Guest Post: Granny Cougar Goes to Church

Greetings from South Eastern Ohio, I am Granny Cougar.

I do stand-up comedy. Although I am also considered disabled, I once traveled all over the U.S.A. I now am only able to do it on a local level, but the need to write and perform has never failed in desire. While on stage, I portray an older show girl who wants all the hot young men in the audience. 

In real life I live with two gay roommates, and my boyfriend, who is older than I and has never moved past kissing. One really could hardly consider me to be a true cougar. It is however, funny, when young girls from an audience come up to me prior to a performance and beg me to “pick”, on their boyfriends. Most of my jokes are extremely for an adult crowd. When we have family gatherings they often times want me to do something. It is a scramble to figure out how to figure out how to present adult materials to a born again Christian based family. 

I was not raised around any of these people. I was raised by an old lady which escaped from a German concentration camp. As you could guess I was brought up a Jew. She has been dead for many years now. Since then I have been putting forth the effort to re-connect to my “family”. 

My birth Mother sits in the front row of her church, and has for well over thirty years. She is now in her late 70’s. When they sing, she gets up and dances. Her church is crazy like the ones you might see on television! So here I am this little Jewish American Princess (JAP) and I thought, “I should go so when she passes on I could say I danced with her when she was old.” The first time I went I could hardly sleep the night before. Mother told me that people speak in tongues there and so I did not what to expect. As you could imagine I had plenty of racing thoughts. 

That next morning my ass was dragging. During Sunday school they asked if they had anybody new and I got a jab from my beloved Mother who really did not want to raise me. So I stood up like hit with a cattle prod. Next, more people came in. While the real service started once more they asked was there anybody new, and that of course meant a new poke. I stood up and there were about eight people with me. 

If I do not have enough sleep, I can nod off most any place. The vocals from the choir was fast and she and I danced. Exhausted I set down. They sang next, slow and angelic songs. They were more like lullabies. Next, her pastor began his sermon; in the middle of it a gal jumped up and started to speak like gibberish or some sort of baby talk. Next, some man joined in and told us all what it was meant. 

I was very outside of a normal place of worship, and very confused. I admit I did start to nod off while everyone began some sort of strange prayer request thing they do partake in every Sunday. The next thing I hear is, “Come Forward!” mind you I am seated in the front row so I cannot see behind me. I thought, “Oh good here we go again.” So I took about three steps outward turned and none of the others were with me. Somewhere in my sleepy state I missed the fact that this was an invitation to be saved and join their church. 

With my Mother beaming with pride, people from every direction came to put their hands on me! I have a mental illness and part of it is social phobia. Can you imagine what this was doing to me? I began to cry and they took that to me I was in the spirit. Finally, and without trying to hurt anyone I said nicely, “Ok I’m good now I know the devil is a really bad thing and God is a really good thing please stop with the touching already! OY-VEY” 

So I am also a Pagan who sees light in many paths of faith. To recap kids, I’m a comic, Jew, Pagan, Smartass, Neo-Christian. I guess you could say, I’m a Pagan Ham Sam Witch.
~G.C.

SexYOUality: The Hardest Decision

Photo by Leigh Temple - Used Under a Creative Commons License

This story starts and ends typically: I began with the shocking revelation of an extremely unplanned pregnancy and I ended with an empty, scraped  uterus and plenty of emotional baggage to boot. The body of the story, too, oozes with the all-too-familiar bad, sad and torrid details of a seismically unsound and ultimately fractured relationship.

   Often I try to recall what I did earlier in the day before I found out I was pregnant. Had I brushed my teeth that morning or had I forgotten? Did I put lipstick on? Had I done anything out of the ordinary or had I woken up and done the same thing as every other morning, oblivious to the fact that in mere hours I would be crying, shaking, wracking my brain for ways in which to make one of the biggest decisions of my life. 

But here and there are bits and pieces scattered throughout my own story that have clung to my very being ever since December 27 2009. It has been difficult to understand why even with the end result, the loss of what I would ever so dearly call my child, my baby, I cannot seem to lay to rest all my dreams of what she or he was and would have been.

As women we are directly exposed to pregnancy, giving birth, miscarriage,  having an abortion. Our bodies in each and every one of theses scenarios  births something; be it a live child or the eternal memories of a lost one. No  matter how different each is there is confusion, suffering, happiness and  devastating loss embroiled in our womanhood. Regardless of which way any of these experiences end there is something that comes out of it that will be carried forever.

When confronted with pregnancy and the overwhelming discovery that there is a growing, living, twisting being beginning to grow inside of you, life changes. For me, almost immediately I began to instinctively touch my stomach which was still flat, hiding all signs of what had begun to live  beneath my skin. My breasts hurt and the image of latching my son or  daughter onto my own flesh constantly appeared in my head. I dreamt of naming my daughter but feared that if she ever discovered the roots of her name she would look down on her mother for her poor taste in '90s films. 

I imagined her rolling her eyes and snapping her gum at me, reaching the point where my touch would embarrass her in public. I dreamt of the moment she would yearn once again for that touch, as I did for my own mothers, and would come and collapse into me, reimagining the way I carried her as a baby. One morning I started bleeding heavily. I remember feeling guiltily relieved; my own body had taken the reigns and was making what felt to be an insurmountable decision on my behalf. I had considered abortion -- I was 21, broke, pregnant while taking birth control and six months in to a relationship with a long-haired stoner (who subsequently sat in the abortion clinic waiting room reading a graphic novel, hungry for Taco Bell). But the moment I peed on a cheap looking white stick and saw one too many blue lines appear I felt pregnant. I felt like a mother.

Many people told me that I would fail as a parent. Most often they warned me against parenthood without a degree, a reliable job, owning my own home or the precise assurance that my life would run smoothly. When I began bleeding, thinking I was starting to lose parts and pieces of my child, I decided I would need to go for an abortive procedure. I scheduled an appointment at a private clinic one week later.

