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I swear other looking at me through other people's eyes just looks wrong. That's not me! It cannot be. I don't look like that, I swear. [a little voice says "get over it!"] So, frankfurt airport and paris... I figured I'd get the 'me' overwith and then upload the cool bits.

Pictures later, but I finally caught up with ma peeps in Romania. Checked out Castle Bran with a bunch of crazies, and family (i.e. they're not the crazies) and we head over to Arges (staying in some houses in Aref), which is near to a moment that changed my life forever. Scared and excited, and clicking pictures. There are 2 film makers on the trip and a creative writing prof... hope to chat with her about my writing and poetics.

Can't say I miss you all, cause I don't, but I love you all, which in the end is better.

I was not born for waterskiing. Or jet boating, or any form of insanely fast watercraft. Especially, and I'd like to make this personally clear, especially if they go on salt water. There's something demonic and wrong about this. Have I been off line? Have I been unavailable to the netizens? YES! Not that you particularly noticed. But there's a reason. My ass hole hurts. NOt to mention that. My glutius maximi are bruised. Not to mention my ego, though it is stronger than the previously mentioned 'parts'. I've had more water going more wrong ways up more orifices that I'd care to mention... but if you count, you'll know how many.

The story is, well one of them, that Sarah was a local celtio-roman witch, and when the Marys came to her village she came out to fly the local colors and send da bitches on their ways. Turf, ya kno. So, one of the girls hopped out of the boat, that they'd been cast adrift in, though they had angels providing the in flight meals and show. And she walks on the waters. Our girl Sarah isn't about to let some 'moistened bint' show her up, so she marches out on the frothy waves to meet the said Mary pound for pound. She gets no farther than 10 metres out, as the crow flies, and finds her self, skirts and all, floundering in the surf. Being a good celtio-roman witch she can't swim, though unlike the green witch in the WizDaOZ she doesn't melt. Having trashed the home girl in her own aqueous turf, Mary lifts up our Sarah, and they walk to shore together. Humbled and whatnot, Sarah converts, and is on her way to sainthood.

That's how I feel. Sans the religous conversion. And with a 60km/h impact!