Do people still blog?

I’ve got a minute between grad school semesters and I thought that I should update my blog that I haven’t looked at in years. Do people still blog? I honestly don’t know if it is a thing anymore. I mean, I looked at my stats and saw that twelve people had viewed my website last month which BLOWS MY MIND. Who are you, I need you to identify yourselves. Or maybe those twelve viewers are actually just one person who went to check out my blog on twelve different occasions in the last week and that viewer is mildly obsessed with my wit and valid reflections on life and they also make shirts out of the skin of their victims.

Around 10:17 pm last night I had an overwhelming urge to join a MeetUp group in Asheville. This specific urge washes over me approximately once every two years and has been happening since 2012. MeetUp groups are appealing to me for a number of reasons. For one, I would like to be inspired to start a new hobby that delights my mind and soul. Next, I would like to meet new people that are not currently on my Asheville path. Lastly, new adventure stems from random ass beginnings and I need some inspiration (occasionally) in this department. The problem is that the things that I find inspiring always end up being horrifying. For example, I signed up for the Montanki Ancient Talisman Dolls Group last night (obviously) but then my friend Alain told me that Chucky was a Montanki Ancient Talisman Doll and that if I continue down this path then my soul will most certainly end up in a PJ Mask Catboy doll doing tricks for toddlers at a flea market. I don’t know what most of that means, but I feel like what I’m looking for has a different vibe.

Initially, I did not see the problem.

If I am going to be completely honest, which I typically always am to a fault, what I am really looking for in a MeetUp is something along the lines of an amazing clique of adorable and hilarious people who mostly want to talk about the podcast My Favorite Murder and the lyrics to 90’s hip hop and then also want to go out and climb a mountain or tube a river or eat an excessive amount of food with me approximately once a week. Moreover, it would be perfect if we left the country for a far-flung adventure a few times a year (these trips being funded by some benefit or organization that I never have to expend energy on). If one of the people in this group falls madly in love with me, fine.

There totally isn’t a group like this yet though, which sucks, but maybe I’ll make a vision board or something and will it into cre-ashe. You know what there are groups for in Asheville? Ketogenic lifestyles. Ethical Humanities. Cuddle Collective. The Enneagram School of Awakening. Systemic and Family Constellations. Drupal User Group. Etc. I have no idea what the shit a lot of these things are and I have a really hard time wrapping my head around this because I feel like I fall in an awkward space that doesn't fit in to what people in their 30s do to meet new people in their 30s. The MeetUps that exist in Asheville are either too niche to work for me or they are too “normal” to hold my interest. My current friends (who I am obsessed with, don’t get me wrong) frequently encourage me to join a sport. But the thing is, I am truly my worst self when engaging in sport. I am not athletically-abled, having extremely limited eye hand coordination. Combine that with a propensity toward injury mixed with no health insurance and the inclinations of an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person), sporting is nightmarish at best. For me. I’d rather sit on the sidelines and make up scenarios about what life from other planets might think if they were to land in a laundromat or an Aldi or something.

And it’s like, get this: Last week I was at a lake with my friend Jolie and she was all, “I told Heather the other day that whenever I see the Fairy Shadows in water, I automatically think of her. And then she said that whenever she sees a great blue heron, she thinks of me.” I thought about this for a second and completely agreed on both counts, but then the realization hit me that the thing that reminds people of me is disembodied baby doll heads. Truthfully, there is no denying that I love a good doll head meme or whatev, but I’m not sure if I was completely ready for that clarity on how the world views me.

#me

But there it is. And with that clarity comes the realization that I’m finally at a point where I am truly not running away from life anymore, but rather stepping into it. I’m a little bit creepy weird and a little bit hopeless romantic and a lotta bit a bunch of other wonderful things. I opened up a journal the other day that I had started when I first moved back to the states from Turkey. On the first few pages I had created a bullet point list of all the things I wanted to do – it was so simple and sweet. Blow bubbles, hug longer, draw shadows. I realized that without once looking back at the list since I had created it, I had completed all of the items in the last three years, again and again. For so long, I have been trying to figure out what will make me happy. But I’ve recently realized that I just am pretty happy these days. I don’t make a ton of money and I have not hit some of the life-markers that I thought I would by this juncture, but I laugh a LOT and I enjoy my work, and I really love all the little things. I am still hoping to find the perfect MeetUp, but the waiting is pretty ok for now. Talk to y’all later

C-Note

The other day I went to go see some music and I arrived at the venue way before my friends did because I am neurotic. I was hanging out in the bar while waiting for them to show up but it was extremely crowded so I went outside to chill on the street and get some space.

That's when I met C-Note.

He approached me, gave me the head nod, and then stood right next to me. Like, rightnexttome. I decided to sit down on a windowsill and he decided to keep standing. Right next to me.

Kind of like this except for way more awkward because we were not looking at each other, smiling, and/or communicating in anyway whatsoever. Because we were not friends.

We were like that for a very long while. It felt like seven hours because why-was-he-so-close-to-me-this-is-America-not-Turkey, but in reality it was probably about 90-110 seconds before he made his next move. Which was saying in a very loud voice, "Hey how you doin', my name is C-Note, what's yours?" while thrusting his hand out in my general direction for a hearty handshake.