I arrived at the clinic with my mother, my boyfriend and my best friend. My mother couldn't quite hide her relief; her 21 year old daughter wouldn't be having a baby unexpectedly, without every "I" dotted and "T" crossed. My best friend was there for me, and my boyfriend for obligation and the free food that would be purchased on the drive home after my 11 week old  fetus had been sucked out from inside of me. I made my way into the back and had a very nice anesthesiologist attempt to administer twilight sedation into veins in my dehydrated feet, legs, arm, neck and hands. His name was Steve, he told me. He put his hand on my forehead to ask me if I was okay. I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. As I was waiting for Steve to get a vein the doctor, a brisk looking blonde woman who never introduced herself to me (perhaps there wasn't a good enough moment, seeing as I was strapped down to a table, tears streaming down my face) performed a vaginal ultrasound. I heard her say the pregnancy sac was "still" intact. Steve touched my forehead again.

I woke up some matter of minutes later. I stayed in a recovery room until the nurses felt I was ready to walk. I stumbled out into the office waiting room, wearing what I have since coined the "abortion robe". My mother, boyfriend and friend all stood at the same moment, sharing the same look of love/confusion/concern/discomfort and out we walked. People holding signs screamed, called me a murderer, asked me what it felt like to kill my baby so close to Christmas. We kept walking and made it to my mother's white luxury vehicle equipped with a beige, leather interior (I wondered and worried that I may leave parts of my dead child in between the seams). 

We started the car, pulled out of the abortion clinic parking lot. My mother asked if anyone was hungry. My boyfriend, the man who had impregnated me, touched my stomach, had told me he would love me, love us forever, offered that he was in the mood for tacos. We stopped at the drive through, my mother asked me if I wanted anything but I couldn't tell her that all I was wondering was where the pieces of my baby were. Was she or he in a trash can, wrapped in blue medical paper? I looked at the ultrasound the doctor had given me: my before and after. I saw a circular shape on the left hand side, my baby. On the right I saw nothing but a vast blackness; a terrifying night without a single star. I told my mother I was not hungry and 
we began our drive home.

About the Author: 

Mikaela Jensen-Roseman came into this world in 20 minute flat. To this day, her mother claims that may indicate something about her personality. Jensen-Roseman was born and raised in Philadelphia but made from a heart and body constantly yearning for travel and impulsive adventure. She's known for her ability to scold dogs for misbehavior, roadtripping, injuries involving metal fencing and peeing quicker than at least 95% of the remaining female population. You can get in touch with her via e-mail, or of course here on I Feel Delicious! 

Starter Quests Are the Worst! (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Newbies)

By Keelah Monster Cosplay (Formerly Tali'Belle)

No matter what your goal in the cosplay community or any alt scene for that matter, it pays to be nice. Better to be a Margaery than a Cersei, after all if you intend to be queen. When people like you, they are more likely to do things for you and more likely to genuinely want to see you succeed. To better explain my comparison to non-George R.R. Martin fans, when Cersei Lannister was queen of king’s landing, she acted like it put her far above everyone else and flaunted her wealth and influence and all her family could do to punish people who crossed her, Margaery Tyrell played the game better, though, she walked among the people, helped them and took personal interest in them. Guess who that worked out better for? (At least so far, no one’s lifespan is guaranteed in those books.)

Margaery Tyrell from Game of Thrones

But anyway let’s begin with the cosplay community. There are people who are just starting out and they all go about the anxiety that comes with taking to such a new, involved, highly critical cosplay in very different ways. Some put up a front with bravado and pretend they know more than they do, some are quiet and frightened to ask for advice and then become defensive when someone might be better or offer advice, and then there’s the dreaded weeaboo. Loud, excitable, overly obsessive, unable to interact properly or politely, taking most of their public mannerisms from GIR of Invader Zim fame or Foamy the Squirrel with disastrous results for the image of their fandom and the cosplay community as a whole. These people, like their gothic equivalent, Baby Bats, like to believe that they and they alone are unique in a world full of Barbie clones and posers, they often spawn internal misogyny or nice guy syndrome where they believe that other members of their gender are vapid, cruel, and mean as I mentioned before in my ‘fake geek girl’ post. Above all, this kind of person is very annoying.

However stop and think for a second. Everyone’s been in a situation where they felt different and ostracized. In those scenarios isn’t it a kneejerk reaction to believe that you are Wednesday Addams in a world of Amanda Buckmans? Of course it is, and isn’t it fun to see Wednesday screw up that trite, uncomfortably racist first Thanksgiving play by setting things on fire? Of course it was, and that’s fine, movies where someone like you is the protagonist and makes the
vapid jerks pay are cathartic, but in real life it is never so black and white. Even Kim Kardashian and Megan Fox have feelings and dreams and things that make them human no matter how awful they may seem as human beings. Not every slender blonde with a Prada bag and Abercrombie and Fitch outfit is an evil bimbo who hates you. But can a kid who’s grown up with nothing but movie interpretations of interactions with ‘normies’ possibly fathom that?

Cersei Lannister from Game of Thrones

Consider, many people who latch onto fringe cultures already have trouble fitting in, they can feel ostracized, some may have social anxiety or be awkward around others. As a young teen or preteen who already has these feelings, also finding a love for alt culture is one more thing they can feel prevents them from fitting in, throw in that at that age everyone is immature and bullying is a very real problem, and it can become very easy for them to conclude those movies were true. Someone is going to dump pig’s blood on them at the prom or lock them in the Harmony Hut or even physically hurt them in their mind and so an all too common defense mechanism is to lash out first or write off everyone as a vapid poser Barbie wannabe clone. Believe me, I know. That’s why it’s so hard to write my Lipstick Love Letter piece.

