MMMMM. Sleep.

We have D-Money duty this Thanksgiving. I just went over to her house to give her a tummy rub, run in circles (carefully avoiding the bad-vibes of the invisible fence) and put her to bed. When I finally let her into her house, she ran to her bed, ran circles on her bed and then settled into a fetal-esque position.

I think D-Money may love her bed almost as much as I love mine. Almost.

** Photo is D-Money as a puppy. Cutest dog ever.

Three Hail Mary's and a whole lot of Lost Faith

A couple of years ago, before my parents mercifully divorced, my sister caught my mother stealing beautiful flowers off of a lovely shrub in bloom near a head stone in a nearby cemetery.** Now, I pick and choose my battles with my crazy maternal DNA source, but this was beyond anything that I could tolerate under the 'she is just a walking contradiction' coping mechanism I've developed over the years. When she walked in the door to our home, I inquired, bluntly: "Did you or did you NOT steal flowers from someone's grave?"

She responded with, "You are so angry. You have an anger problem."

"No, I'm not angry. I'm more shocked that you would do that. But you haven't answered my original question. Did you or did you not steal from a GRAVEYARD???"

And while still holding the flowers in question, she countered with, "I pray for you. I will pray for your anger problem."

And that was the moment. It was THEN that I went from being someone who had 'grown up Catholic' to being a 'recovering Catholic'. The idea that actions did not matter, that a set of beads and a few minutes spent confessing without having to even LOOK THE PRIEST IN THE EYE was more important than how one lives her life pushed me OVER THE EDGE.

I've always had a difficult relationship with the religion of my childhood- their staunch views on women and gays run completely counter to that which I have faith is The Truth. The commitment to service, creed of kindness to others and love of humanity, however, are all things that I can get on board with. Throughout my adult life, I've considered returning to the church many times; Life's Lows have made me crave a sense of community and spiritual connectedness that the services offer. Recent moves by the Catholic Church have pushed me back in the direction of seeking spiritual alternatives.

Rather than focusing on the needs of the working poor and individuals needing to know they are worthy of love, the Pope and his faithful are focused upon welcoming Anglicans that can't handle the church's new open-arms policy towards all people, regardless of their sexuality or gender. Why are Catholics so damn afraid of us women? We really are quite great if you get to know us. Congressman Patrick Kennedy, still reeling from the very public loss of his esteemed father, is being raked over the alter coals for his political stance on women's health and abortion rights. There are SO many more important battles that the church could and should pick- health disparities among the poor and reforms that could boldly ameliorate them- but they choose anger and disparagement.

We young, progressive types want community as much as conservative, old-school types (some may call them misogynist homophobes, but I do really love some of these types so I'll refrain from big generalizations-- for now). The Catholic Church, however, is not a comfortable place for us to go-regardless of how fantastic the Jesuit strain of Catholicism may be.

Flying Spaghetti Monster it is.

**If you'd like to hear this story in full, buy me a couple of glasses of wine and something carby- it's on.

Literary Genius: For Real

Akira, my svelte Philly friend, so kindly commented on my last post inquiring whether I had, indeed, read the Palin tome or simply passed judgement without a perusal. The answer is, clearly: NO, I did not read it. More importantly, I did not spend any of my precious recession dollars on it. In my defense, however, I would guess that Sarah Palin has also not yet read it. It's on her list, though, just like 'all of the newspapers' that she told Katie Couric she reads.

A book that I am reading, however, was a recent airport purchase. Needing a bit of consoling from my entrance into the dating world at a relatively late age and lack of immediate success (not sure why all the fabulous single men out there have not picked up on my recent 'available' vibe...) I dove into the wonderful world of Self Help books. The brilliant section that boasts Chicken Soup for the Soul and informs me that Men are From Mars and Women are from Venus offered me the latest gem in the 'single women are from the planet clueless' genre: How to Love like a Hot Chick.

This book, ladies and gents, may just change my life. It tells me what I should do to believe that love is in my future and then totally calls me out on the bad, low-self-esteem (LSE) messages that immediately follow and tells me to snap out of it and take risks anyway. It is like a little paperback best friend.

I love the lovely self help section.

Standard Sarah

Sarah Palin didn't leave the spot light for too long. Going Rogue is out and for those of you who haven't heard--it's just behind Fitzgerald's seminal Gatsby as the greatest American book of all time. I put it in the same category as the lush world of Daisey, Gatsby and Nick as it is based in an historical context, but in reality is completely fictional. In honor of the fast-approaching holiday season, I've composed a little jingle...

On the first day of Christmas the world through Palin's eyes gave to me:

A book reframing history.

