Dirty Catholic

Meeting People

At Molleen's wedding and at my sister's engagement party, I had the distinct honor of meeting people who asked, "Are you Dirty Catholic?"

It's an interesting experience to meet someone for the first time who already knows, say, that you are maybe infertile and have a dart board in your backyard. But it does clear up the awkward "What do you do for a living?" conversation.

But to all of you, Hey! Hi there! It was nice to meet you.

Molleen, the recently married, just created a Facebook group, "I Read Dirty Catholic". So I signed up for Facebook, (I'm surprisingly low-tech for a blogger) and holy fuck, all these people I know (and who don't know the DC of me) showed up in the finding friends section. It's kind of a little bit freaky.

The upside is that I got to see photos of other long-time readers and damn, you people are cute!

Anyhoo, go join the group, if you want to. I will look forward to lurking about in it.

For My Family

(Seen first here)

My Kind of Motherhood

My Godson's birthday is coming up and before buying him an abnoxious but awesome present, I called my sister to inquire if perhaps I might drive her batshit crazy if I proceeded with my plan.

She called back and left me the following message:

"Sure! Get the gloves!. He'll probably love them. And if things get out of control we'll just put it in the garage. And by "it" I mean him. We'll just put him in the garage, not the gloves."

 

Engaging

My sister is engaged!          Wee-Hoo!

(and not to the guy in the background)

I know you think she is showing off her ring, but in fact she's just hiding her one abnormally large ear.

It's the shameful family secret. She'd be "the pretty one" if it weren't for that freakishly huge ear.

But the beautiful ring does a great job of distracting from it, no?

Comps Pointers

This morning my youngest sister begins her comprehensive exams for the Master of Divinity degree. Having completed these exams myself at the same institution a mere 5 years ago, I feel uniquely qualified to offer some advice.

First, some helpful maxims to remember:

1. Everything is sacramental. Wow your professors by making anything a sacrament, a means of communicating God's love. The Prophets? sacraments! The Ethical teachings? sacraments! Comps...well those are more like purgatory. But just be sure to use the lower-case "s." Otherwise, they'll fail you.

2. It's all about relationship. It's a hippie post-Vatican-II world. All the shit you spent the last 3 years learning is only valuable in so much as it helps bring others into a better relationship with God and the world. If you're stuck on a question just begin, "Well, really, isn't it all about relationship?"

3. Use the words or phrases "hermeneutic," "multivalent," "in ministerial practice," and "historical context" at least once in every answer.

4. Finally, while the MSU (make-shit-up) IM (It's-a-mystery) Rules have been generally helpful in writing term papers, they are not as helpful in the Comps. Professors like to think they've equipped you with the correct response for everything, so avoid them in this one case, though Lord knows, we in the field rely on them rather heavily.

Now some thoughts from other sources:

As Suz, the Magis editor, so cleverly put it, "COMPS is actually and acronym for Cool, Obligatory exaMination you're guaranteed to PasS."

And this guy offers helpful pointers on what not to do during the Oral Comps.

Alright. Everyone think calming thoughts to my sister for the next few days, even though I know she'll do great. It's like I always say, she does everything her older sisters do, but she does it better.

Biker Girls

Reserving any self-effacing commentary about my home town and its quaint media enterprises, I will simply point you in the direction of my 3-year-old nieces who stormed the local bicycle races. Ms. Maya won the race, and not surprisingly, Ms. Madeline charmed the cameraman.

Oh, sorry. Forgot about that bit.

What? I have a blog?

And when one has a blog they are supposed to post?

Regularly?

Oh Crap.

At the request of my sister-in-law, who needs something to distract her from obsessively peeing on sticks, I will get back to work.

Here's a recap of what I failed to blog about in the last week or so:

Banished from the house for Girl's Night, Mr. Man came home and reported that he had spent the night parked around the corner, reading in the car. My sister later reported that she bumped into him at the movies.

My other sister-in-law got engaged to a lovely and charming man, whose series of nervous phone calls preceding the engagement shattered my image of him as the most non-plussed person on the planet. Thank God. Maybe now they will finally get that set of canisters. The only concern I have is that they are both so smart, their offspring might become the anti-Christ. That, or Bill Gates.

Mr. Man unknowingly set off our burglar alarm and, assuming the worst, ran through the house in his red silk boxers brandishing a kitchen knife while yelling, "The police are coming!" Yes darling, they are. They're coming to take you away.

My boss, who I used to think talked about the spirituality of sexuality slightly more than I was comfortable with, has been mightily surpassed. This week another co-worker mentioned "The Vagina of the Goddess" four times in the span of five minutes. When I later complained of a headache, the same co-worker asked me if it was "that time of the month." No, dude. Sometimes, things are completely unrelated to vaginas.

Mr. Man is currently out of town, attending his uncle's funeral. I felt guilty for not going, even though he told me I didn't need to. After his family picked him up from the airport, the car they were using broke down and I got a harried phone call asking for help.  As we talked, our conversation was interrupted ten times and featured the background noise of people simultaneously yelling contradictory instructions at each other. As I hung up, my guilt evaporated into a prayer of gratitude. But now that I admit it, I'm probably going to hell.

Get Knocked Up? Check.

Breathe. I am not talking about me.

My beloved sister-in-law and her husband are getting knocked up at precisely 11am tomorrow morning.

(My other sister-in-law pointed out that in most instances I could not make this assertion without sounding like I have a creepy familiarity with their sex life, but in this instance there is scientific assistance so I can sound a little less creepy. Just a little.)

Anyhoo, if you could send fertility prayers and good thoughts their way, I'd be most appreciative.

If you care to read her blog on the subject, you can find it here. Please bear in mind, however, that they are not Catholic, so don't get all Donum Vitae on them, okay? 

(Not that I expect that sort of behavior from the regular readers, I just worry about the occasional explorers who see "Dirty Catholic" and CANNOT RESIST clicking on a link that they already know will infuriate them. To these readers, I say, "Self-control is a virtue.")

Have a blessed and fertile weekend, my friends.

(Unless, of course, you already have 46 kids, in which case I wish you a blessed and infertile weekend. Your choice.)

And next time I see you, I promise to use less asides.

(And by that, I mean less parenthetical statements, but I'm sure you already knew that.)

Conversations with a Three-Year-Old, or Thanksgiving is for Sharing

"Mmmm, Maya, that looks yummy!"

"It IS yummy!"

"Can I have a bite?"

"...uhm"

"Just a little bite?"

(Fake Coughing) "Sorry, Auntie, I'm sick."

A little bit later, pointing with her tiny index finger,

"Ohh! You have lots of money, Auntie!"

"Yes, we're playing with it."

"Did you know that I LOVE money?"

Retardedment Party

Today on the drive to my parents' home we listened to the beginning of the novel Everything Is Illuminated, which is partially narrated by an English translator of dubious skill.  The translator repeatedly refers to his retired grandfather as being retarded, confusing the words.

After dinner, my father announced that today he cleared out his desk, returned his laptop, and is officially beginning his retirement.  He looked at me with bewilderment when I burst out, "You must be so glad to finally be retarded!"