Can you not

I apologize for my prolonged absence from the blogging realm. Time just got away from me this weekend what with stuffing my face, and then running to gym to exercise it all off. 

To the tarot card requester: Temperance and the Heirophant are gone as well. The only cards left from the major arcana are the Emperor, Justice, and Judgment. There's still quite a few of the minor arcana left, but not many of the face cards--only the Page and Knight of Cups, Page and King of Pentacles, and the Page and Knight of Wands. There's still a bunch of the numbered cards left, so if anyone else wants some tarot cards, let me know: bellatrixburrows@hotmail.com.

This is Rockland Bakery:


Guess what's across the street?


Rockland Bakery is in fact the greatest thing since sliced bread. You can go in there at midnight and actually go into the factory and grab loaves of bread, bagels, croissants, and everything else fresh out of the oven. I went there yesterday with Big Sis #2 and we got 2 doughnuts, a giant cinnamon-pecan danish, a cupcake, and cannoli for $3.00. It's crazy how cheap it is. 

So yeah, every time I walk out of the gym, I am assaulted by the fresh-baking smells of their lovely sourdough bread, and cinnamon raisin bagels. It is not fair. Whoever zoned those two buildings should be castrated in public. 

No luck catching the thing in the attic. I did try to make a vlog about going up into the attic to look for it, but unfortunately no one would leave the house long enough to give me some peace and quiet, so I couldn't do it. I did investigate. I suspect the starlings are back, although how they manage to make such a tremendous racket at all hours of the night is beyond me.  Starlings are supposed to be quite small, and diurnal. The thing in the attic sounds large, and is mostly nocturnal. But I'm pretty sure it's the starlings. Therefore, this is definitive proof that starlings are (a.) Evil; and (b.) possessed of more ridiculous diabolical powers than I had originally thought. 

For real, they're f**king evil.

Time to start planning Operation Starling Holocaust Part Deux. 

Failed this weekend, food wise (obvs, at this point). So as per usual, I'm a puffy fat mess this Monday. I've got a writing workshop tonight, so I shan't make it to the gym. I plan on trying to salt flush on Tuesday. I tried last night, but for Reasons Unknown, it didn't work. 

I don't get that. Like where did the salt water go? Did it evaporate? Get absorbed into my kidneys? WTF??

>:(

More later, perhaps; or I shall be late for the writing workshop.

<3 you, my girlies!

That is what I call a wizard blizzard.

To the young lady who requested the Hermit--that one was claimed already. :( Are there any others you'd like? If not, I'll just pick some. All the others that were requested went out in yesterday's post. 

I am a bloated hippopotamus. Binged last night, after doing really well all day. Obviously, I am not weighing myself until Friday. Did ok today, and went to the gym! I found a different one that's way cheaper than the one Little Sis goes to, and it's open 24 hours.  And only $10 a month!

I'm really working on eating rather than just fasting. I've gotten into a bad pattern of eating nothing at all for days at a time (only liquid calories, and never over 200 per day), which leads to seriously epic binges by the weekend. I tend to exercise better control if I actually eat something more often. 

This is a terrifying prospect, and so it may take several tries before I break this pattern. 

Something has taken up residence in my attic.

This in itself is not unusual. We get squirrels and birds in there all the time, especially in the spring. The birds love to break in and make off with the insulation, to put in their nests. You can tell the nests of all the birds that have been to our house by all the balls of pink fluff in the trees up and down the street. 

It's the starlings that really go to town in the attic in spring. While I generally adore birds of all kinds, I have a problem with starlings. They're bad luck. They are especially bad luck if they are IN the house. I think they've learned their lesson, though, after I launched Operation Starling Holocaust last May. We shall see in the spring...

But yeah there's something in my attic. At first I presumed squirrels. It starts making noises at night, scratching and scurrying about, and OF COURSE it only does this over MY bedroom, so that when I complain about it to Mum she does not believe me. But squirrels sleep in the nighttime, right? And so do birds. Last time something was lurking in the attic at night and I investigated it, I found a flying squirrel. 

I panicked and very nearly called the police, because I had never seen such a thing as a flying squirrel and felt certain it had escaped from some mad scientist's lab.

Tonight, the Thing What Lurks In The Attic is making more noise than usual. Scratchy scratch scrapey scratchy...and then a THUD that was most definitely made by something that weighs quite a bit more than a squirrel, flying or otherwise. 

