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Category Archives: religion

Johnny has three oranges. Susie has two apples. How long will Susie burn in hell for being a temptress?

I have never been to Louisiana, but I’ve always wanted to go. Not for stupid Mardi Gras reasons – I think crowds of that magnitude and bead-throwing and all those drunk people would make me insane and nervous – but because it seems like it might be kind of a magical place. I’ve read a lot of books about it, and watched a lot of movies and documentaries, and I love the architecture and the water and the food and the accents and the hometown pride and mystery. It’s one of the top places I want to bon vivant, someday.

I mean, look how pretty this is!

Don’t you think I would have the best time bon vivanting here? Yes. It’s all gothic and moody and haunted-looking. Plus: beignets!

They’re like fried dough, WHENEVER YOU WANT THEM!

And, gumbo!

ALL THE SPICINESS! And seafood! Nom!

Anyway, someday I will go to New Orleans (but not during Mardi Gras, because drunk tourists are not my thing, yo) and will do ALL the bon vivanting. And eating of delicious spicy foods.

Anyway, in the past couple of days, I found a couple of very worrisome Louisiana articles online that made me nervous about my magical bon-vivanting state. What’s going on, Louisiana? You’re making me worried.

Apparently, Louisiana recently passed a law allowing charter schools. Charter schools are schools that are not public schools, but kids can still go to them and get an education. And they still get public funding. We have them here in New York. Some people hate them and think they’re the end of the world as we know it and some people think they’re the best things ever. I don’t know anything about them because I don’t have children. There are a lot of people who think the public school system in this country is broken and this is a good fix. I can’t find any sort of comprehensive list of what states are best or worst with public schools or charter schools so I can put all the statistics on you, unfortunately. Because I really like statistics. Apparently, Louisiana’s public school system is very bad. Like, over half of the schools are failing some sort of rating system of public schools. So, that’s kind of sad. No one likes that.

Anyway, I’m totally not here to pass judgement on charter schools. Maybe they work for some people, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t have kids. And I’m not sending Dumbcat to school. He’d hate that. He’d be very nervous around all those other cats and hide in the arts and crafts closet all day long and get paint on his fur, it’d be terrible for him. Poor fella.

ZOMG cat school! This would be the best charter school ever!

But I read an article that at least 19 0f these Louisiana charter schools are going to be using the “Bob Jones University Press” textbooks to teach their students. They can do that, I guess. They’re allowed to use whatever books they want. Which seems weird, but whatever. What is the Bob Jones University Press? Well, remember we talked about the Creation Museum? It’s like the Creation Museum threw up all over a textbook, which is then used to teach our students. I’d link you to their site, but I don’t wanna, and it’s my damn blog. I’ll just let you know that the masthead on the website says “Christ-centered resources for education, edification, and evangelism.” They even use God to teach Algebra. From their new Algebra textbook series: “Biblical truths and principles are taught through Dominion Modeling exercises that illustrate how mathematics is used to serve others and glorify God.” Math is used to serve others and glorify God! Oh, my. Just, oh, my. They have books for every grade from kindergarten to college (even college! how handy!) and also have some excellent music glorifying God. Because other music is filled with sinfulness, of course. Especially showtunes. They’re ultra-sinful. Which is why I love them.

This excellent article found some important things that will be taught to the young, malleable minds of Louisiana, using the teachings of good old Bob Jones (who I’d never heard of, but apparently, he was some sort of loud tent-preacher who founded a university where you can learn…um…I guess to be a loud tent-preacher? I don’t know, and he died in the 60s. He also said that to oppose segregation was to oppose the will of God. So he was a racist fella, too, which is always nice.)

This photo looks like it would be next to “milquetoast” in the dictionary. I would think a racist religious shouter would have crazier eyes.

So, want to see what some of the youth of Louisiana will be learning at these 19 charter schools?

  • Dinosaurs and humans lived on the earth at the same time, because God created the animals and men all in the same week, THE BIBLE SAYS SO DAMMIT
  • Most slaveholders were kind and slaves loved being owned by them. They’ve gotten a bad rap in history.
  • The KKK isn’t in existence for racial reasons. It’s there for education, religion, and reform. Again, it’s gotten a bad rap.
  • The Great Depression never happened, and The Grapes of Wrathwas a lying piece of propaganda.

    LIES LIES PROPAGANDA LIES

  • Even though slaves “loved being owned”, the texts say that allowing abortion is akin to “allowing men to own slaves.” So…um…babies love being aborted? I am confused by your logic. Sorry! “Logic.”
  • Satan’s latest trick is Communism, and it is how he will hurl all of us into eternal hellfire. Yes, these books were written recently, not in the 50s.
  • Mark Twain and Emily Dickinson don’t show enough respect for authoreteh so they won’t be taught. Sorry, kiddos. No “Hope is the thing with feathers” for you.

    Dickinson, you anti-authority hussy!

  • What do homosexuals, rapists, and pedophiles have in common? They should all be given the same rights.
  • Environmentalists want to destroy the global economy. (I don’t know, either.)
  • World unification is the first step to the rapture, the Four Horsemen, and probably plagues of locusts. LOCUSTS!

