Dirty Catholic

Peacemaking Excercise

In my lenten prayer group, we were instructed to write a "love letter" to someone we were having problems with. I could have written to the usual suspects, but seriously? I am so over it. So instead, I decided to write it to some skunks.

Dear Skunk-Bastards,

Remember when... you ate 2 of my baby chickens? (I'm not sure how to relate that without "blame" and still "speak my truth," Sorry.) 

I feel... Really pissed off! because... you bit off their heads and sucked out the blood, leaving me headless, dead chickens.

I know that my part in this is... not keeping my chickens in a hermetically sealed box at night and I am sorry that...I didn't know you could dig under 2 coops and fit through 3 x 3 inch spaces.

Although it it difficult, what I embrace as valuable and worth keeping is... the desire to get rid of every friggin' skunk in the neighborhood.

What I hope for is... an urban-skunk-free existence from now on!

Love,

DC

As a post-script, the peace-making exercise didn't work so well for me. Despite opposing the death penalty for people, I apparently have no such qualms for urban chicken-eating skunks. We caught and removed 4 skunks in the last 10 days. Bastards.

For Inquiring Minds

Dear Readers who have been wondering about Dirty Catholic's two month silence,

It was sometime around the last post that I showed up to a staff meeting and when asked, "How are you?" I very professionally began to sob uncontrollably.

Sometimes I'm not so good at figuring out when I'm over-extended.

Apparently I thought the equation Full-time job + part time church job + Christmas Pageant director + Nanny + Posting Daily = Totally Fine, when in fact it actually equaled "Out of my freaking mind," but live and learn.  Next time I'll hire an accountant to schedule my calendar.

Since my inappropriate crying session, I've adjusted a few things in my life. The biggest adjustment was quitting my corporate-ish job, the place where Jesus doesn't work. I was turning down great opportunities at the church just to have enough time get my office job done, and I was doing both jobs poorly. Plus, it didn't help that the office job recently hired someone who liked to end his emails with the endearing phrase, "This is an order!" As you might imagine, I don't respond well to orders. So I hired two replacements (the first one quit after one day) and now I am free.

And then I gave up television for Lent.

So now it's just you, me and Typepad all alone for the rest of Lent. Unless, of course, you gave up the internet for Lent in which case, get off the internet, you cheater! (You can catch up in Easter.)

See you soon,

DC

PS- Are you happy now, Stella? ;)

Well, at least I think I'm funny

Remember how we failed the Foccus test?  Well, we met a nice lady who helped us out with that, and now, lo these two years later, we're setting up a couples group just for upkeep and emotional health and stuff.

Yesterday I sent out an email to our other friends, the ones we don't know us quite as well as our nearest-and-dearest , inquiring if they would like to join the group (the nearest-and-dearest are either already in the couples group or I know them well enough to know not to ask them).

It's a touchy thing, inviting people you don't know so well to come to marital counseling, but luckily I have the tact and natural grace of a hippopotamus, and while writing, I cracked myself up. I hope the recipients got my humor. But if they didn't they probably wouldn't do well in the group anyway. Anyway, for your reading pleasure, and hell, if you want to join the group, here's the letter:

Hi Friends-

So... Mr. Man and I have recently set up an on-going couple's group with the infamous Anna Marie (of "Wow, you guys scored so low on your compatibility test that you'll have to see Anna Marie before we let you get married" fame).

We already have 4 other couples joining us and we have room for one more couple. So we thought of you (all). Not in a "Wow, those people really need help" way, but more of a "Those people are cool and fun and might, possibly be interested because they're.... married?" way.

So, anyhoo, here are the details:

Anna Marie and her husband, Chuck, specialize in something called "Imago" therapy. (Here's a website: http://www.gettingtheloveyouwant.com/) It's really just communication skills for couples, though I've found a lot of the stuff to be helpful in my line of work... You know, listening to someone until they're done speaking before you start to think of all reasons that they are WRONG, that sort of thing. Also, the infamous "mirroring" technique:

"When you leave your crap on the floor, it makes me want to rip out my eyeballs."
"So when I leave my stuff on the floor it makes you angry?"
"No, it makes me want to RIP OUT MY EYEBALLS!"

We're meeting out our house once a month from 3:30-5pm on Sunday afternoons.  If we're feeling wild, we could have some socializing time before or afterward (e.g., heavy drinking), but we can figure that out at the first meeting. The cost per couple is somewhere between $30 and $40 per session, which is CHEAP compared to individual sessions, but expensive if you have a perfect marriage and don't need any help. (Like us, but we're just givers, what can I say?)

Anyway, it's entirely possible that this "improving your marriage" thing isn't your bag, but if you're kinda/maybe/sorta interested, I'd be glad to answer any questions that you might have.

Let me know if you are interested and even if you're not, let's hang out in a non-therapeutic setting, soon, okay?

Blessings,

DC (& Mr. Man)

Games with God

So, I know you're busy with world peace and all, but could you please heal my chicken?

I know there are tons of kids with cancer who's parents are also praying, but if you have time, could you throw some efficacious-God-healing-power toward...my chicken?

I know it's your will and all, but really, how is a backyard chicken's living or dying going to disrupt your grand plan? So why not let her live?

