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Introduction to Me!



Hello, there! If you're reading this, then you're probably debating whether or not to friend this journal. Or maybe you were friends with bressa621, the journal I'd been using for the past 3 years. Maybe you saw me posting in various communities and got curious. However you got here, there are some things you'll probably need to know to understand what I'm talking about.

My name is Faythe, pronounced "Faith". My mom is an individualistic woman who wanted me to be unique, I guess, and let me tell ya, that worked!

It's a love storyCollapse )

The main purpose of this journal will be guiding me on my journey to bettering myself and being the best person I can be as I lose the 100+ extra pounds that are sitting heavily on my poor 5' 4.5" frame. There may be occasional bits of writing, definitely some cute baby pictures every now and then, and probably a rant or two about this crazy little life of mine.

Whatever choice you decide to make regarding whether or not to friend me, know that I respect it and that I definitely applaud you for making it all the way through this entry!

With love,
Faythe.
Oh boy here we go again! Another year another thousand things that are different another post. Hopefully I will be more willing to intersperse the gap between this update and the next with a few extra posts thrown in for good measure. I seem to have found my knack and my fondness for blogging again. It's a good way to get back into the swing of things.

So, life. Where do I start? For the approximately 2 people (are there still two of you?) who will probably read this, let me say that I apologize sincerely for my continued and prolonged absence. I know that every other year or so I pop in, ramble on for a few paragraphs, apologize and then disappear into the ether again for another two years or so. I'm hoping to make things different this time!

Here we are in the fabulous world of 2014. Where are the flying jetpacks I was promised? I've written very stern letters to the powers that be about this, trust me. For me, things are vastly different and yet completely and utterly boring. I am in a new career as a medication technician (basically, I pass medication at an assisted living facility for the elderly under the supervision of a nurse) while I'm on the waitlist at a nursing school in the area for my RN. I've been at my job now for about six months. Before that I spent approximately 3 years slaving away at McDonald's chasing the carrot that was held in front of me, the carrot in this instance being a promotion that was promised but never delivered. Charlie, who you both will remember as my adoring husband and unlikely companion, is still my love and my heart. We have been together for seven years, as of next month. We have the same two little spitfire hellions, Noah (who is now nearly six years old) and Elanor (who recently turned three) and they take up a majority of our time and energy, one of the reasons why you haven't heard from me. Now that they are both potty trained and the eldest has started kindergarten, I'm finding myself with a little bit more time on my hands and that terrible pressure I get in my chest when I absolutely need to write down my thoughts but I have no idea where to start. Lo and behold the powers that be have not struck down livejournal in the past three years, as I feared that they would, and I am able to return to ramble on and on and on, etc, as I am wont to do.

Oh, for those that are interested, I recently started a tumblr and the link to that is here: http://brand0new0day.tumblr.com/ Enjoy all three of my posts while I come up with something fabulous to write about over there.

And for the first time since Season 9 I plan to return to LJ Idol this year! Sign up is March 3; be there or be square! If you don't mind once the posts start rolling in, mosey on over there and vote for my entries. Thanks in advance to my devoted followers (I still have some of those, right?)

Okay folks I think that's all for now. Poke me with a stick every now and then to remind me to come back and say hello if you don't hear from me!

LJ Idol Week 14: Precognition (Home Game)

I don't know what's in my blood.

I know my blood type (B+). I know that when I neglect to eat iron-rich leafy greens I have a tendency to be borderline anemic. I know that I have blood.

But I don't know what's in it.

See, my mother is a mutt - she calls herself Heinz 57. There's no one ethnicity or nationality that stands out beyond the rest. When she lists off the countries who've contributed to her genes it's like naming off the nations that make up eastern Europe.

I don't know my father's blood at all but that's a different subject for a different week.

One thing that I do know - and my mother confirms this - is that there's gypsy in there somewhere.

It shows in my fair skin that will never tan, in the wild waves of dark hair that no amount of mousse will tame, in the pretty heart-shaped face and dark eyes. But most of all it shows in precognition.

My mother's precognition is astounding. She knows before I even get in trouble what I'm going to do, and as a teenager she (rightly) preemptively grounded me more than once. She knew when I was pregnant and what I was having, and she knew within two days when the baby would be born.

She's been visited in her dreams by family dead and gone and those about to leave us. She was warned posthumously by her brother-in-law that her sister was dating a married man - and it turned out that she was.

She is that crazy, dark-haired woman in bangles and rags who stands on street corners and yells at passersby.

Well, okay. Not yet. But she probably will be.

