Truly. Deeply. Madly

We're coming to Boston on Sunday for a daytrip. Part of the day will involve furniture delivery, but it would be nice to cross paths with some other folks whilst we're out that end of the earth.

Who's up for it? Ivy? Wanna do cafe 303 for lunch or sumpin?
If I do nothing else while I'm there, I want to find the perfumery in Cambridge that I didn't get the chance to go hunting after back at Arisia. I'm running out of my favorite cologne.

On this particular date, the King of France colluded with the Pope to condemn thousands of innocent men to death on trumped up charges of witchcraft, heresy, and the very real charge of having the bad grace to hold actual, material debts on both those illuminaries. Essentially, it was a Get Out Of Debt Free card, similar to the one played by Henry VIII of England on the Catholic holdings in England, two centuries later.

The Templar Order was attacked, sacked, pillaged, and destroyed in a matter of months, over money. And ever since, the date of Friday the 13th, whenever it may fall in the calendar year, has been considered unlucky. More than just unlucky, I suppose, if you happened to be related to a Templar family, but that's just conjecture on my part.

The Pope was prevented from exonerating the Templars too, because documents have been uncovered declaring that he determined their under-torture confessions to be false. But somehow old Phil had enough of the Pope's short hairs in his fist that he managed to force through their mass excommunication anyhow, condemning every faithful Templar, whether in custody or not, to an eternity in the hell they all were raised to fear. And it was centuries before the facts of what the Holy Inquisitors heard -- and did to those men to GET those confessions, -- came to light. Excommunication... eternal damnation, and thorough exclusion from the mercy of God, (because remember, that's what THEY believed excommunication meant,) just for having loaned powerful men money, and expecting to be repaid.

Yeah; terrorism; it's not just for wide eyed, anarchist fanatics, really. Never has been.

Instead of viewing Friday the 13th as unlucky, I generally take this day to remember just how vicious Men In Power can be, and to just what depths they're willing to sink, in order to ensure that all the power they can percieve is theirs, and theirs alone.
That's MUCH more scary than a few black cats or broken mirrors...

No, please do NOT ask me why that song's going through my head tonight, because I don't know, and would rather not speculate.

A List; Liam StLiamstyle.

* I have a swollen, purpled fingertip on my right middle finger. My fingernail feels too tight, and typing is less-than-happy-making. Yes, it was a girly scream, as a matter of fact.

* One chaise lounge, one full size sofa, one china cabinet, two buffets, one dining table, two chairs, and a roll-top desk are currently all in my dining room. We can still use the table, the sofa, and the desk, at need. This household tetris thing might just work after all.

* The White Ninja outsmarted herself last night in the bedroom. She attempted to steal an Egyptian glass perfume bottle... that was full of lavender oil. The bottle broke, and Cyrene has been a sulky, highly perfumed, oily MESS all day. None of the other cats want to snuggle her, because of the smell, and I? I'm just laughing at her openly. Schadenfreude, baby! She's had it coming for awhile now. Still haven't found her stashing place though, so we haven't found either of my rubber squares, or the Tiger pendulum dodging_fate made for me, or the earrings or hair clip that went missing from the bathroom vanity, either. One day, though, we'll figure out where she's putting things, I swear it!

* I also have fifty 10-gallon tubs full of books, stacked up in a wall across my living room. It's kind of intimidating, actually. There's probably another five to ten tubs worth of books that were water-damaged, and so can't go into plastic, as well as the ones still in the freezer. And that's not counting the books upstairs in the offices, in the bedroom (yes, THOSE kinds of books, as well as the witchy library,) or in the kitchen. We have books in every room of the house except for those that have running water, and at least one of those has a magazine rack. We just might have a hoarding problem here...

* I have tomorrow generally to myself. Dominus is going to a pin-up girl workshop all day, leaving me to languish in my isolation... *back of hand to forehead.* No, okay, I didn't think anybody'd buy that. So I might just pack up and go hang out at Java's, so I can get a little human company of the day. You never can tell.

* A question for my flist: What's the lamest apology you've ever been given? Share me the story, if you would, because I have a meta brewing on the fine art of the apology, and how not to screw it up, and I'd like to reference more than just my own experiences. So if you don't mind telling me -- in general, or specific, with names, or without, -- the story, I'd like to hear it.

* And on that note; I'm going to go lie down.
Y'all be good now -- or at least don't get caught.