Did you get that? Sick chicken? Needs help? Thanks.





ps- Thanks for the help with the chicken. Now can you help her fly?

Fancy Feathers

Dear Featherless Tall Thing That Feeds Us,

Up until now, you've been quite good at suppling us with tasty items to eat. Unfortunately, recently you've become a little lax. Hopefully you will find this clarification letter helpful in regard to our preferences.

First of all, were huge fans of the McCann's Steel-Cut Irish Oats. Lately it seems that you are trying to give us Quaker's Quick-Oats instead. Seriously? You don't even eat that stuff, unless it is in oatmeal cookies. We'd probably like it in cookies, too. But until you have time to bake us a batch, please bring back the good stuff.

Secondly, Frisee. We love frisee. We love it even more when you hold it and let us pull it our of your hand. Spinach, romaine, and whatever other stuff you've been tossing to us from the bottom of the salad spinner simply will not do. We realize you may think it's expensive, but what's $3.00 a head when we'll be giving you free eggs for life? We want the frisee, and remember: hold it for us. Would you like to eat off the ground?

Also, what is that on your plate that you are eating right now? We want it. Please stop moving around. You are making it hard for us to eat your dinner.

Sincerely,

The Chickens

Marry Me?

Dear Natural Home Cleaning Professionals,

I love you. Will you marry me?

This is how it works, isn't it? We get married so that you'll stay forever and never go away?  Pay no attention to the fact that I am already married and that I am, technically, proposing a plural marriage with your whole staff. Those are just silly details. I am in love.

You are very professional, efficient, and friendly. In 2 short hours, you've turned my shabby, chicken-shat-upon house into a sweet-smelling, dust-free utopia of cleanliness.

You don't try to kill me with toxins,  using only natural and crazy-chemical free products.

You accept me for who I am, and don't mind that I work in the backyard and keep chickens in my office.

Even my husband is happy with you, though he's never met you. He's very picky about justice, health care, and quality of life issues, and you are too!

In short, you are amazing. If you don't want to marry me, I'll understand. But let's at least work out some sort of long-term relationship. Now that we've met, I don't think I could live without you.

With deepest affection,

DC

Showing Up Early

Dear Third Week of Easter,

What the hell? Where did you come from? Aren't you, like, two weeks early or something?

I think you should re-check your invitation. It's a bit rude to show up this early.

I could use the extra two weeks to get things finished up.

I'm not saying "don't come," just, "not yet."

Okay?

You'll come back, right? In two weeks?

Great. See you then.

Sincerely,

DC

Mundane, but Miraculous

Dear St. Anthony,

Dude. You Rock. When I realized that I couldn't find the master list of all the First Communion crap, I was like, "I am screwed." And not just regularly screwed, but an all-caps-excessive-punctuation SCREWED!!!!

I kept waking up last night, realizing the gravity of the situation and praying to you, "Please help me find the list!" And then you were all, "Chica, you're in bed. You are supposed to be sleeping. Now is not the time for this."

So fine. I waited until I got into the office, gave you the official St. Anthony shout-out ("St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come around, something is lost that needs to be found,") and Sha-Zam! There was the list.

You Rock. Thank you for Rocking. I'm not sure how you got stuck finding things for the disorganized and scattered people around the world- but on behalf of all of us, Thank You.

Your #1 Fan,

DC

ps- You'll probably notice that I categorized this under "Letters to the Annoying."  You are not annoying, but losing the list was. You are awesome.

Not My Heroes

Dear Co-Worker in the Vineyard,

I am sorry about your termination.  I am not that sorry, though, since you've had your foot out the door since last fall. Based on all the job interviews you've been telling me about since then, I'm sure you'll find something new very quickly.

In the meantime, could you please turn down the volume on the "Heroes" marathon that you've been watching in our shared office? Your termination has probably left you feeling like you've got nothing left to lose, but believe me, if you push me past the breaking point with all the dramatic music and soap-opera quality dialog, you will discover that you still have quite a lot to lose. (Your fingers, toes, and the ability to walk are a few items that come to mind.)

And even though I, Ms.Blogs-At-Work, am not one to judge how you spend your work day, I would appreciate if you'd show a little decorum about your slacking. At least give the appearance that you are doing something valuable.  The popcorn-and-soda, feet-on-the-desk routine is a little much. I am tempted to schedule a surprise meeting with our mutual boss just to get you to put your shoes back on. That, and to watch you scramble to look productive as he walks in.

Yours in (the-very-angry-throwing-things-in-the-temple) Christ,

DC

The Armpit of the Body of Christ

Dear Jesus,

Please save me from your followers.

Especially the ones who take the Book of Revelations literally and want me to take 3 hours out to my day to let them convince me that they are right. You know, they're the same ones who read the Left Behind series as if were a work of non-fiction. 

And save me from your followers who write lengthy books, plays, and music that they want me to read and get published for them. Because, you know, I have "connections".

And save me from the people who want to start huge projects like day-care centers and interfaith organization but really, they just want to name them and let me do all the work.

And save me from the ones who add my work email to their religious themed chain-email list and forward me pictures of Fabio Jesus and inspirational messages that threaten my damnation if I don't perpetuate the theological torture on others.

And save me from the ones who are always talking about rules but never about prayer.

And finally, save me from the bingo players.

Yours in...You,

Dirty Catholic