When I was twelve, I went to regular public school. I grew up on a heavy dose of sci-fi, horror, teen comedies, and geek culture. In elementary school that’s really okay, few people are going to bully you because everyone plays Pokemon in elementary school, everyone collects action figures, everyone watches cartoons, things are pretty well universal when you’re a child no matter what the glittery pink aisle that boldly insisted ‘GIRLS’ at the toy store wanted you to believe, as far as we were concerned in elementary school, Esmeralda could be rescued from Frollo by the timely intervention of the Autobots and no one would bat an eyelash, Princess Aurora was secretly the pink Power Ranger and sleep fought Rita Repulsa...and/or Maleficent, same headpiece style and all. But I digress. The point is, suddenly as you grow up, everyone’s interests shift…or stay relatively the same but start to incorporate new ideas and feelings from a maturing mind, suddenly all my friends who used to want to trade Pokemon or play Sailor Moon were into the dreaded makeup, boys, cheerleading! And of course being raised on teen movies that taught me cheerleaders were mean bullies, I panicked.

So I put on my Hot Topic gear, got some makeup of my own (ANTI-MAKEUP) and shunned things like Charmed and The OC and other things teenage girls watched in favor of Utena and Hellsing. And like so many weeaboos and baby bats before me, I was loud and proud about my interests to the point of being disruptive and rude, but you couldn’t tell me that, oh no, everyone was mean to me because I was different and special and they just couldn’t handle that, not because I went off on tangents about my anime to the point that we never got out of a lesson early even when other classes had. Not because I begged my English teacher to let me read terrible fan fiction in class as extra credit or because I openly told people from my school that I hated it and everyone there was a baka gaijin who didn’t understand the amazing depth of my manga collection (to be fair, I still enjoy a lot of my manga, I stand by it being pretty trippy and cool.)

Hurtful meme found on the Internet directed at Weeaboos

 I never once stopped to think that I was being rude and forcing something these other kids had no interest in on them, they didn’t hate me because I was different, they hated me because I was an insufferable jerk who took it upon myself to force my interests on them when for the most part none of them ever tried to do the same. And even then there were people who were still nice to me. The cheerleader who secretly loved Card Captor Sakura, the football captain who chatted cheerfully about his favorite Final Fantasy strategies, but I overlooked these people and acted like a grade A jerk. Which doesn’t excuse the older kids beating me up or shoving me down stairs, but rest assured I was not just some innocent victim that everyone hated because she was so special.

Then I went to a private school where most of the kids were just like me, creative, into what I was, weird, quirky, artsy. The problem was most of us brought our clique problems and social structure beliefs with us to school but no one wanted to admit that so did they, which continued the cycle of bullying and hatred, except now it was geek-on-geek bullying. There were only really two upper classmen who ever really stood by me and befriended me entirely instead of bullying or ignoring me and my group. One of those people was Caitlin Seida, who brought me into writing for I Feel Delicious. She was also the one who took time (in small doses) to talk to me and show me that not everyone was against me and eventually I grew up into a half-way decent person. I still have moments of vehement dislike for people I don’t know based on something they do that rubs me the wrong way, but with time and patience, I can look past whatever my initial dislike came from, be it annoying over enthusiasm, bravado bordering on Miles Gloriosus, or genuine rudeness.

All most newbies need is a gentle guiding hand to push them in the right direction and learn to understand what they’re doing wrong and why it bothers people. Everyone needs a friend, everyone deserves to be loved and cared for and to experience an element of human kindness, and every young kid just getting into a subculture needs to be taught the basics. You weren’t perfect when you started wearing Lolita, your first cosplay wasn’t screen accurate, perfect, and handmade, your first goth ensemble wasn’t top of the line Euro-goth couture or Harajuku finds, you started somewhere and so must they. So offer your hand in friendship, not in punishment. Be a Margaery, not a Cersei.

Keelah Monster (formerly Tali'Belle) is a fashion and costume design student with twelve years of cosplay experience. She operates Fleet and Flotilla: Dextro Couture and Salvage on Etsy. Her main cosplay is Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy and her current preferred convention is Dragon Con. You can keep up with her on DeviantArt  or Twitter. And of course, you can find her posts here on I Feel Delicious!

Playing in the Boys Playground: Girls With Guns

Eye Candy Girl Charleigh poses with her gun. Courtesy of Terri Jean Photography.

By Poisyn LaRue

"Your girl does WHAT?!"

"She shoots. Fairly good might I add"

This was an ACTUAL conversation my ex-sniper boyfriend had with one of his friends this past week while on a road trip to Texas. His friend could not grasp that face that the little five foot five and three quarters (that matters) tall, purple haired girl that he is dating can also shoot out the center of an ace at about 200 yards (it may be closer to 150 yards now, it's been a while since I've done that particular parlor trick).

When he told me this, I started laughing hysterically. Why was the idea of a girl being able to shoot on par (and even outshoot some) men? In what invisible rule book did it say I wasn't allowed to handle weapons? Cause I think I need to find that rule book and use it as kindling!

I've been around firearms my whole life. I got my first rifle at around six or seven years old. It was a hand-me-down from my father, his old .22 caliber single shot, but I thought it was pretty awesome. Every autumn we would go to the shooting range the police used and I would get to shoot a 9mm hand gun. As I got older, I was allowed to shoot the "big kid" guns, which included a black powder pistol and riffle and a shot gun. Even if they are not terribly accurate, I loved the spread of the pellets from the shotgun, the tiny *tink* they made hitting the metal targets. This became a tradition of many years.


In 2010 I decided to move to "redneck country" also known as south of the Mason-Dixon line. I have always been a Southern girl at heart, so it was like moving home for me. I met some cool people and got to shoot some even cooler guns, including a P90 with which I immediately fell in love. My then boyfriend had a Remington 870 w/ Nebo tac flashlight/red laser combo, Winchester Razor sling, and aluminum shell caddy and a Glock 21 w/ Viridian X5L. We would go out to the stretch of land behind his friend's flower nursery and shoot all matters of fun things. We set up targets made out of whatever we could find. An old oil container filled with sand and water. Pieces of scrap metal. Wooden planks. At one point we had an old, rusted out car shell. You would be surprised how easily bullets pass through cars. Occasionally we would take the kids with us (he had a son and I had my daughter). Both children knew gun safety. I had taught them how to check if a gun was loaded, always point it away from everyone, and not to put your finger on the trigger until you knew you were going to shoot.