I'm scared.

Well now I've got ADvice for you, little buddy: before you point your finger you should know that I'm the Man.

Mags, where has your blog gone?!?

Littleone, you need to post so I can comment on your blog, as you always have such lovely comments for mine. <3

And Nessa, where did your blog go?? I didn't want to leave comments on the teacher one, as I don't know if you want to mesh your career with weight logs blogs...

SERIOUSLY PEOPLE. I have abandonment issues. You need to NOT stop blogging. >:(

*~*~*~*~*~*

Oh, Mondays--how I despise you! Always a day of contrition, of total guilt-ridden restriction. I was a bingey McFatass this weekend. And now I am fat, swollen, puffy, and covered in the Dairy Rash. My glands are large and they HURT. I can even see it in my face. PUFFY. And fat. So, so fat. 

FECK.

I did not get to hang out with Little Bro #2 yesterday. He had to "study" (code for: Step-mom doesn't want me taking him out because I might currupt him). I still went adventuring--two friends and I went to Columcille Megalith Park and took awesome photos, and then we visited Jayne Mansfield's grave.

And went to Wawa, where I pigged out. 

I would have been semi-ok with a giant Sunday binge (even though I binged on Friday AND Saturday because I suck at life) if it wasn't for Mum doing the food shopping. 

Mum knows better than to buy me cereal. I have told her on numerous occasions not to EVER buy me cereal. She knows what happens to me when there are boxes of my favourite cereals in the house. 

I have no control. None. At all. Cocoa Pebbles set off something in my brain. So what does Mum do on Sunday? She goes to the effing supermarket and buys me a box of mf Cocoa Pebbles. 

I came home from the Sunday Adventure and saw them in the cupboard.

And I could not resist. 

And then I could not stop.

I ATE THE WHOLE BOX. With milk (hence the Dairy Rash).

Mum caught me towards the end, as I was inhaling the last remnants of cereal from the bottom of the box. And you know what she says???

"You ate that WHOLE BOX?!"

I seriously almost lost it. 

Let's say you have a semi-recovered heroin addict living in your house. Would you go out and buy a giant bag of heroin and then leave it out in the kitchen where the heroin addict can see it? NO YOU WOULDN'T, BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE RETARDED. 

Why can't Dean Winters fall through MY garage roof onto my car?

I was going to do a whole long post about Paul #1, but it died somewhere between my black heart and my keyboard. Maybe next time. 

Valuable Life Lessons

It is unwise to order Chinese food AFTER you've started drinking. 


Lady at the Chinese food place: "Pick up or delivery?"


Me: "Delivery."


Lady: "What would you like?"


Me: "Can I get an order of hot drop soup?"


Lady: "Small or lar-- ...Wait.... what?"


Me: -_-  "...Ummm...." (::thinking hard... fails::)


Lady: "You mean egg drop soup?"


Me: "Uhh.... no."


Lady: "Or hot and sour soup?"


Me: "THAT'S THE ONE."




Chinese food baby = fail.


At least I ate mostly meat (spare ribs), so limited carb intake. We're having a dinner for Big Sis #2's birthday tonight, so I'm not even going to get stressed out about today. Especially since I'm making her birthday cake (peanut butter cup pie). And tomorrow I am taking Little Bro #2 out for the day adventuring (he needs a break from his parents--this is long overdue, as he is 16 and has never shown even the slightest sign of angst before now). I have never spent a day with my little brothers without their parents, so this is making me all sorts of nervous. What will we talk about? Will it be awkward? Does he hate me? We shall see....


I'll try and focus on tonight's dinner, for now; and eating as few carbs as possible. Good thing we're having steaks for dindin. 

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm...............


God I love meat. 

OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMOMOM

Yummmies!!!

Yesssssssssss

Scrumdiddliumptious

bacon.............


Ok I'm done. 

hsawaknow

Yeah so I just realized I've got kind of a lot of followers. Hey y'all!! Am I following you? Am I commenting on your blog? If I'm not you should yell at me. 


Francine, I've still got plenty of tarot cards left (and for anyone else who still wants one). You can send me your address here.


I've had this song in my head for two days. 



