Ghosts, Gojira and...

I dreamed I was with my friend Kevin—we were in a a deep forest and came upon a huge, seemingly, abandoned Queen Anne Victorian house. Naturally, we had to enter and explore. Surprisingly, though the manor’s outside was horribly run down, the inside was pristine. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the velvet upholstered armchairs and settee. The marble topped tables were immaculate.

Curious,

Kevin went up to the second floor while I wandered the first. Imagine my surprise when I came upon a spacious, plant filled solarium filled with elderly men and women having a tea party. They didn’t seem to be at all surprised to have a crasher. In fact, they graciously welcomed me in.

It quickly became clear that they were all ghosts. How? They weren’t translucent or at all wispy. There was no unearthly miasma of malice or despair—quite the opposite. No one was shrieking or wailing—not even me. There were no decaying clothing or shredded faces. So how did I know they were ghosts? Just a vibe, I guess.

As pleasantly as I could (I mean, these were ghosts fer fuck’s sake. As nice as they were, I was more than a bit freaked) I declined their invite and ran to find Kevin. He’d not run into any specters or spirits—of course not, they were all in the sunroom having a lovely soirée.
~~~
If I’d had kids, I absolutely would have changed my last name. To the father’s? Fuck no—that’s snottwaddling patriarchal bullshit. If two people are choosing to join together and create a tribe, they should have a fresh identifier. They are, after all, forming a new family. For the sake of today’s post, we’ll say my hot-off-the-press tribe’s surname is Ocean. Why? Oceans are vast, powerful and filled with all sorts of brilliant beasties. They contain multitudes and shit. Ya know, JUST like me…right? RIGHT?

So, what about progeny names?
If it’s a girl—Ruby Mosura Ocean
Why is this a perfect name for any little human?
Ruby was my strong, warm, feminist grandmother—she rocked. Also, rubies are beautiful gems. 

Mosura (AKA Mothra) is a giant, divine and heroic moth. She was the first woman “monster” from Tōhō Kabushiki Gaisha film studios.

If I had a boy:

Herrington Gojira Ocean
Herrington for John Herrington who is an engineer, educator, and retired NASA astronaut. He’s not just smart as hell, he’s also the first Native American (Chickasaw Nation) in space.

Why Gojira (AKA Godzilla)? Oh please, he’s a survivor of mankind’s cruel hydrogen bomb testing. Gojira is heroic, wonderfully prehistoric and a gangbusters at dinner parties.
~~~
I’m reading Caitlin Moran’s essay collection More Than a Woman. Amongst other things, Ms. Moran is, fer realies, laugh out loud hilarious. (just what I need right now) I was sure I was gonna wake Ten up last night with my constant guffaws. In one chapter she talks of how there are ooodles of pet names for  men’s privates—penis and testicles have their own monikers (e.g., Johnson, kielbalsa, joystick and coconuts, Reece's Pieces, Tweedledee and Tweedledum) but few for women’s bits (the vulva as well as the vagina).

" …I would draw your attention to the “Name Your Vulva” game that was modish in 2018. The rules are simple: You ask everyone to reveal the title of the last film they saw and that becomes the new nickname of their vulva. On the day we played, Cecy’s became Carol, Jen’s was Let the Right One In, Nadia’s was Paddington, and mine was Mama Mia? Here we go Again. All of them were oddly fitting."

Okay, I’ll play. My vulva’s nickname would be.

Everything Everywhere All at Once

Emmmmmmmmm, no comment.