A few people say this makes me a bad mother, but I disagree. They know guns are not toys and I think this takes away from the whole "untouchable" desire that children tend to get when you tell them "no".

So anyway, back on topic. Yeah I am a girl. I wear heels and skirts and have pretty glorious 42DD boobs. And I like weapons. A lot. I'd rather spend a day at a shooting range or bow range then at the mall ogling over things that will never fit me because, well, I have shape. So instead, I think it is much more productive to spend my time learning a skill that will help protect my family in crisis.

This has nothing to do with the fact that the current love of my life is ex-military or that I play entirely more Call of Duty then I probably should. This has to do with the fact that I value my independence. I like being able to say, "Yeah, I can hunt and support my family if the economy goes to hell tomorrow". but that doesn't mean I don't simply ENJOY shooting for sport.

Target shooting that is, I'm a firm believer that hunting should only be done if you plan to eat what you kill, never just for sport. I'm a firm believer in "living outside the social norm". Anyone who knows me will tell you this. SO Is anyone really surprised that I can disassemble, clean, reassemble, load and fire most guns in the same way that some woman can arrange flowers or knit a scarf (neither of which I can do!)

Madame Poisyn LaRue is a self-described "square peg in a round hole." She has an Associates of Science in Visual Communications and is pursuing her Associate of the Arts in Theater with a minor in Music. Although she's at home on the stage, she's just as comfortable under the hood of a Chevy, covered in oil and grease but still wearing 5" heels. You can follow the Madame on Facebook or at her website and of course, here on I Feel Delicious! 

Dear Whitney: You're not his first victim...Speak up.

Dear Whitney At Age 16,
Don't take it personally - I know you think you're hot stuff right now. And you're right. This is the last big summer you have before you leave high school. But I am telling you right now, you're worth more than you give yourself credit for.

This guy? He's bad news. He's not a bad guy, but he's got his own issues. It's not a bad thing to explore your sexuality, but this guy right here? 40+, balding, still living with his parents even though he's a CEO of a rather well known company? Honey, where are your red flags and why are you IGNORING them?

I could tell you not to talk to him, I could tell you not to go out with him. I could tell you not to fool around with him. I could even tell you not to get in the car. But you won't listen - you're stubborn. And I know that all too well.

One of these nights he's going to do all the right things - take you out for a night on the town, get you all the alcohol you want, and then when you're just slowed down enough, he's going to ask for something you don't wanna give up. I'm not telling you who to sleep with or not sleep with, but when he starts begging you to forego condoms? Get out of the car and run. Because he's bad news from head to toe.

And then, instead of worrying about getting in trouble for what happened? For being somewhere you weren't supposed to be, for doing things you weren't supposed to be doing? Tell someone. Speak up. Because you're probably not the first girl he did this to, and you're almost definitely not the last. Get over the intimidation, get over the shame and say something to someone. Anyone.

Otherwise, it'll eat you alive for years, wondering which young thing he's got his paws on tonight and if you could have done anything to stop it. You'll never know if people would have listened or believed you - and you'll keep wondering that forever - because you didn't even try.

You'll have your share of experiences over the years - some you regret, some you wish you'd done differently. You'll explore your sexuality and some things you'll still be proud of later - some, not so much. But this is one instance where you need to understand: What he'll do is not your fault. You'll say no. He won't listen. What is your responsibility is to speak up. Maybe then you'll avoid the whole mess of mistrusting guys and that little drinking problem you have in college.

Like I said, I'm not trying to tell you how to run your life, Whit. I'm just trying to give you some advice from someone who has been there and done that and just now, almost 10 years later, is finally speaking up. To you.

I love you sweetie. Stay strong.
Whit - age 25

Apparently I'm a Role Model - And I Don't Know Why!

When I wrote about my unflattering viral picture, I never expected an outpouring of support. I didn't expect people to write to me to tell me bits of their own story, and I certainly never expected to be branded a role model - but I was.

 I was told over and over again that I was inspiring and that people looked up to me for the way I accept my body and fought back against my cyberbullies.

To me, a role-model is someone who does BIG THINGS and changes the world. So maybe I'm not there yet, but I'm honored people think of me as such. I've stepped up my game to become the role model they think I am.

So I did the natural thing and wrote an article about it....You can read the entire thing here, at Salon.com.



We want to hear from you - who is your role model? What do you think makes a person a role model?

Caitlin Seida has been writing since 2006, with her work appearing on various websites including Livestrong.com, TypeF.com, Salon.com, Dogster.com and The Daily Puppy. A Jill-of-All-Trades, she splits her workday as a writer, humane society advocate and on-call vet tech. What little free time she has goes into pinup modeling, advocating for self-acceptance, knitting and trying to maintain her haunted house (really!). You can find her on Facebook, on Twitter, and of course here on I Feel Delicious!

The No-Neck Incident

By Amanda Flanigan

The other night, my husband and I went to a Halloween party thrown by his boss. This is the first Halloween party I have been to in over 10 years and it was fun to get out and mingle. It was an '80s theme and my husband went as He-Man and I as a Ghostbuster. There were about 20 to 25 people present and I only knew about 6 of them there. There was the usual chitchat, dancing, drinking, eating, picture taking and laughing.




As the hours went by, some of the guests began to depart for their comfy beds, leaving about 10 people (not including Mike and I) left. I decided to take a break from dancing and set down on the chair in the living room to drink some Dr. Pepper and cool down. I was joined by the host’s wife and three of her friends who all piled onto the couch to look at pictures they took with their digital camera. I was sitting only a few feet away.


I’m fat. This is something that I have dealt with since I was in the 5th grade and -- despite what people seem to think -- I know I am fat. I see myself in the mirror everyday and am not under any delusions as to my appearance. I am also not photogenic at all and have a horrible, horrible double chin.


