Fun

Today I wasted 4 hours online, eventually buying, for no good reason, an awesome vintage hat.Hats used to look ridiculous on me, but since my hair is shorter now, that somehow makes up for my oddly shaped head.

Sometimes I think I was born at the wrong time. Wearing hats and gloves makes it easy to be ladylike. Maybe I'll have to start a revolution.

But Where Are the 3 Bears?

Work was interesting.

One of the little boys I was teaching abruptly stopped me in mid-sentence, turned to his mother with wide eyes and announced: "She's Goldilocks!"

As the lesson went on, he interjected at various points with "I'm helping Goldilocks!" and "Mom, look, Goldilocks is showing me!"

I am a brunette, but I do like porridge.

Maybe it was my curls?

I have become grumpy

in my old age.

I found a hold on my account this morning. I owe the University too much money to register for the next semester's classes.

But the Pell Grants for poor slobs haven't been distributed yet. And the special loans reserved for people working their way through school haven't been certified. I qualify for both of these, which should bring my bill down to zero.

Scandal. Injustice. It's Just Plain Wrong.

So I printed out my account information and stomped up to Student Accounts and yelled in an un-raised voice ... (which is an art.)

I got them to take off most of the fees. We'll see about the rest. Or rather, they'll see. They'll all see, I'll show them, etc.

Betsy's Chair: An Extended Metaphor

Ahh, Middle East history. Today the professor announced that I was a Palestinian fellan, or peasant woman:

"Betsy sits in her chair, working. Her chair is really owned by an absentee land lord, some rich Palestinian with a large collection of chairs.

Eventually, the Jewish National Fund comes along and starts advertising really high prices to buy chairs. The absentee land lord sees he can make a lot of money, so he sells.

Now the Jewish National Fund is going to come and kick Betsy out of her chair so it can be settled by Jews in perpetuity.

Betsy is now chairless and wandering aimlessly about, unable to feed herself and getting involved in radical politics."

What followed was a 45 minute debate about Israel, Palestine, and the right to return, among other things. Except instead of using the words "Peasant woman" and "land," the class used "Betsy" and "Betsy's chair."

So, every 2 minute someone in the room was calling my name. I almost got whiplash from turning around so many times.

This reminds me of high school history, when Mr. Yanko used me as a metaphor for the English textile industry's "putting out" system. (This was supposed to be funny, because I had a reputation for being pure as driven snow.)

I briefly considered a sexual harassment law suit.

Three Good Things

1. I just got back from a profession at the Georgetown Visitation. Sr. Mary Roberta's final profession. It was BEAUTIFUL. The Sisters take solmen vows, which differ from simple perpetual vows in a number of ways ...

Anyway, it really was lovely. My favorite part of anything is the Litany of the Saints. I entertain myself on these rainy days making my own litanies for different intentions. What a dork.

2. There was a delicious lunch afterwards. I sat next to a Benedicitine priest from St. Anselms. I like talking to older people. There is just something definitely "legit" about them.

3. A beef type of thing is currently cooking in my crock pot. It smells soooo good.

Geesh all I think about is food.

It's Threshing Season

When all the professors get out their giant scythes and start hacking off heads in the student population. Mucho grandes reading, middterms and papers are coming due these next three weeks, so posting may be spotty.

One thing I needs must mention is the canonisation of St. Jeanne Jugan in Rome, last weekend. She is the foundress of the Little Sisters of the Poor, and a patrones of the elderly.

May The Same Be Done For Me

This morning I went to a funeral. I did not personally know the deceased. He was a homeless man who often attended the 6:30 am daily Mass at St. Stephen the Martyr. Peter was his name. He died, fairly young, from complications of diabetes.

It was a sad thing that he died alone, on the streets. But that was not because he was unloved: there were a fair number of people who came to bury him today. Although none of them were his blood relations. The priest explained that there was no name, no number left to call, and Peter's family, if he had any, is most likely unaware that he has died.

If one day they do find out, hopefully it will give them some comfort to know that Peter had friends, and that the parish he was a part of in life took care of him in death.

It is a comfort to me.

The Truth About Sex

My bible study group was discussing last week's Mass readings, specifically the parts that had to do with marriage. Somebody asked: what about sex?

And I'm glad I was paying attention, because I learned something new: Sex is sacramental. No kidding. When a couple exchanges vows before the altar, they form a marriage bond. But that bond isn't made permanent until it is consummated in sexual intercourse.

In other words ... everytime people come together as husband and wife, they are making a sacramental act, communicating sacramental grace to one another. Wow, huh?

This means that sex is holy, which means we shouldn't crack jokes about it. Not because those jokes are "dirty," but because sex is sacred, and making fun of sacred stuff is not cool.

This is why sex outside of marriage is not okay.

This is also why playing "baseball" (1st, 2nd, 3rd base) is not okay.

Because any act that is "sexual" (eg., passionate kissing, or whatever,) holds within its design a marriage vow.

In other words, your body is making a promise. And if you're not married when your body makes that promise, then you are, in fact, a liar.

My Brothers, The Cool People

I was thinking recently: I wish I was more like my brother. Either one, really.

The older younger one is a Marine. He has rippling muscles and loves animals. He rides a freaking motorcycle. If he had a cologne line (he wouldn't actually, he's too cool, but pretend for a minute that he did) it'd be called "Essence of Cool."

The younger younger one has huge brains. Like, for real. He's a literal genius. And he plays saxophone. And he plays base guitar. In a rock band. (Cool enough for you yet, ladies?) Plus, he has this deadly sense of humor. And his initials (AOK) spell ay-oh-kay.

So now the question becomes: how did these two super-cool, blond, blue-eyed people wind up in a family of dark haired squares?

Hmmm.

I am jealous of all you people out there who are friends with my brothers and get to hang out with them all the time. I know that you do so in the hope that some small sliver of their Ultimate Coolness will one day rub off on you.

I wish this for myself, but my hope is in vain: as a dork and evil sister, I am Generally Not Associated With.