Me? I'm different. I don't have the same knack for intuition that she does, and I know it disappoints her a little bit. Of all her children I'm the one who showed the most gypsy promise. My moments of premonition are few and far between, though, and they're never as startlingly specific as hers are.

She asks me what I dream and is disappointed that I'm not catching on. She wonders when it'll hit me - because she's sure that it will one day or another.

And to that end, I guess I have to trust her. After all, she'd know!

But until it does I guess I'll have to be like the rest of us.
This week, I feel like being cohesive. So I'm going to run in a straight line from my topic last week. I hope you don't mind.

At 16, I already felt jaded by the world. I'd seen too much, done too much, been too many places I wasn't supposed to go. It seemed to me that all the surprises of the world had already been unceremoniously dumped in my lap, and all there was left to do was wallow in my loneliness. Little did I know.

The interesting thing about this line of thought is that I wasn't alone, not even for a minute. After Miles (you all remember Miles, right?) I met Brittany, a beautiful redheaded fireball whom I fell swiftly in love with, and when she moved out of my life, literally, I met Derek, an equally beautiful dark-haired boy of 16, with charm and charisma to spare. They took up that year of my life, although I don't necessarily remember much outside of a few blurred memories. I thought I loved them - that goes without saying but I'm saying it. Little did I know.

Of course, then there was Charlie. Now there is Charlie. There will always be Charlie. Together we have done the things that I never imagined I would do, lived a life I never in my wildest dreamed thought I would call mine.

We made life.

Have you ever met someone and knew - knew - in the depths of your soul that they were special? That your whole life would revolve around them in ways you never expected?

I have.

His eyes are blue. I look into those eyes everyday but if I never saw them again I'd be looking still. They're blue, and they're shaped like mine.

His hands - beautiful, clever little hands - grasp at my fingers with my fingers and his little feet stomp the floor just like my husband's. I thought that maybe time would make it easier to forget these things, to take them for granted, but it seems that time has only made them more potent.

Every day for me is mundane, routine, frustrating, and completely, utterly beautiful. I am constantly overwhelmed by mixed emotions - am I mad at you because you just broke that toy or in love with you because you smile at me with your father's smile? Am I frustrated by your stubbornness or laughing inside, knowing that you got it from me?

These moments - everyday occurrences, part of the flow of life - give my life a beauty and depth I never knew it could have. This, this snuggle in the morning and peanut butter stain in the afternoon, is the reason I exist. I am overpowered, devastated by the breathtaking simplicity of it all.

I set out to write this about my husband. I wanted to call to mind some particularly sweet parts of our life together, but I just couldn't seem to pull the right things out of my head. And when the dam finally broke and the little stories of our charmed life together came trickling through, they were all about one thing: My son. My baby. My love and my frustration, my anger and my hope. My constant moment of devastating beauty.

This entry prompted by therealljidol. Get over there and vote at the end of the week!

LJ Idol Topic 3: Smile

I fell in love with that crooked little grin.

Oh, sure, I fell in love with all kinds of things back then. I was in love with my English teacher because I liked the way his voice rolled around the room and I liked the way his glasses made his face look serious. I was in love with various gay men because they actually took the time to listen to me when I was talking.

But the most grievous and wrong-hearted love I ever felt was for Him - no, not God, not the omnipotent benevolent ruler of the universe, but Him, Mi-

Okay, look. I haven't said his name in three years. It's become sort of a Macbeth for me. Most of the time I refer to him as "the M word" and I probably won't be able to break myself of that habit for the sake of this competition. I suppose I could assign him a fake name. Yeah, that'd be fine. Let's call him Mike.

But, dammit, he wasn't a Mike! He was Miles and I loved him. Foolishly, hungrily, I loved him.

All because of that grin.

It was what won me over at first. His face fell into that half-cocked smirk and my heart took notice. I remember the first thing he said to me (isn't this sad? I'm a grown woman, a married mother, and here I am swooning over a far-too-well-preserved memory) when I first met him.

"We'll see about that."

See, I had just told him that I would give him a run for his money in the first quiz of our school's jazz band. The quizzes and how well you did determined who was first chair, who was second, etc. In case you're wondering, I didn't beat him. I was second to his first and he never let me forget it.

Ah, the more I look back on this the more things come flooding back to me. Here's a memory I'd forgotten about until just now:

He looks at me. Not just a glance or a quick comment, but a real eye-contact look. I feel shaky, thankful that I'm sitting, less thankful that we're at a gig in which we're performing.

Now he's speaking to me. I might faint. "Why don't you play like this all the time?" he asks. My hormone-soaked, love-addled brain attempts to flip this statement over a few times and determine if it's a compliment or an insult.