On the second day of Christmas Sarah Palin gave to me:

Two Piper's piping.

On the third day of Christmas Sarah Barracuda gave to me:

Three doting Fox Newscasters.

On the fourth day of Christmas the Maverick gave to me:

Four lame excuses for exiting her Governorship midterm.

On the fifth day of Christmas Gov. Palin gave to me:

FIVE GOLDEN RINGS! (Why mess with the best line in the song, right?)

On the sixth day of Christmas Mdme. Tea Party gave to me:

Six failed GOP candidates with radically right platforms. (finger's crossed for the midterms next year)

On the seventh day of Christmas Ms. Wasilla gave to me:

Seven first dudes a-snowboarding

On the eighth day of Christmas Tripp's grandma gave to me:

Eight lost civil liberties in the name of family values

On the ninth day of Christmas Levi's number one fan gave to me:

Nine complete political contradictions.

On the tenth day of Christmas the moose hunter gave to me:

Ten giant steps backwards for women in politics.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the second-hand fashionista gave to me:

Eleven spectacular views of Russia from her back yard.

On the twelfth day of Christmas NOT our VP gave to me:

Twelve disparaging comments about us who are not as "Ordinary American" as she.

And a book that reframes history.

Wah. wah. wah.

This past week I've been in the kind of mood that leads one to burrow under the bed-covers and watch ridiculous amounts of Bravo. In short: I've not wanted to face the world. Between my oft-lovely but recently prone to swearing at random inanimate objects office mate and the lack of men falling head over heels in love with me (and/or wanting to go on more than 2 consecutive dates with me), I've been struggling.

To lift me out of my glumness today, I've made note of that for which I am grateful. That is, after all, what Oprah says to do during times like these. While making a temporary office escape disguised as an accompaniment of a friend to a lunch joint, I stood in line behind a highly-functioning blind man. His ability to ask for help when he needs it, rely on other senses for guidance and trust in the good spirit of man floored me. Clearly, I have no idea of this man's history, political affiliation or if he gives good hugs- but his ability to persevere is pretty humbling and awesome.

And then, 2 hours later, after the system in which we must balance our budget failed for the nth time today, my boss said: At least we are not starving children in Africa. At least we don't have to do work with a stone and chisel. The unnecessary martyrdom brought me right back down from my Functioning-Blind-Man-High.

Perhaps if I had a rock star seeing eye dog (or any dog, really) I could de-funk.

Tweet Tweet

And she's back.

Sorry for the hiatus to all of you who have been gently nudging me back on to this literary masterpiece (Yeah I'm looking at YOU sister superlative, Uncle r-b and my svelte fashionable Philly friend). It is a vicious cycle: I don't write because I lack inspiration and then I lack inspiration because I don't write. I'm coming off of a week when my credit card information was stolen, then I lost my wallet and then my cell phone went off to recycled cell-phone land (the Manifest Destiny of naughty cell phones that refuse to engage in outgoing calls). I need some sort of grounding in that which can be mine. So I'm back.

Items that I am planning on discussing in upcoming posts include, but are not limited to:

- Sarah Palin's new book. I do wonder what vacuous ghost-writer she engaged to push this baby out while she was still on minute 14.5 of her fame.

- China, and why they currently own us.

- My recent foray into on-line dating and the explosion of insecurity that has followed.

- The impending half-marathon in Philadelphia

- Frustrations with slow walkers on side walks

- and much, much more!

Breaking news of today: I joined twitter.

Following my standard pattern discovering technological trends slightly after a typical 9-year-old has mastered them, I started stalking the tweets of others in hopes of some entertainment, information and critical distractions from the ongoing budgetary nightmare that is Fiscal Year 2010. The professional, intelligent side of me would like to say that she started tweeting to get up-to-the-minute updates on Senate proceedings on health care reform or insight into the mind of the day's great thinkers. But the reality side of me would call that professional, intelligent side of me out on a lie.

I joined to follow LC from the Hills.

Yep. I heard she's funny and I am sickly drawn to the fake-real hills crew (It may be a prolonged attachment to Laguna Beach, of which I own Seasons 1&2 if you would like to borrow). She is funny. Not as funny as John Mayer or Sarah Silverman, whom I also follow, but funny nonetheless. Others that I follow, in no particular order: Rollcall, Joe and Mika and Willie, The Economist, Huffington Post, Karl Rove, Larry David, Al Gore, George Stephanopoulos, Jack Welsh and Ann Curry. So I guess my nerd, political side is well satiated there, but I intend to add Kristin Cavallari soon. Perhaps even today.