Anyway, while the girls were going through the pictures they started giggling uncontrollably whispering (which wasn't so much as whispering because I could clearly here them), “Oh my god, she doesn't have a neck!” One of them ask who they were referring to and the other girls clearly motioned toward me while giggling. This conversation about me continued for several minutes while I sat only a few feet away hearing every word.


Now, I am the first person to make fun of myself and I try not to take myself too seriously. It has been a defense mechanism of mine for a very long time. I figured that if I made fun of myself first, it takes away the power from those who want to make comments maliciously to try to hurt me. And if they would have included me in the conversation, I would have laughed right along with them making comments about how I can turn into a thumb just by shifting my head downward. But no, these grown women, some with children of their own, decided that they would ignore me and then laugh about my no neck, double chin, fatness.


At 33 years of age, I still experience the mean girls. I honestly thought these types of incidents would end when I graduated high school. Never once did I think that other woman who themselves are overweight would ridicule me without even actually knowing me. At first, I was upset. How could I not be? I was so excited about going to this party and didn't think I would get made fun of. But as the night went on and we finally went home, I started to feel sorry for these women. What is missing in their lives that they would make fun of someone they just met based solely on a bad picture? That they would ignore that person even after her multiple attempts to befriend them.


I just hope that they themselves never experience the uncomfortable or ugliness that they showed toward me during that short exchange.




Manda began her writing career in 2007 writing for various online companies. She spends her time as a cat loving geek and mother to a teenager daughter. You can find more of her work at http://offwithherhead.org and of course here at I Feel Delicious!

Bonfire Night Goodies To Make And Eat

By Vyctoria Hart

It wasn't easy growing up goth in England in the '80s and '90s. We'd see all these American films, like E.T. and Hocus Pocus, that'd make Halloween look like so much fun. But when we dressed up and headed out we would be lucky to get an old piece of hard candy covered in fluff. More often we'd be ignored or sworn at by the neighbours. Halloween is a bigger industry here nowadays but it's really just an excuse for adults to get drunk one weekend near the day itself, it's still pretty rare to see trick'or'treaters on the streets.

Why this lack of interest in one of the most fun nights of the year? Well, it's very close to one of our own beloved holidays.

Remember, remember

The fifth of November, 

The Gunpowder treason and plot; 

I know of no reason 

Why the Gunpowder treason 

Should ever be forgot! 

    

If you're not from the UK or Commonwealth, then chances are that you're only familiar with Guy Fawkes Night from the Alan Moore graphic novel "V for Vendetta" or it's movie adaptation.

In 1605 a plot was uncovered in London to blow up the Houses of Parliament and the King. Guido Fawkes was found with the explosives and executed for the crime. Every year since the British have celebrated by burning effigies, letting off fireworks and stuffing themselves with tasty food.

Whilst the celebration is no longer enforced by law, events are now usually organised by local government bodies, making them safer and removing the political/religious elements that made the celebrations problematic in the past. Sadly this has also lead to the decline of some of the traditional homemade foods that used to make Guy Fawkes Night a special treat.

Since American traditions and flavours are becoming more common here (this was the first year we got Pumpkin Spice Lattes at the local Starbucks) I thought it might be nice to do a little cultural exchange and share with you some of the traditional flavours of Britain.

Sweet

Parkin

This a sticky spicy cake that's perfect with a hot mug of tea. It freezes well but can last up to two weeks in a tin (if you can resist it that long!).

85g black treacle/molasses

200g golden/corn syrup

200g butter or margarine

85g soft brown sugar

100g medium oatmeal

250g self raising flour

1 tbsp ginger

1 tsp nutmeg

2 tsp cinnamon

1 egg

4 tbsp milk

*Heat oven to 160 degrees C/320 degrees F Line a 9" square cake tin, or a large loaf tin, with baking parchment.

*Melt the treacle, syrup, butter and sugar together in a pan over a gentle heat until sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat.

*Mix together the oatmeal, flour and spices in a large bowl, then stir in the syrup mixture. Beat together the egg and milk and add to the mixture. 

*Pour the batter into the tin and bake for 50 mins to an hour, until the cake feels firm and crusty on top. A skewer pushed into the cake should come out clean.

*Lift out of tin and allow to cool in the parchment. This cake gets better if you wait a few days before eating.  

Bonfire toffee

Please note you will need a sugar thermometer for this recipe and it may not be suitable for young children to help make. You can follow the recipe below to make a sheet of toffee and break it into chunks, but here its traditional to pour the mixture into small foil cupcake cases and add a popsicle stick as it cools to make a bonfire toffee lollypop. 

450g dark brown sugar

125ml/4 fl oz hot water 

1/4 tsp cream of tartar

115g golden/corn syrup

115g black treacle/molasses

* line a 8"x12" tin with non-stick parchment, and grease well with oil.

*add sugar and water to a heavy bottom pan and allow sugar to dissolve over a gentle heat. DO NOT STIR, tip the pan if you need to move the mixture around.

*weigh out the rest of the ingredients into a well greased jug. Once the sugar is dissolved pour the rest of the ingredients into the pan and add the thermometer. Try to avoid stirring the mixture to much.

*bring to the boil and keep boiling until mixture reaches 140 degrees C/270 degrees F. DO NOT LEAVE THE STOVE UNATTENDED. Once this temperature is reached, turn off the heat and pour the mixture into your tin to cool. 

*once completely cool break up the toffee with a hammer or rolling pin. This is a lot less messy if you put it into a bag first!

Cinder toffee

Cinder toffee is also known as honeycomb, it's lighter and easier to chew that bonfire toffee, and it's lovely mixed into ice cream or yogurt. 

5 tbsp golden/corn syrup

200g caster/superfine sugar

2 tsp bicarbonate of soda (baking soda, here in the US)

*grease an 8" square tin with butter. 

*Mix together the syrup and sugar in a DEEP pan and stir over gentle heat until melted. Try to avoid bubbles forming before the sugar is completely dissolved.