I play it safe. "What do you mean?"

"That was really good. You don't sound like this in practice. You should play like this all the time."

Oh, dear Lord (and this time I do mean the omnipotent one!) he's talking to me! He's paid me a compliment! He hasn't just said a meaningless thing like, "Pass the salt" or "Turn the page over." He paid me an honest-to-goodness compliment.

Suddenly I feel timid again, less like the semi-accomplished musician that I am and more like the foolish little girl I used to be. "Thank you," I say. It's all I can manage.


This memory is early, very early, into my love for him, when I knew next-to-nothing of just how mean he could be. And when I found that out, I fell even harder.

Why do we love the ones who are mean to us? Why do we crave their affection?

Most importantly, Why did he mean this much to me?

I wish I knew. I still wish that.

In case you're wondering, and I know some of you probably are, there was something mutual there. It wasn't just me this time. By the time I'd known him for a year or so, he was flirty with me. Unfortunately by then I hated him beyond reason. Of course, I still loved him. You already knew that.

I remember the first time he was ever mean to me. For reasons unknown to me I hold this memory nearly as dear as I hold the more tender touches we shared.

We are in class. His instrument is in the shop, and thus he sits wherever he will, talking to the musicians who are supposed to be playing. For a while he sits next to me, commenting when I fail miserably at handling the complicated score. "What's wrong? You can play this."

You're making me nervous, I think, but I say nothing of the sort. "It's just hard, Miles."

"No, it's not. Here," he says, and, lifting my saxophone from my own hands, plays effortlessly and beautifully. My mouthpiece is in his mouth. My pearls are being caressed by his talented fingers. My instrument is being raped.

He hands it back to me, not bothering to wipe where his lips and mouth have just been. He smiles at me, his little Miles smile that always makes me melt, and I want to kill him.

I also want to kiss him.


That seemed to have been a turning point for us. After that, there was passion always simmering beneath the surface. I knew, always knew from the first day, that if he said the word I would do anything for him, give him anything.

I don't think I can talk about this part. Draw your own conclusion. That may make me a bad writer, but this is personal - more personal than I can begin to explain. Something Happened, let's just put it that way. Something Happened.

And I didn't speak to him again afterwards.

He tried, I suppose, in his Miles way. I remember the shoulder rubs before a competition (we were also in marching band together and his opening set was directly behind me) and I remember the way he looked at me, sadness verging on shame in his eyes. I remember being proud of myself for holding my ground. I moved on from that day, dated other people, slept with other people. I know he did, too.

But sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see that crooked little grin and my heart breaks all over again.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl.

She was a pretty little girl, but she was eccentric. She read constantly, from whatever she could get her hands on. Her peers began to suspect there was something different about her. Before long, she began to suspect there was something different about herself, too.

The little girl had been a chubby baby, toddler, and child, but by the time she was 12 she was a full-blown fat girl. She had friends, friends who loved her and were probably just as eccentric as she was, but she always felt there was something missing in her life. What was missing? What could it be?

As she grew and blossomed, she struggled to find her place. She decided her fate would lead her to a road of despair and the not-so-little girl found herself immersed in a world of drugs and cigarettes, occasional alcohol and desperate midnight binging. She began to hurt herself, wishing and acting upon her wish for her own death.

Naturally, her parents were concerned and frightened. They put the little girl in a faraway castle for ill children, and the girl found herself amongst those who truly, truly suffered. She met girls who were naught but 14 and had babies waiting for them in the homes of their parents, girls who hated themselves and had the scars to prove it, girls who cried themselves to sleep so that the whole company of troubled children could hear their sobs at night.

She hated being there. She was nothing like these people, what did they want with her? By now she'd realized that her life wasn't so awful, after all, and she would very much like to be in her modest home than in this dreary castle. She begged and pleaded, and through her begging found herself back with her parents. Yet her healing hadn't been complete; before long, the now-teenage girl fell back into old habits. She failed to take her pills, failed to finish her therapy, slept late every day and forgot what it was like to be happy. She still felt something missing in her life.

Her existence had begun to feel like an uphill battle, and it was one she didn't want to fight. Her few fleeting moments of happiness weren't worth the struggle it took to get to them. She stopped taking her medication, stock-piling it for a sinister purpose.

One sunny, fall day, she took the stocked medication and lapsed into what she hoped would be a welcoming death. Yet it seemed that she couldn't even die properly; she was saved by one of her loving and true friends, and upon the assurance of her recovery she went to live again at the dreary, faraway castle for troubled children.