I shook his hand and told C-Note I was fine. 

Following that, several groups of tourists passed by and we both stared forward at them in silence. Together. Because we were apparently in this together now.

Here's the thing guys. I had no idea what C-Note was trying to do. He was young - like young 20's - and he was not hitting on me nor did he appear to be homeless. No strong smells. Clothes were Asheville-Standard (which may be considered borderline homeless in some areas but we are very in touch with our inner hobo in this town so I didn't jump to any conclusions). I glanced at him furtively a number of times while we were collectively looking at the street and he did not notice in the least. After that, I decided to be bold and I said, "So what's up C-Note," and when he outright ignored me I decided that he was playing a game to see if he could make me uncomfortable enough to move. Once I realized this (I can be very intuitive, people) I had the upper hand. Because I WAS THERE FIRST. Since I am a child and I had an excess of time, I decided to wait it out. 

C-Note lit a cigarette. 

I took out my cell phone and typed "C-Note" into my notes section.

Another eternity passed and I was beginning to get bored. Why was C-Note ignoring me? I decided that he was VERY good at his game, perhaps better than me.

Just when I was about to leave, C-Note sat down next to me. Finally.

I looked at him square in the face and repeated my OG question.

 "So what's up C-Note?"

And do you want to know what he said? Of course you do.

He said, "Hey, I was just wondering if you had five dollars."

Five dollars? FIVE?! 

When did this happen? When did it become a thing to ask for more than one dollar?

I HAVEN'T BEEN GONE THAT LONG, HOW DID EVERYTHING CHANGE SO DRASTICALLY? 

Also, why did it take you 100 years to ask for the fiver, C-Note. 

I wanted to tell him that he could have saved $5 if he hadn't bought his pack of cigarettes. I wanted to tell him to choose a better audience for this type of proposition in the future, perhaps a person wearing more expensive shoes. I wanted to tell him that you have to provide some sort of performance for that kind of money that goes beyond the invasion of personal space - we live in a busking town after all. But the entire interaction had been so bizarre, like a really bad commercial for off brand cologne or something - I didn't know how to fix it. So I simply said, "No."

Then C-Note said to me very carefully and calmly, "That's ok. You are very blessed. And you will have a blessed life." While he said this he laid his hand on the back of my neck very assertively. Then he got up and walked away.

I, too, left the windowsill after this final interaction and reentered the bar. I found my friend Mary and immediately had her check my neck for a chip or a monitoring device of some sort because guys, I am pretty sure that C-Note is an alien and I have been marked. 

Goodday. 

Forgotten holidays

I am currently sitting outside in the blazing heat going through old photos to try and clear out my google drive because gmail keeps sending me threatening messages about no longer accepting new emails due to the fact that my storage is full. Which is rude. I obsessively go through and delete emails on a monthly basis so that I never have to deal with this type of  situation. But apparently I have all sorts of videos and pics that are ruining my organizational flow, tucked away in Google storage, a place on the inter-webs where I never travel to unless forced by unnatural circumstances.

What I have found is astounding. Shared photo albums of long lost travels. Pictures of me with princess hair. Garbage that people sent me which I never meant to download. Videos of terrible dance parties. And most importantly for today, Christmas.

Don't be fooled, this is not a post about family gatherings. No, this blog is about Christmas Creatures that I have photographed. I'd like to invite you to take a look at an older blog post I wrote about Christmas in Turkey a few years ago. I also included a little Romania for good measure in that entry. Honestly, nothing is better than Christmas in Turkey. Everything is a little bit terrifying - which is exactly how I like my holidays.

This year I found myself in Paris during the holiday season. I love European Christmas markets!! They are so charming and weird. Paris was no exception.

The first thing we noticed upon entering the market was the music. Allow me to set the scene: they were playing a recording of Christmas carols - in English - but the tune, beat and lyrics were a little off for every song. Much like this:

Then we met this guy:

I know it's Santa's thing to get on roofs and break into people's homes, but this Santa really looks like he just robbed a bank. Since when does Santa travel with a rope?

As it turns out, that was not the only slightly odd Santa. There were many displays to see and some of them had more than one Santa within - isn't that against the rules of Christmas magic?

Why is he on a cellphone? THEY HAVEN'T EVEN LEFT THE NORTH POLE YET.

But at least those Santas weren't salacious.

AND

I actually have about 14 of these photos with different Christmas statues. I'm quite possibly the most obnoxious person in the world. But come on. Look at its paw. 

And then there was the dinosaur scene. Because every good Christmas market needs a dinosaur scene.

These dinosaurs have lots of fingers which is PROBABLY why they are so good at wrapping gifts. 

As well as the African Savannah.

Why aren't they dressed up and/or giving gifts? That's racist.

More strange than that, Uncle Sam was there,

looking dapper/angry

 A Santa with the name-tag "Steve,"

"I also play the saxophone," I said to Steve.

And a Thriller Christmas roller coaster.