*turn up the heat slightly and simmer for a short time until the mixture has become amber caramel. Remove immediately from the heat and beat in the bicarb with a wooden spoon. This will cause the mixture to foam, hence the need for a deep pan. Make sure there are no lumps of bicarb remaining and pour the mixture into the square tin. BEWARE THIS IS VERY HOT!

*leave to cool. The mixture will continue to bubble for sometime, this is normal. Try not the disturb the pan as this may knock out some of the air. 

*once cool, break into chunks, or crumble and store in a jar for use as a dessert topping.

Savoury

The UK is sadly not famous for its native cuisine. It's not that our food is bad, its generally that we're bad at naming food, so no one else wants to try it in the first place!

Toad-in-the-Hole

I guarantee this recipe is 100% toad free. Well, it is if you buy your sausages from a reputable supplier. This recipe is unlikely to work with hot dogs or frankenfurter type sausages, use breakfast sausages instead.

4 good quality sausages

The Batter (this is also known as Yorkshire pudding and is amazing on it's own as well.)

   4 tbsp plain flour

   1/2 tsp salt

   2 beaten eggs

   275ml milk

   2-3 tbsp vegetable oil or goose fat

*Sieve the flour and and salt into a large bowl. May a well in the middle of the dry ingredients and gradually add the beaten eggs. Whisk in the milk until the batter has the consistency of single cream. Leave to stand for at least an hour, 3-4 hours if you have time. 

*Preheat the oven to 220c/425f/gas 7. Fry the sausages until browned on the outside.

*Put the oil or fat into a large deep sided oven tin and put into the oven until smoking hot. Give the batter a good stir and then quickly pour into the tin. This will sizzle and spit a bit! Drop in the sausages (even spaced but away from the edges) and return the pan to the oven. 

*Bake for 30 minutes until mix has risen into a glorious golden dish shaped cloud (it's normal for the edges to rise more than the middle). Serve with thick gravy and winter vegetables.

Rarebit

This is a simple Welsh recipe for a tasty and quick warming snack. You can vary this a lot by adding precooked meat/fish, switching the mustard for another sauce, or by change the vegetables for tomato or spinach. This serves 8.

Sliced bread

200g grated/shredded cheese

1 beaten egg

2 chopped scallions/spring onions

1 tsp Dijon mustard

*toast the bread under a grill until golden on one side. 

* Mix the remaining ingredients and spread over the untoasted side of the bread.

*return to the grill until cheese is bubbly and golden. Serve immediately. 

Baked potatoes

If you're being authentic and having a bonfire, the baked potatoes are a great post-fire snack to warm you up and soak up any booze you might have indulged in (please not play with fireworks whilst inebriated!).

*poke holes in your potatoes with a fork all over, smear with butter and wrap in two layers of tinfoil. 

*bury them in the embers of the bonfire and they should be ready in about an hour. 

*serve with baked beans and shredded/grated cheese.

Mum and Cat Mum Vyctoria Hart is based in the Yorkshire in the North of England, Vyctoria specializes in steampunk, science fiction and alternative illustration. She has provided images for a number of novels and paper-based roleplay games, as well as designing fabrics, t-shirts and greetings cards. You can find her work at Phantoms-Siren.com You can also check out some of her work on RedBubble, Folksy, DeviantArt and Spoonflower. And of course, you can read her words here at I Feel Delicious!

Playing In the Boys Playground: My Life as a Pro-Gamer

By Poisyn LaRue

Back in the late '80s, I was an only child. My parents did not live together. I lived with my mother, my aunt, an older (male, yes this matters) cousin and my maternal grandmother most of the time and would spend weekends with my paternal grandmother so I could spend time with my father. My weekends at my father's were what started my love of video games. He had an original Nintendo system with Duck Hunt. I'd play that for hours.

I still remember getting a Gameboy for Christmas and thinking it was the coolest thing ever. Later I got a Super Nintendo, Playstation 2, Gameboy Color and Xbox 360. For graduation, I bought myself a Nintendo DSlite. Now I'm saving up for a purple 3DS. But my console history isn't the point of this article. The point is how it FEELS to be a pro gamer who happens to have a vagina.


Most people who know me know I'm VERY passionate about my gaming. For the past seven years, I have been a pro-gamer on the Xbox 360. I started out in the PMS/H20 Clan. PMS was an all girls clan (H20 was their 'brother' clan) where a girl could (supposedly) game without harassment. I joined as a member of their Rhythm division (Rock Band 1&2 Expert Vocals/ Bassist). When the division became casual, due to lack of members, I moved on to Left4Dead 1&2. I quickly worked my way through the ranks, becoming a Practice Captain and eventually the Captain of "Team Omega", an MLG (Major League Gaming) Pro team.

 After being with the clan for nearly two years, I left due to a conflict of believes between myself and my superiors and the way things were run within the clan. After leaving the PMS/H20 clan, I was a 'free agent' on Battlefield Bad Company, Bad Company 2 and Battlefield 3. I bounced around until I was approached by a member of the eSaC (Elite Silent Assassins Clan). He had seen me play Battlefield 3 and was impressed and asked me to join him in Call of Duty: Black Ops 2. I had despised Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, but I decided to give it a shot.

