And then, we hear Shannon’s story (was that before or after they had more sex? I can’t remember), It started when she was five, too! Almost the same thing! Her Daddy was getting drunk, though, and her Mommy found out one time when Shannon was fighting him off as a teenager, so Mommy got killed, Daddy got to prison.

After more sex (including some tongue in the butt, complete with chocolate flavored lube!),

we arrive to Jareth’s mom threatening him and Shannon, your typical cheating misunderstanding. And then, somehow Shannon gets kidnapped, by this guy who turns out to be her half-brother! And, of course, he wants to rape her, too. She’s just that sexy, I guess. Even though we don’t even know what she does for a living! And her appearance is mentioned once! (Oh, I guess it’s because her magical Jareth-fixing hoo-ha tastes like peaches. That’s gotta be it. Because Jareth isn’t the only one to mention it.)

And don’t get me started on the sappy dialog. At one point, Shannon actually says something like, “From the moment I looked in your heavenly blue eyes, I loved you.” Oh, please. Does anyone actually talk like that?

So, to sum it up, Jareth’s a controlling asshole who gets away with it because it’s supposed to be sexy, and he keeps his victim card on hand. Shannon’s a weak, cardboard-cutout abuse victim who always needs the big strong man to save her from everything. Everything is made better by magical sex, and the villains know they’re villains, and take pride in it.

I’d lost all the respect I might have had for this book within the first couple chapters, I only finished it out of a savage need to hate something. I’m so sick of the Rape As A Backstory angle with women in books. Yes, we know rape is evil, thanks. We get the picture! But using it as a crutch to give your character an easy gateway to drama is just wrong. And please, the magic dick is not a miracle cure!

There’s so much NOPE throughout that book. There wasn’t even enough WTF-ery to make it funny! I can’t say I’ve ever come across a book that I dislike more, but I won’t be discouraged by this drivel.

But Tim Curry makes everything better.