This time, she shut out the other sad and struggling children and focused on her own demons. She realized what had been missing in her life was simply love, and she found that love within herself. While the others muttered hateful words under the breath directed at everyone and no one, she threw her entire being into loving herself the way she knew she deserved to be loved.

And suddenly, it seemed she'd found the key. She wasn't anything but herself: a pretty, eccentric teenage girl who had something to offer to the world at large. She began to volunteer her time to her parish, started working, and started to feel like her life was worth something.

The struggle still existed. The fight to get uphill was always there, and if you asked the grownup version of that little girl today if she's still climbing, she'd say:

"Of course I am. But there's a greener view on the other side of this hill. I just have to get there."

Prompted by therealljidol. Don't forget to vote for your favorite entries at the end of the week!

The Five Things Meme

I present to you, my extraordinary f-list, the five things meme! The lovely and talented qadesh gave me these questions and I am supposed to answer them to the best of my ability, which I am about to do. In turn, anyone on my f-list who desires to take place in this meme need only comment to this entry and I'll cook up five questions for them to answer in their own journals. Sound good? Let's get started!

1. Tell me about your kids - I don't think I know anything about them! At the moment, I have one son who is 18 months and fast approaching 19 months - making him a little over 1-1/2. His name is Noah James, he was born on April 11, 2008 and he is the product of my husband and myself. He was an oopsie (who plans to get pregnant at 17?) but we love him just the same and if he could be considered a "mistake" then I'd like to make a lot more mistakes because he's an amazing little boy.

As I'm typing this he's diving into a bowl of Goldfish crackers and making them "swim" across the couch while making "blub blub" noises. Told you he was awesome!

2. Do you think your sort (to Hufflepuff) is accurate? What makes you a Hufflepuff? Oh, definitely. My sorting was overwhelmingly Hufflepuff and I haven't ever regretted that decision. The Hufflepuffs at hogwarts_elite are my favorite people on the internet. To answer the second part of this question, I think pretty much everything makes me a Hufflepuff! I'm hardworking, loyal, ethical, family-oriented . . . the list goes on and on. I think I'd have a harder time trying to find things that didn't make me a 'Puff!

3. In the same vein, do you think you have a secondary house? What do you think it may be? If I have a second house it's definitely Ravenclaw. My mind tends to root itself in "learn things mode" and I amass information without even really trying. Also, my IQ is 140 (at least it was the last time I tested! It's probably gone down with motherhood and limited exposure to high-minded things).

4. Do you have any pets? What kind? Oh, boy, girl, you're opening up a can of worms with this question! The short answer is yes. The long answer is I have 3 cats and a black Labrador retriever. And here's the even longer answer:

Two of our cats are twin brothers and they're Bengal/domestic mixes. The Bengal in them gives them their animal print fur (it's like a variation on the common tabby coat) and they make cute chirpy noises instead of meowing. They're also protective and have picked their "person" which is very common with this breed. They don't much care for house guests but if you stay overnight they'll probably warm up enough to be in the room with you.

Our other cat is a female Siamese/domestic mix. She's aggressively friendly and has a smoker's meow. Also, she has the startling ability to be able to imitate the human voice. I swear I actually heard her say "Water" the other day when her water dish was empty. She has the traditional Siamese coloring, but her fur is shorter like a domestic. I'd say she's our prettiest pet, although all our animals are pretty.

And last but not least, Daisy, the Lab. She's 100% my dog. We rescued her from a shelter where she'd been for about six months, and in turn they rescued her from the pound when she was literally hours away from being euthanized. What was her crime, you ask? Not having someone come and claim her after three days in the pound. THREE. DAYS. Can you say, high-kill shelter? Because I can. :(

Anyway, she'd never been somebody's indoor pet before, so we had a lot of issues getting her used to being inside most of the day. She tried to bury her rawhide in the couch and ruined the upholstery. She chewed up the television remote. She ate countless paperbacks because they smelled like my hands. She was afraid of the stairs, of the refrigerator, of the ice maker, of the microwave, etc. With a little love and a little training, her bad behaviors are pretty much gone and she's a perfectly happy member of our family now.

5. What do you think is the number one, absolute most strongly defining trait of Hufflepuff? I would have to say that my strongest 'Puff quality is loyalty. This is evidenced in a number of ways - my commitment to my family is a big one. Also, if I feel I know someone well enough to call them a friend, I mean it. I don't think I have one friend who I wouldn't defend and stand by no matter what.

LJ Idol Topic 1: Empty Gestures

Hi, how are you?