Tucked what I thought was safely behind my [eSaC] add on, I began my uphill onslaught into this strange new world. Players here were different. The men (a few woman, outside of PMS), I had encountered in my previous "careers" as a gamer had always been very well spoken. Most were my age. A majority of the people I play Battlefield with were my parent's age or even older. Now I was running into nine year old boys who were up at midnight on a school night and cursed like sailors. I pretty much ignored it, pushing along and learning the ropes. I received the acolyte of "One Shot, One Kill" as a sniper (100 headshots with 100 bullets), even though I still prefer being a "run and gun" type with a LSAT or T25. I'm a Sergeant of Squad 1, Captain of the (fledgling) Female Division and the Military Liaison directly to the General. If six people (the standard squad size) with the [eSaC] enter a room, sometimes the room empties out. We're good. And we are recognized as good.
But sometimes I'm playing alone. The [eSaC] does not "protect" me then. At those times, I am just a girl in a sea of testosterone. Normally I'll mute everyone, but not before the steams of "I'm gonna rape you" or "Get back in the kitchen" start. I have had people send me messages about how they are going to find out where I live and come "put me in my place". Which according to them is either in the kitchen or on my knees. They get more mad when go positive (having a kill/death ration greater than 1). They automatically assume I have an aimbot (which assists you in aiming down the sights of a gun) or are hacking (manipulation of the game in a way to make a person harder/impossible to hit, earn scorestreaks faster, or have unlimited ammo). I've been told to "give my boyfriend back his headset" since there was no WAY a girl just head shot that guy across the map. If you can think of an insult, I have been on the receiving end of it.

I guess I could just ignore it, but why should I have to? Why is it necessary to berate me simply because I am female? On that token, how can the assume I am female. Because of my gamer tag? Because my voice is a higher octave then those around me (although I have been called a twelve year old boy who needed to 'get his tip wet' before he tried to play with the big boys. I went 24 and 0 on that round. I think I 'got my tip wet').

It is only a game, right? Well, no, it is not 'just a game'. MLG holds tournaments where hundreds of thousands (and sometimes millions) of dollars are at stake. I can understand how that would make people more competitive, but why does it have to make them downright rude? Why is it so hard for gamers to have the same standards as, say, sports players? When was the last time you went to a high school sports game and heard the players yelling at each other what they were going to do to whose mother and telling the cheerleaders to go back in the kitchen. I don't think it is something I have EVER experienced, and I went to a lot of games in high school (not truly by choice, I was in school band and on color guard). Maybe it is about time to accept that I am playing hardball with people who seem to be unable to respect me simply because I am a girl.

No. I do not think I am going to accept that. Instead I am going to keep kicking ass and taking names. I will just keep falling into lobbies and dominating all those there. I will stick with my team, working our way up the ladders of MLG until we are 'famous'. Call of Duty: Ghosts drops next week, hell yeah I am getting it. And I will kick ass at that too!

Visit the [eSaC] at www.esassassins.com (now recruiting (especially my fellow bad ass women!)


Madame Poisyn LaRue is a self-described "square peg in a round hole." She has an Associates of Science in Visual Communications and is pursuing her Associate of the Arts in Theater with a minor in Music. Although she's at home on the stage, she's just as comfortable under the hood of a Chevy, covered in oil and grease but still wearing 5" heels. You can follow the Madame on Facebook or at her website and of course, here on I Feel Delicious! 

Putting Your Mustache to Good Use: An Interview with Miss Movember, Jeanette Martin

By Caitlin Seida

Jeanette Martin, used with permission

The human body is a weird thing - sometimes we're given features we really would rather not have. Some women regularly pluck stray hairs from our bodies. But too many "cysters" (women with PCOS) know the pain that comes of being cursed with the ability to grow a lush beard or mustache that would be the envy of many a man. Not every woman with PCOS has unwanted facial hair, but for those that do it can be embarrassing, sometimes to the point of making it hard to leave the house without being on the verge of tears.

One cyster is standing up and kicking ass and using what Mother Nature gave her for the power of good. Jeanette Wilson-Martin, 32, of Bremerton, WA is doing exactly that. Last year Jeanette committed to growing out her facial hair for Movember, a movement that encourages men to grow out their facial hair in the month of November to raise funds and awareness for prostate and testicular cancer and other men's health issues. And she's doing it again this year.

" I heard about Movember on our local radio station the put out a call for any woman who would be willing to grow a mustache for Movember," she says. She reached out to them and joined their team. "A few weeks earlier my (now) husband was watching football, and I noticed all the pink for breast cancer awareness...I figured if they can wear pink I can wear my mustache!"

Jeanette's struggle with polycystic ovarian syndrome is a story that rings true for many cysters. Jeanette tells us "I was 22 when I was finally diagnosed with PCOS, but my symptoms started showing at 16 along with puberty." Since symptoms are different for every woman, she elaborated and explained some of the other issues she has to contend with on a daily basis: "I have the facial hair and excessive body hair, weight gain, and depression, I have fertility issues. I have been borderline diabetic." She says she's been lucky with the borderline diabetes, but managed to develop gestational diabetes when pregnant with her daughter.

And her daughter - so lucky to have a mom who is unafraid to be who she is and show her beautiful

Jeanette Martin and her daughter, used with permission.

face to the world, is something of a miracle. As with many PCOS women, the fertility issues experienced made it hard for Jeanette to bring her vivacious and wonderful daughter into the world. "My daughter was my 7th pregnancy, and the only one to make it past 6 months along." My heart broke for Jeanette when she told me this - pregnancy loss is never easy, and can really do a number on your life when you have a diagnosis that basically says your body will do all sorts of things that aren't "textbook normal" - it's frustrating to no end when your body does not behave the way it's supposed to.

"I was on over 100 days of bed rest and had to go to UW in Seattle to have her, I went into labor 3 times with my daughter, and the final time, she was 5 and a half weeks early. I was life flighted from Bremerton to have her in Seattle." Like mother like daughter, Jeanette's little girl was a fighter from the start. "The two times I went into labor before this, they gave me steroids to strengthen her lungs and get her ready if they couldn't stop my labor, so when she came we were prepared for the worst and got the best anyone could have expected. She was 4 lbs 7 oz, 17.5 inches long, and was very close to perfectly healthy, she had a few issues keeping her body heat, and eating, but we only stayed 4 days in the hospital and i was able to bring her home."