I went to the gym for the first time ever today. Little Sis wanted a gym membership for Christmas, so I said I'd do it with her. Today was the first free day she had (she's nuts with the homework and the studying--as someone who never studied or did any homework from second grade onward, this baffles me somewhat). So we went to the fancy gym in Pearl River, signed up, and went to go exercise. 


And then she left me. Alone. In an extremely crowded place I've never been to, filled with loud, sweating people. 


Turns out she only wanted to go to this particular gym because her friends go there. She met up with them as soon as we got there and left me to fend for myself.


Thank God the gym has a "movie room". 'Tis pretty much a movie theater full of ellipticals, bikes, and treadmills. I enjoyed this thoroughly. Especially since it was dark, and therefore no one can see how retarded I am. I'm not so good with the electronics. My treadmill at home pretty much has an ON button, and up and down arrows for speed. These machines were like effing spaceships with the buttons and LCD screens. 


I am not losing weight. Despite extreme restriction (and going 2 days at a time with nothing at all, like twice a week), daily exercise (burning 400+ calories), salt water flushes, and only one bad binge recently, my weight refuses to budge. Every time I step on the scale I want rush out and get emergency liposuction. 


I'm bored.

Clever got me this far; then tricky got me in.

The lovely Lou gave me an award! Thank you darling; I feel like I should make a speech or something...

Instead, I shall now provide 10 facts about myself.


1.) I started smoking at a very young age.

Ok fine, not that young. I was actually 12. 


2.) When people meet me for the first time, they often despise me on sight. I come off as snobby and bitchy and stuck up. One friend's mother even called me pompous. I enjoyed that. 


3.) My hair has not been its "natural" colour for 13 years. That's half of my life. 


4.) As I child, I was obsessed with learning to fly. I did such things as covering myself in Disney brand fairy dust and jumping down whole flights of stairs, and leaping out of tall trees with an umbrella. Miraculously, I was never injured. 


5.) I also once put myself down the laundry chute.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, the space between the cupboard and the opposite wall was not very wide. 


6.) I practise witchcraft. A lot. But I no longer curse or hex people in anger, because that sh*t works and it now makes me nervous. 


7.) I can rig a pretty impressive explosive from basic household objects. 


8.) Using some of those same household objects, I can also construct a gravity bong that will leave you partially brain-dead and unable to move or speak for several hours. And I can make a bowl out of a toilet roll, tin foil, and plastic cling wrap.


9.)  I refuse to touch pennies. They freak me out. 


10.) I hate cheese. And not just like, "ew, I don't like cheese." No. I HATE cheese. Hate the way it looks, tastes, smells, how it feels in your hand (I won't touch it; you can't make me). If given a choice between eating cheese or eating a human flank steak, you better believe I'm eating the steak. 
Actually, I'd probably try that steak anyway just out of curiosity, so that's not a good example...
I once vomited in a cheese shop. Mum made me go in (I was like 7 or 8) even though I begged and pleaded to be left outside because I could smell the nastiness from the door and REALLY didn't want to go in. So yeah, I vomited in the middle of the shop, all over the floor. 


And now, five bloggers who get the Honest Scrap award--I could no sooner choose a favourite pair of shoes, so I painstakingly wrote down many many names and pulled four out of my coffee cup at random. You all deserve this award as far as I'm concerned, so this seemed fairest. 
I did, however, choose one on purpose: Peri, because she's having a rough time, and because I love her dearly. If anyone deserves a blogger award for honesty, it is Peri. 
And the award goes to....:
- Lilah Lee
- Wren
- Sofia
- and Cinnamon Brown


<3 always

Nothing, I want nothing. Holy moley !

A couple of you wondered what I wanted you to do with your tarot cards--ANYTHING. Paint it, decorate it crayon/pastel/coloured pencil, make a collage on it, cover it in glitter, cut it into tiny pieces and put it back together again. Anything you can think of to make it a little piece of yourself. 


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


I'm having a very difficult time getting back into the rhythm of starving that I had enjoyed before the holidays. 'Tis a combination of factors, I think:

- I went too long eating lots of junk, so now my digestive system is putting up a fight when I try to starve.

- The result of my carb-restriction is that when I do have something carb-y (even just a tiny something), my body goes into Carbohydrate-Annihilation-Mode, and there is nothing I can do to stop the consumption of every carbohydrate that isn't nailed down.