I think it cost 10 Euro each to ride. Maybe 5. Worth every cent. 

So that was Paris. It was all I needed to make my holiday merry. But guys? This year was exceptional. I also got into some crazy Christmas madness in Toledo, Ohio.

When we initially entered the Toledo Christmas bonanza, we were greeted by this dapper fellow: 

I mean, I guess I'm happy for him that he got his face glued back together again.  It's not another sad case of Humpty Dumpty anyway.

After that we wandered around Christmas Kitchen,

Where all the misfits poison you

We said Seasons Greetings to our friends, the sad fox family,

I'm pretty sure the fox in the background is holding a gun

Then quickly walked past the haunted dead baby family.

#ghostinthemirror
#murdererbesidethemirrorinthecorner
#thatkidwiththewandispracticingblackmagic
#checkoutthe'believe'postertho

After that I was reminded about how I got my bangs permed in elementary school that one time,

I looked just like that

And following that we left, saying goodbye to the depressed holiday train on the way out.

Am I missing something? What does this have to do with Christmas? And why is there so much garbage around it?

So how about all that?! I mean, it's probably better that I saved it for July so that it's an even more special treat, right?

Yeah.

I wonder what holiday treasures Asheville will bring forth this year! I CAN'T WAIT for Santa Con!!

Leather and weapons for the fam

It has been about a year. Is there anyone out there who still wants to hear my rambling? I've got a few stories that have happened to me in the last 365 if you do.

Starting with the glory of all glories, the Renaissance festival. Have you ever been? Up until this fall, I hadn't been to one in close to 15 years. But I used to be a bit of a regular in my glory days. (Glory days = the days when I had the metabolism of a hummingbird and the charm of a viking.)

Ren fest is great because it makes the important things in life simple and awesome. The most important thing is eating. You can get everything imaginable deep fried, including turkey legs which I often mistakenly call chicken legs. (In case you were wondering, there is never a shortage of people who are ready to correct me on this.)

But the other most important thing is that this is an environment where people just do what they do. It's refreshing. The confidence of people at a Ren fest is inspiring. It is a place where you feel compelled to do all the things.

You stop and listen to the rock bands on every corner. Rock bands here usually contain a flute of some sort, an accordion, and often a lute, among other things.

You get a dress custom made for yourself and add a lot of bags to it to collect your treasures in.

You say wassup to Gandalf and his dead friend.

You find your kin and unite.

You share cokes with small fairy dogs.

You make new friends and hold their weapons.

I love it y'all. I really do. But you know what I don't love? I don't love being pulled up on stage to take part in ridiculous nonsense. This has been a problem my entire adult life. I don't get it. I can be sitting in the back of an auditorium, looking through my purse, saying my silent prayer of invisibility, and as SOON as the performance calls for audience participation, it's as if the entire room goes quiet and everyone is staring at me. I've been forced into improv routines at comedy shows, convinced to talk to puppets, bullied into holding people up, coerced into flipping food during cooking performances, pushed into dancing on stages in front of apathetic audiences ... Once I even had to salsa with a monster on a Peruvian train.

I was smiling in terror. That's a thing, a terror smile.

Look at it. C'mon, REALLY DUDE?

And maybe you're thinking to yourself, "Well, you have a choice. You don't have to do it."

THAT'S NOT TRUE! I always say no, repeatedly. Every single time. It doesn't matter. I am a magnet for the stage. 

The Ren fest was no different. I will admit, it was my idea to check out the magic show. They're fun! I chose a seat on a wooden bench in the midst of a sea of onlookers. The magician took the stage and started his dynamic performance when all of a sudden it was happening again ... he was scanning the crowd for a volunteer, i.e. ME. 

I whispered to my friend, "This is it. Just like I told you. I always get picked. He's going to pick me to get on that freakin stage."

I heard his booming voice through my anxious, hushed tones, "And how about that lady in the green dress?! Get up here! I need your help."

I looked down at my lap, feigning ignorance.

"I know you hear me!" He stepped off the stage and walked determinedly in my direction through the narrow aisle.

I glanced up and accidentally made eye contact. It was over.

"Yeah you! Come on up here!"

I shook my head no. He grabbed my hand.

Step 1: Tentative. What does he want from me. Everything is about to go wrong.

Step 2: Alone on the stage. What the hell is he doing. Sweating. Mild panic.

Step 3: Discomfort, borderline humiliation. Terror smile. Internal mantra on repeat "Please end soon. Please end soon."

This is just my life. How is this my life.

Does anyone have a solution for me? Like, how can I avoid this? It literally never gets easier. Does this happen to you? What am I doing wrong? I need a plan.

Despite the distress of stage time, the Renaissance fest IS the best. It is usually 105 degrees or raining or a combination thereof throughout the day. Also, the crowds can get fairly intense. So come prepared with money for snacks, layers to peel off and deflect mud, shoes you are not attached to, and perhaps a weapon to assist you in moving through the throngs of people. Also, although chainmail armor is socially acceptable to wear in this environment, the people who do often regret it.  

Get out there friends! Don a feather in your cap, fill your quiver with arrows, and join me the next time this festy comes to town.