A Cautionary Tale about Afternoon Zombie Eyes

Or, How to save yourself from a truly horrific experience that goes something like, O Gods, My Eyes, It Burns, Holy Shit My Eye Balls are Black, O GODS.

The events start something like this. . .

It’s 4:00 in the afternoon and you just took off your sunglasses after your walk, looked in the mirror and thought, “O thank Horace I had those shades on. I look like Death’s ugly younger sister.”

So, you go into your boudoir and decide a little eye make up would do you good. Even if it is 4:00pm and you have no intention of leaving the house until you go to work tomorrow. You reach for the makeup bag and grab the one containing the selection you Never wear, and think, O, hey, these could use a try. I can’t even remember when I bought these! They really shouldn’t go to waste. After brushing off the flakes that scattered as you applied the shadow base and apply and smooth a little shade, you grab your liquid eye liner you stopped wearing because it always painted the top of your lids after a couple hours, and you realize it’s a lot more liquidy than you remember. Suddenly, you’re all, “HOLY SHIT GODS IT’S LEAKING INTO MY EYE, O GODDAMNIT MY EYE BALL IS NOW COMPLETELY BLACK O SHIT AND NOW SO IS THE OTHER ONE O SHIT O SHIT O SHIT”

Yeah, so This is what you need to do.

Race into the bathroom and wash all the newly applied over expired shit ‘hypoallergenic’/’BlemisHeal’ crap out of your face by doing the following:

Coat your face with grapeseed oil. Massage into skin, careful not to get into your eyes, but also careful to get all the eye makeup crap off the surrounding eye area. With very very very hot water, soak a wash cloth, squeeze out, and lay over your Entire face, pressing it slightly to the skin, and allow to steam. Repeat. Repeat. Taking freshly rinsed and squeezed cloth, gently rub off any excess oil, and set aside. If skin is taut, apply a teensy bit more oil to hand, then massage into face like a moisturizer.

Proceed to boudoir. Take All old makeup, Anything you don’t normally wear, Everything you’ve tried and Did Not Like, and all things you can’t remember when on Mother Earth you bought it. And throw ALL OF THEM INTO THE TRASH BIN.

Put your glasses back on, blink a fair few times, and remember, if it’s that late in the day, on a Thursday, when you have sewing and knitting projects to finish for the SCA event on Saturday, and you work tomorrow, “Beauty” is probably not the most essential activity you could be spending your time on.



Our house is nearly 100 years old. During the 54 years that the most recent previous owners lived here they made adjustments and modernizations, as people do.

One of the changes they made at some point in their residency was to update the locks and latches on most of the inside and outside doors.

We didn’t know all the details when we made our offer, but when we took our final walk through before we moved in, we found some things that make my 12 year old self absolutely giddy.

I just rediscovered them in a cabinet in the basement while cleaning.


What’s this? An old broken measuring cup??


Why, no, world. That’s a jar full of old keys. *HAPPYSQUEEE*

Excuse me, I need to go try to find Oz, and or Narnia, now.

Fuck Your Couch

When we bought The Cottage, the previous owners, an 80-something year old couple who were downsizing after 54 years in the house and moving into an apartment across town, invited us over as they packed, to show us some of their unwanted belongings before throwing them out for Spring Clean Up.

From among the items they offered we ended up keeping a number of wonderful old real-wood real-metal tools, about six watering cans, a small charcoal grill we still haven’t used, 2 desks, 5 real metal filing cabinets, and an old off-white fold out couch.

Starting off our life together with relatively little property, we gladly accepted the sofa.

And then we moved in. As our belongings began to comfortably fill our new abode, we realized quickly that the couch the old owners had left behind was not to our taste. It was old, grubby, and, as we found we already had quite a lot of seating, we really didn’t need it.

After a failed attempt to donate it to a local theatre, we realized why it had been left for us in the first place.

We couldn’t get it out of the basement.

The former owners had among them a contractor, who had built himself a finished room downstairs. Presumably around the ugly might-once-have-been-white sofa.

So it sat there. And waited.

And then! On Monday, I happened to catch a tweet from the BPU stating that this week was Fall Clean Up, and large items could be set out on our usual trash day.

Eureka! It was time.

So last night Nerdboy and I preceded a hot soapy shower with the dismantling of the cobweb and dust filled monstrosity. Piece by piece we carried it out to the curb. Within minutes, when we were maybe halfway through the carriage, the metal bed-frame was claimed in a flash by an industrious couple searching for scraps to turn in for cash. 

This morning, a few other items we set out had also disappeared – a framed Father’s Day poem, a metal eagle wall ornament (one of 7 that came with the house), and the ugliest patriotic lamp I’ve ever seen – when the BPU guys came to collect the fugly sofa. I watched it go. They’re an excellent team!

And this weekend we can clean the carpet and finally get that room rearranged! 



Grief Without Faith

I spent some time reading pregnancy loss stories tonight. I have a lot to say about facing this kind of loss. But I’m going to leave it with these thoughts for tonight, because otherwise we’ll end up with a long angry ranty piece of work that I don’t really want any of us to have to read right now.  


I am thankful for all the stories my fellow empty armed mothers have shared. Despite the horrible reminder of what we’ve all been through, these stories also remind me that I’m not alone, and that the horrible cyclone of grief I experience daily is not abnormal. 


I have two issues with all these blogs and articles and stories…. 


1. It seems like all these women got to see their baby. I feel like a fraud. There was no fetus. He never made it that far. I can’t even frame a little picture of my alien strongbad looking baby in my womb. Because he never made it that far. All I got was emptiness. They didn’t even let me keep the picture of that hollow darkness. 


2. All these stories seem to be from the perspective of Christian women. I need to know how to cope and this view point does not help me. I can’t pretend to believe in a God I don’t believe in just so I can have some comfort. I need to know how to cope as a non religious, non christian, part time earth worshiping tree hugger, with atheistic tendencies. I need to know how to cope from a Non Religious standpoint. Where are the articles for people like me??


It’s hard enough dealing with pregnancy and child loss without feeling even further separated from the rest of ‘our kind.’

Where are the articles on Grief without Faith? 

Seriously, please, someone tell me. I’m losing my fucking mind.


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