- I'm out of drugs vitamins again. 

- Like seriously, who the f**k do I have to maim to find a competent drug vitamin dealer?!!?

- I feel an irresistible urge to fast usually starting Mondays. Fasting leads to binging every time. You'd think I'd learn.

But there is a more important issue that I must address: my disordered eating affects my writing. 

I know many of you have gone through something similar--a few of you have written about it on your blogs, how the starving and binging and everything else befuddles our brains. It gets hard to concentrate, to think clearly about anything other than food and calories, and especially to think creatively. And I NEED to think creatively in order to write. 

So it comes to this: the pattern that I've been in for a long time--fast, starve, binge, fast, starve, binge, repeat, repeat, repeat--has really started to affect my writing. As in my brain turns to sludge a lot of the time, and so I can't write as effectively. My writing is my life. Without stories to write, I have nothing. 

But at the same time, starving has become my life as well. And at the same time, I feel like if I don't have starvation--if I don't have THIN--then I have nothing. Is it possible to balance the two? I'm not so sure it is. To quote a great author, I'd say neither can live while the other survives. 

So what do I do?

The obvious answer would be try and stop the eating disorder. But it's not that easy, obviously. I've thought about it. I've done a few half-assed jobs trying to give it up. But the result is always the same. I cannot eat normally--I binge when I try. And then I feel disgusting. AWFUL. The kind of awful that only you, my lovely readers, can understand--the kind of hellish disgustipation that makes you want to rip your skin off, flay yourself alive to get at the bones underneath. It's unbearable. It's why I have returned--after six whole years of sobriety--to self harm.  

So although I know it is not the best answer, I must find a way to balance the two. I'm not sure how, just yet. But I have to try.

I weighed myself on Sunday. 

o.O

 I weighed myself again Wednesday, and this morning. I fail to see how I can still be at the same weight as I was on Sunday (one pound HEAVIER than Wednesday) when I have not eaten anything besides coffee and V8 all week, and have been exercising like a crazy person. Sure I messed up slightly on Thursday, but it wasn't even a binge, and I did extra working out to destroy it. 

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So of course now I'm climbing the walls in anxiety because I'm a fat pig. And the stronger part of my brain is demanding that I simply not eat. At all. Coffee, tea, and V8--and that's only when I start getting faint. 

This is a bad idea. It's pretty high up on the List of Really Bad Ideas, I think. Somewhere around things like playing with fire,

invading Russia in winter,

and consuming dairy before bed.

But I'm actually afraid to eat. Afraid, because my scale says I weigh over 100 pounds. 

A GROWN WOMAN, scared to death of consuming food. Because 'tis far easier to just have nothing than to have a little bite of something like turkey bacon or a Lean Cuisine. 'Cause after that bite, I will just want more, and more, and MORE AND MORE AND MORE until I've eaten everything in the house.

And that absolutely cannot happen. 

And perhaps what disturbs me most is that this time last year, 104 lbs seemed like a low number. 

You've offered a provocative theory. What it lacks in substance, it makes up for in pretty colors.

WWHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY can't they bring back ADA Cabot?!!??!!??

But nooooooo. Instead we're on Creature #5:

I swear, each new ADA sucks ten times more than the last one. I didn't think it could get worse than Sharon Stone, but I was sorely mistaken. 


Sorry for the outburst. Someone had to say it. 

Stephanie March is hot. 

Lord have mercy....

I had a PTSD moment yesterday afternoon, in the A&P. There I was, just doing a spot of grocery shopping on my lunch break, when suddenly I saw It turn down the soda aisle and walk in my direction. 


I froze. Involuntarily balled my hands into fists and tucked them under my ribs (to hide my palms). I could not blink. I could not breathe. I began to break out in a cold sweat. I wanted to run, but I was frozen, rooted to the spot; and it kept coming closer, and closer, and closer...


...


There was a NUN in the soda aisle. 


This is a perfect example of how one bad egg can ruin things for everybody else. In my long and infuriating Catholic school education, I encountered a number of perfectly pleasant nuns. Sister Linda--high school religion teacher--was practically a saint. Despite the beard, she always had lovely kind words for everyone. Just one of those genuinely good and nice people. 


