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Saturday, November 20, 2004

mars needs women

The principal of deacon skool told me something interesting today - out of 2-3,000 deacons in the Episcopal church, around 150 of them are under 40. Is it possible that maybe the church isn't doing a great job of identifying and supporting young deacons? Just a thought.

Today's earworm: the phrase communion of the saints maps really nicely onto the Duran Duran song The Union of the Snake.

My dad took me and a friend to see Duran Duran on that tour. Of course, I didn't want anyone to think that I had 'parents' since I was really a cool 12-year-old with her own apartment and car and robot maid, so I made him get a seat two rows behind us. Which was pretty shitty and self-absorbed, but he went along with it, and spent most of the show in the back of Cobo Hall, talking the security guy out of a pair of earplugs. If anyone ever asked me to point to a time when my dad loved me even though I was being pretty unloveable, I think that would count.

I've heard that now there are parent holding pens at shows with high levels of pre-teen fandom, which is a kindness. I'm still looking at major Crap-Pop Karmic Payback at some point in my life.
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Friday, November 19, 2004

kitty update

The Clydelet is fine. She went to the dr. this morning (oh the pathetic noises of the kitty in the carrier!), and she just has some kind of annoying feline head cold, but no infection or anything. Yay! We took her to a new vet, and Dennis said that they were very nice and that Clyde didn't get hostile the way she used to with the old vet (and Dennis didn't either - I never met the old vet, but I guess she was kind of prickly). Clyde needs to go in for shots and bloodwork as soon as she is done sneezing. She's getting up there in years (she's 11 or so), and they just want to give her a workup to make sure everything is operating according to spec.
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Thursday, November 18, 2004

disappointed!

I so wanted this to be real.

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hi mom

So, the problem with having your mom read your blog is that if you don't post for a couple of days, she gets worried.

I'm fine, mom.

I've also become obsessed with elves. The weird ones with the plastic heads and folding legs that we had all around our tree back in the 70s. Of course, in my stupid 20s, I told my mom that she could get rid of them when they sold their house. Ach! Stupid!

So, now I'm looking at them on ebay and planning to do a little thrift store shopping, because I've decided that the key to having a good Christmas is a metric buttload of elves. Or something. I have ten little elf heads already, to reproduce the wreath from the cover of Merry Kitschmas. Be afaid.

There was one Christmas when our cat, EB, was going through a weird post-fixing phase where she thought that the elves were kittens, and she carried them around the house and hid them in various places. I don't think this will be an issue for Clyde.

Clyde has been a big ball of sneezing this week, so tomorrow morning we're loading her into the Carrier of Doom and taking her to see VetMan. I'm hoping she just has something minor; her eyes are clear and her appetite and energy level have been reasonably good up until today. Dennis thought she was getting a bit sluggish and not attacking her tuna with her usual enthusiasm, so it's off to the stainless steel table for her.

I'm all over the place emotionally this week. Like a ferret. Over here! Over there! Still dealing with losing my grandmother, and tomorrow I'm taking the fairy godchild and her mom and her cat to the airport so they can go to their new life in Montana (dad and the dog are already there, trying to figure out where we packed certain essential pieces of the desk), which will mean that they're really actually leaving. Also, I have skool this weekend, so I'm stomping down the ol' fear response there. I've gotten some papers written, at least, but there will be groveling. The thing that rocks, though, is Dennis. Dennis is a rocking thing. He's been so good to me this week.
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Monday, November 15, 2004

all over the place

A collection of random and disjointed paragraphs.

I'm back from my retreat. It was good, although I spent a good chunk of it in my room, getting caught up on my skool reading and journaling and working on papers in bursts which lasted as long as my laptop battery held out. My room didn't have a grounded plug, so when the battery died, I had leave the laptop in the ladies' room, which had modern plugs, to recharge.

I'm still processing my grandmother's death, and fighting off these weird ideas I'm having, that my grief is inappropriate. I don't know where that is coming from. Maybe it's the sense of relief that we're all feeling that is making me feel guilty. Her last months were pretty awful, for her and for everyone around her. Mostly I'm thinking of her as the rabid golfer who would take very young me out to the drugstore to sit in a booth and eat chocolate donuts and would listen to all my babbling with great interest. She had some kind of fever when she was young which made her hair turn pure white, and she used to wear it pulled back in a ponytail with a scarf. I remember that my cousin and I would go through her drawers when she wasn't around, and we were always really intimidated by her Serious Bras, which seemed so architectural.

My official favorite book right now is Merry Kitschmas, which I actually bought to give to Ryan for Christmas, but I think I'm going to give it to her early for the clever fruitcake packaging ideas and the entirely questionable drink recipes. Because, see, I have to show it to her NOW. From the description:

Rejoice in the gaudiest gifts of the season with Merry Kitschmas, a glorious inspirational guide for Santa's hapless and hopeless little helpers. Sure to awaken fond memories of a tackier, spanglier time, the dazzling decorating ideas in these pages put the ho ho ho (or the oh, oh, oh) back into the holidays. Send tastebuds tripping on a sentimental journey with the delicious Yes You Can! straight-from-the-can-to-the-table Kitschmas feast. Dee-licious! Save a tree, and set the house aglow with a glittering aluminum White Trash Christmas Tree. And finally bring those nagging carolers that Frigging Figgy Pudding they've been yapping on about for decades. Merry Kitschmas provides a sleighful of holiday inspiration for anyone itching to craft with fruitcake, frolic in a tree skirt, and wow the neighbors with a spectacular lawn lighting fantasia. So, don you now your gay apparel -- it's beginning to look a lot like Kitschmas!
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