For women with PCOS who have fertility issues, Jeanette's story is a beacon of hope. Many women with PCOS, especially those who are diagnosed later in life or don't have access to proper medical care but want a family, have an incredibly hard time starting one.
Speaking of access to medical care, I asked Jeanette what her doctors were doing to help her. Many of the symptoms of polycystic ovarian syndrome are invisible - the cysts, the insulin resistance, the depression, but those that are visible like the weight gain around the middle and the hair problems are the only indicator to the world that there's a problem. Treatment of PCOS usually consists of working with different medications to correct the insulin resistance and mediate the hormonal imbalance that causes the signs and symptoms of the syndrome.

"I am uninsured at the moment and have not seen a doctor since shortly after my daughter was born," says Jeanette, a story that is again all-too-familiar to many American women.  "When I did have a regular doctor, they put me on metformin (Glucophage) and (hormonal) birth control." Like PCOS, which is not a one-size-fits-all disorder, the standard course of treatment did not work for Jeanette. "The metformin made my sugars drop and scared me because I am not diabetic, and the birth control did not help the facial hair as they thought it would." Again, a frustration that many cysters know firsthand. It can take a long time to find the right combination of things to mitigate the symptoms of the disorder.  

As for her now iconic mustache, I asked Jeanette if she'd ever tried to get rid of it. She says: "I have had every treatment for my hair that I can think of: laser, electrolysis, waxing, and now I just shave every day." True to the I Feel Delicious motto, Jeanette doesn't let her facial hair stop her from trying to feel and look her best.

"I like to play up the features I like about myself, I do crazy colors and bold eyes," she says of her beauty routine. "I try to dress for my body type, and not the body type I wish I had, and be comfortable." She offers this advice for other PCOS sufferers with the same problem:  "You gotta work with what you have; find your strengths, and highlight those."

She doesn't just try her best to look good, but also feel good. "I am not really a fitness kinda person," Jeanette says. But as new moms know, we get a lot of physical activity whether we want to or not. " I guess my favorite exercise is running after my two year old!" And with a firecracker like Jeanette for a mom, I'm sure that keeps her busy 24 hours a day!  

"I do try to eat a home cooked balanced dinner every night." Jeanette tells us, making me wish I could ask for an invite to dinner because my cooking skills are horrid and I admire her dedication to making sure her family gets proper nutrition. We're all only human though, and Jeanette confesses that she, her husband and daughter eat out once a month. No harm in having a treat now and then, and Jeanette says it's mostly when they're on the go and away from home. I hate the fact that Jeanette feels the need to justify a meal out, but sadly many PCOS sufferers do feel a need to explain their dietary choices, even though it is nobody's business but their own and their doctors'.

Jeanette at the Movember gala, used with permission

Becoming Miss Movember hasn't been the easiest thing in the world and Jeanette faced her own share of cyberbullies when she first participated in 2012. "On a few websites some of the comments did get pretty mean, but every time I was about to defend myself I would see many post from others defending me, and saying how brave I was, it seemed for every negative there was a lot more positive," she tells us. Maybe there's a little faith in humanity, because unlike my own story, Jeanette mentions "I even had some (people) apologize for their remarks, and they took the time to read about PCOS, and they learned a little."
The participants in Movember made Jeanette feel welcome though - despite the fact that she's not the gender of the typical participant. "When I was nominated for Miss Movember, I had to get on stage and next to some fairly thin, very pretty girls, but I did it, and the crowd roared for me, and accepted me for me, it was the most awesome feeling."

And as for her family's thoughts on her growing out her mustache for a good cause? "My husband

Jeanette and her husband, used with permission.

was super supportive. He did Movember with me last year and now this year too, but tries to get everyone to donate and see my page, and encourages me to keep going when
it gets a little long, and the stares start coming."

Although last year was only the first year Jeanette participated in Movember, she's doing it again this year (2013) and says she plans to do continue doing so. "I have said I will keep growing my Mustache out until I reach $1000, in a single Movember." After that? "I will still participate just not grow."

Despite garnering some overwhelming attention from both the press and the public at large, Jeanette says it's been a pretty positive experience. "Last year at the Seattle gala I won Miss Movember, and became the first woman to ever win Man of Movember," a pretty big achievement! In today's society of pink ribbons and breast cancer support, it's not uncommon to hear of men sporting pink apparel or "Save the TaTas" t-shirts, championing for what is typically considered a "woman's disease" (despite breast cancer's insidious ability to affect anyone, regardless of gender.)  But rarely do you hear of a woman becoming a figurehead for men's health and testicular and prostate cancer - possibly because the causes don't get nearly as much attention as breast cancer or possibly because women just don't think it's of their concern.  

I would not hesitate to call Jeanette a role model, and she would be someone I would be very proud to have my own daughter of a similar age look to for inspiration. When asked what she would like to tell her daughter, Jeanette says: "Every person is beautiful, and different, and to embrace your uniqueness. I was given a curse, and for many years, I hated my facial hair, and would walk around with my head down hoping no one would notice, but then I heard opportunity knocking and a chance to use this as a gift and make my negative into a positive."

"So many people said I was brave, but really I was more afraid than I was willing to show, and if it helps just one person to look and the mirror and see something different then what everyone has told them to see, it was and is worth it." I think Jeanette has more than accomplished her goal - from those who apologized for their cyber harassment to those who took the time to learn a little more about PCOS to those who have donated to her Movember campaign, she's making a BIG difference in the world. And for all the girls and women ashamed of their facial hair, Jeanette is showing that you can still be beautiful, even with your mustache. This strong and, yes, courageous woman is beautiful both inside AND out.
You can donate to Jeanette's campaign to raise funds for Movember here at her "MoSpace" page. Let's see if we can try to help her reach her $1,000 goal! Caitlin Seida has been writing since 2006, with her work appearing on various websites including Livestrong.com, TypeF.com, Salon.com, Dogster.com and The Daily Puppy. A Jill-of-All-Trades, she splits her workday as a writer, humane society advocate and on-call vet tech. What little free time she has goes into pinup modeling, advocating for self-acceptance, knitting and trying to maintain her haunted house (really!). You can find her on Facebook, on Twitter, and of course here on I Feel Delicious!