Sister Clara, however, was another story. Sister Clara is the reason I go into panic mode when I see a nun. I still have nightmares about her--horrible dreams in which I am forced to go back to that hellhole of a grade school and Sister Clara is always there, with her silver rosary and her wooden ruler. 


Sister Clara is the embodiment of every horror you ever believed about the Catholic Church.

(That picture doesn't even do her justice, but it was the best of several attempts at catching her Evil essence.)


In my grade school (where I suffered from kindergarten through eight grade--that's NINE years), we didn't actually have any teachers who were nuns or priests, but instead the nuns and priests would just show up a couple times a week and talk to our class, or lecture us, or perhaps try and start a Jesus-themed discussion. And of course there was the "sex ed" session in sixth grade with Sisters Clara and Mary (I've blocked most of that out). Most of these priests and nuns were fine; some of them were even very nice. Father Carl, who was around 375 years old, used to bring us all sorts of fun goodies and souvenirs from his trips to the Vatican.


But Sister Clara was just downright evil. She looked like a troll--short and squat and rather wide, iron-grey hair sticking out of her veil, and with a face that always appeared furious. She had one of those heavy wooden crosses hanging from her belt and would swing it back and forth while she walked like some sort demented holy jailer. She had a set of silver rosary beads that she would fondle, gazing at us children menacingly as though she would like nothing more than to throttle us with those beads. And she always had the wooden ruler. One of those old heavy ones with the bit of metal running through the middle (for making straighter lines, and inflicting maximum pain).

Sure she wasn't legally allowed to hit us, but that never stopped her. She had perfected using the ruler in such a way that it did not leave a mark. And of course no parent would believe that a nun would hit innocent children. Most of us were too afraid to tell our parents, but those few who did either got the "I don't believe you" response; or their parents told them that if a nun hit them, then they probably deserved it. One of her favorites was whacking the girls on the thigh if she caught us sitting with our legs crossed (like whores) instead of with our feet crossed at the ankles (like ladies). 


Sister Clara liked to yell and scream at us children, telling us that we were all sinners and that even if you THINK bad things it's a sin, and God is watching you and listening to you all the time, and He can even read your mind, so there's absolutely no escaping. She liked to remind us that were all going to burn in Hell in everlasting fire because we were all such horrible, nasty little children. Imagine hearing all that at the tender age of eight, spewing from the mouth of an evil troll-nun. 


One incident in particular sticks out in my mind. This one time in fifth grade, when we were all about 10 years old, Sister Clara was having a particularly difficult time with my class (we were not very well-behaved even at the best of times). She decided to march us down a dark and little-used hallway to an unused classroom, where she shut and locked the door, and made us all line up against the wall. She raged and screamed at us for what felt like a very long time, and then she told us to hold out our hands. She went down the line of children, giving each of us a good wallop with her trusty ruler. 


Scarred for life.

Never send a business man to do a psychopath's job.

I did not binge yesterday! That's the first Saturday in a loooong time. A combination of stressful factors contributed to it, I think. One of them being the visitation of my father, and the other being the Boss. 


Boss sent me the following text on Saturday morning: "WHY did you write Essex County a check for $965?!?"


Ok I know I'm a tard with math and numbers, but I'm not that bad. Nevertheless, I nearly went into cardiac arrest, and felt fairly certain I was about to be fired. We went back and forth texting--me at home and him in the office trying to find the check stubs--and then I was just like feck it and went into the office myself to sort it out. 


It turns out that, for reasons unknown, some kind of glitch in our accounting software caused two checks (one for $925 and one for $40) to show up as a single check for $965 when the Boss printed out last week's accounting list to do his bank rec, and thus the $925 that we paid in rent showed up as being on the same check as the $40 we sent to Essex County.


And I found the check stubs that Boos said were "missing," in about five seconds, proving that I wrote out both checks correctly.  


>_<


Way to destroy my Saturday morning. 


I wish I had a job that I loved. Like really loved, rather than just liked and accepted. Remember when we were little? At age 5, you knew exactly what you wanted to be when you grew up. Or at least, you had a few solid ideas. What happened to that certainty? When I was in kindergarten, I could only see three career possibilities for myself as a grown-up:


Fairy Godmother

Cowboy

A Bus Driver

Or a Super Villain.