No, really. How are you?

Don't say, "Fine." Don't say, "Good." Don't deflect the question back at me before you've even really thought about what it meant.

I know better.

I know that you've had the ups and downs in your day that I have. I can guess from your stained shirt that lunch didn't go as planned, and I can guess from your crying baby that you probably didn't get much rest last night. I can infer that the exhaustion in your eyes isn't anywhere near as insincere as your smile, hastily plastered on your face.

Reflecting on my encounters with strangers, wherever they may have occurred, the only phrase that jumps out at me is, "Hi. How are you?" And, without fail, my mind is quick with the accepted response. "I'm good, how are you?"

But sometimes I'm not good. Sometimes you're asking me how I am when I'm sick as a dog, struggling to ambulate. Sometimes you're asking me right after the passing of a loved one, when I'm shopping for funeral attire. Sometimes you're asking me after an argument with my husband that's left me wondering how our future's going to be. Sometimes I just feel bad.

Knowing myself, though, I will always say the same thing: "I'm good." And you probably will, too.

This message brought to you by me, but prompted by therealljidol.
Week 2 at Farrell's is underway. Tonight, I have resistance training (bands) class, focusing on upper body. I'm falling into a pleasant pattern with the exercise and eating routine and I can tell that it's helping me slim down - mostly because we exercise in a room with mirrored walls and I no longer look like the biggest tub of lard in the room. Yay.

I got up considerably earlier this morning than is my norm. My dog, Daisy, was a nonbarking, sweet little girl when we brought her home. For a long time she only barked when she sensed danger. Now, it seems like whenever she's in the yard she's barking. BARK, BARK, BARK. It literally woke me from a dead sleep on the second floor of our house.

At-Home Professions is taking forever to grade quizzes. I just finished Quiz 31, but the quiz I just sent off to be graded is Quiz 23 because that's how far behind they are. It's frustrating to say the least. I'm very close to finishing my course and getting my certification, but of course I can't get certified until all my grades are in so I'm likely in for a long hurry-up-and-wait game. Yay.

Hmm, what else was I going to say? Oh, yeah!

These comics are amazing. They're Malfoy-centric fanart comics, which usually means that they'll suck to high heaven but this particular batch is very good. I have to credit thewrittenlife for finding them - she always turns me onto interesting things and I don't know how she does it! EDIT: Upon further inspection, it seems that not only is this batch beautiful, it can also be credited to hogwarts_elite's own buttfacemakani! How cool is that?

I'm currently re-reading The Lord of the Rings and understanding anew why I fell so desperately in love with that particular classic. I wish we had more of the theatrical releases, but all we have is a theatrical Fellowship and then all three of the extended DVD sets. Watching the extended DVDs gets a bit tedious because you have to switch DVDs in the middle of the movie.

Damn, I'm really rambling today! I should probably quit while I'm ahead.

LJ Idol Topic 0: Introduction

Seems like not only am I doing LJ Idol, but I'm actually going to participate on time. Woot.

So, the first topic in a game I don't quite fully understand yet is simply called, "Introduction." That leads me to this moment, in which I am introducing myself.

Of course, anyone who's anyone (meaning anyone who reads/has read my journal) knows that I've already written a more generalized introduction post. It can be found here and encompasses basically my life story up to the point of the beginning of this journal. You've just been linked, so naturally I'm going to gloss over all that stuff for now. Thank God.

What the hell do you write about, anyway?

Funny you should ask! I write about a lot of things, but mostly I write about nothing. Words just pour off the top of my head and I go with it. Typically they come out in a way that makes nobody want to comment on my journal because they're just not thought provoking, and typically that's fine with me. I write for my own benefit.

In case a less roundabout answer is desired, here it is: I write mostly about my husband, my son, my pets (specifically my dog) and my weight loss journey. Occasionally I direct my attention to the hogwarts_elite members of my audience. Every now and then I write something that I actually thought about before posting, and those sorts of things can be found in the group of tags labeled "thoughts." Have a peek if you're interested.

I also sometimes write review-style blurbs about my favorite things, with handy dandy links to greater wealths of information about them. I like to think that it makes my blog look all fancy to have different links scattered across the page, just like a professional blogger! Except not really.

Is that all you write?

Anymore, yes. Once upon a time I wrote fan fiction that was pretty decent and had a fair few readers, but now I mostly just ramble about my personal life. All my works of fiction can be easily accessed from my profile page, though, where I have constructed a lovely chart for your reading pleasure.

Is there really anything else I need to say? I think that's a sufficient introduction. Hopefully my subsequent entries will be better.

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