And I knew for certain that one of those career choices would lead to a blissfully happy adulthood. Perhaps one day, I shall find myself in my dream job, but at this point I think that's kind of a silly fantasy, especially as I have no idea what my dream job actually is. 


Aside from super villain, of course. 


What were all your dream careers when you were 5?

down with this sort of thing

I love Irish cigarette warnings.

Sorry for the recent lack of posting and commenting. I've had no internet at home all week because for some reason, Cablevision is entirely unable to provide my home with an internet connection that lasts for more than 30 minutes. We've had 4 different technicians in my house in as many days, and there's still a good chance that the internet will die at any time. That combined with the fact that every time I try to make use of my free Tuesday cinema tickets (for being a Cablevision customer), every single film in the cinema is sold out. This has happened at 5 different cinemas. I think perhaps it is time we switched back to Verizon.


I got out of work early today because of the snow. It was good because I got to go on the treadmill for 90 minutes, but also bad because I've been steadily eating my way through all the junk food in the house. I did, however, finally get a chance to pick up my Adavan prescription, so that was nice. 


I realized something whilst trying to plan my evening around picking up my Adavan prescription: I don't trust anyone. Like NOT A SINGLE PERSON that I know, or am related to. The whole Trust Issues thing isn't news to me--I've had that for many many moons, but I never realized until this afternoon just how bad it is. 

So I know that stopping at A&P to pick up my pills is not really out of the way, and would only add maybe 15 or 20 minutes to my commute home, but I'm really lazy. I know Mum or Sis would go pick up the Adavan for me, but I also know that they're both too nosy for their own good. They would rip open the bag that the pharmacist gives them to check out exactly what medication Mich is taking. Since I have not told Mum I'm on Adavan (she doesn't believe in medication at all, for anyone, ever. I know, it's infuriating.), I don't want her checking what's in the bag. And Sis's mouth is just slightly bigger than her brain, so I know she'd blab. 

So then I thought, "Perhaps I could get one of my friends to pick up my Adavan;" but before that thought even finished forming itself in my head, I had to laugh at the absurdity of it. I have but one friend whom I would trust with my Adavan, and A&P is quite a bit out of the way for her. As for my other close friends? I would not trust a single one of them with my sedatives. Not a chance in Hell. 

Following that train of thought, I tried to imagine various scenarios in which trust is required: 

• venting to friends or family, when you are particularly distraught
• being stranded/car broken down/having an Actual Emergency/etc. and in need of immediate help
• Having a secret/problem that you just NEED TO TELL SOMEONE
• Having a serious problem, such as alcoholism that has reached the point of Listerine consumption when you run out of liquor; or having developed a pretty bad morphine habit/eating disorder/suicidal tendencies/&c &c that might be endangering your life
• Contracting an illness or injury that may require medical attention
• Developing an emotional/affectionate attachment to another person

I can't think of anyone--friend or family-wise--whom I would turn to in any of those situations. Especially the last one. I don't develop those kind of attachments. My instincts tell me that such things are for the weak-minded. (I don't know--it's just the way I am). Same with venting. I don't often vent out loud to other people, because my twisted logic sees this as a sign of weakness. Perhaps I therefore cannot trust anyone else because I myself would probably be an awful choice as one in whom to place trust. 

I'm not so good with the sympathy and junk.

And emotion/affection? HA!! 

No.

Romance and I never got along...

 As for the other things in that list, if I can't fix the problem myself, I tend to just push it out of my mind and hope that it solves itself. And as for secrets, I tend to just never tell them. Unless I'm drunk--then I might let a few things slip. Those slips will most likely be your secrets, which you told to me in confidence, rather than my own secrets. 

Ugh, I'm such a terrible person...


Even more terrible because I don't really care that I'm a terrible person. I mean I kind of care. Just a little bit. 


So.... Tarot cards, yes? So far, the Queen of Wands, Queen of Swords, the Fool, the Tower, the Moon, Death, the High Priestess, and the Seven of Cups have been claimed. The rest are all up for grabs, so if you want one or several you can email me your mailing address (bellatrixburrows [at] hotmail [dot] com). And I'll need your address anyway, for those of you who called those cards. If you're worried about privacy, you can submit a name/initials/pseudoname/etc and mailing address here, and that way you can remain anonymous. 


I shall try and catch up on all your blogs later on tonight, and tomorrow morning. Have a good weekend, girlies!