    Locusts, you guys. Effing LOCUSTS!

I – um.

These things are going to be taught to our kids in school, you guys.

Now, listen. I know about Catholic school. In Catholic school (as far as I understand, anyway) you have regular classes, and then you have a SEPARATE religion class. And I think you go to daily mass. Someone can correct me if I misunderstand how this works, but I’m pretty sure you don’t get your religion all smish-smashed into your history class or your English class or your math class all “you got chocolate in my peanut butter YOU GOT PEANUT BUTTER IN MY CHOCOLATE” style.

*gasp* Snack foods in my OTHER snack foods ZOMG!

(Or do you? Yell at me if I’m wrong. I went to a heatheny public school. NO RELIGION WAS ALLOWED. Except, well, hell, 99.9% of us were Catholic and went to church together anyway, so it might as well have been a Catholic school. It was a small town.)

It’s one thing to teach religion in school. It’s quite another to teach a., blatant misrepresentations of the truth, and b., hate.

Kids have these little malleable brain-areas. You tell them something, and if they love you and trust you? They TOTALLY believe you. For example: when I was a wee one, I asked my dad, “What are those things?”

You’ve seen these things, right? They’re orange balls on the power lines.

My dad said, “Basketballs.” He was obviously kidding. (They’re safety markers or safety balls, and they’re mostly used to alert planes of power lines. One site I checked says they also alert birds to the wires.) But yeah, to a 4-year-old, they kind of look like basketballs.

Now, whenever I see these things, even though I know damn well what they are, the very first thing that crosses my mind, EVERY SINGLE TIME? “Basketballs.”

Now, that’s a minor thing. I can think for myself. I did the research, and I know damn well they’re not basketballs and he was kidding. (And it’s not like he told me something dangerous, offensive, racist, or hateful.) But it proves a point. I went about three years thinking that, somehow, for some reason, someone had put basketballs on the power lines.

If I thought such a thing, you can be damn sure these kids hearing, day in and day out, that slavery was a good thing, the KKK is a community service organization, and that gay people are the same as rapist pedophiles, from adults in authority that the know and trust, are going to believe it. You have to be CAREFUL what you tell kids! They believe EVERYTHING! I’m so cautious what I say to The Nephew, because if I’m not careful about my sarcasm (which pops out all unbeknownst-to-me all the time like a ghost in the closet) he’s going to believe something I say in jest one of these days, and then say it to some kid at daycare, and get mocked, and how terrible would I feel? The MOST terrible, is how terrible, sheesh!

Are they going to continue to believe it? Well, not all of them. I was brought up a Republican Catholic, and…well…I’m not either of those things now. Some people are able to think for themselves once they grow up (or even while it’s happening – some of us are really, really authority-challenging and stubborn.) I was lucky enough to go to just the right college and meet just the right group of people once I graduated who very gently explained that maybe there were more things out there than what I’d been shown, growing up. But there are some people – people I know – who believe that what they were taught, growing up, is how it is. Who just accept what they’re taught as fact and that’s the way it is and swallow the status quo like a delicious bon bon. That’s what worries me. That we’re producing generations and generations of kids with the wrong information, who are being taught to hate. And there’s nothing we can do about it, you know?

Look at this face. Do you really want to teach this little face to hate? Really?

Then I read a little about the governor of Louisiana, Bobby Jindal, who apparently, at one point, was one of the front-runners for ol’ Mitt’s VP nod. I find that hard to believe. Here, I’ll show you why.

OK, quick, why wouldn’t Mitt choose him for VP? He’s not a white guy with a stick up his ass, of course. Don’t be absurd.

Anyway, so this is Bobby Jindal, the governor of Louisiana. This article seems to not only prove he was at one point batshit crazy, but apparently is still quite proud of it.

Apparently in college, Jindal’s female friend – NOT HIS GIRLFRIEND! Christians can’t have girlfriends! They get MARRIED if they want to be romantic! Sheesh, come on! – was possessed by a demon? So he and his friends locked her in a dorm room and forced her to submit to an exorcism. Even though she didn’t want it and the campus preacher, when approached by it, was all, “NOPE. No exorcisms, guys, come on.”

THE POWER OF COLLEGE COMPELS YOU!

Selected quotes from Jindal himself, who is quite proud of his work shunning Satan:

“…whether by plan or coincidence, Susan chose the perfect opportunity to attempt an escape. She suddenly leapt up and ran for the door, despite the many hands holding her down.”

(I feel kind of terrible for Susan. Also, the article says she was being treated for cancer at the time. I’m wondering how much of her “demon possession” wasn’t just “she was exhausted from chemo and radiation and possibly not as cheerful as Jindal and Co. might have liked from fellow Soldiers of Christ.” Also, “many hands holding her down?” I’d have bitten, scratched, kicked, whatever it took. I don’t take well to being restrained. No no no Charlie.)

“Running out of options, UCF had turned to a rival campus Christian group for spiritual tactics. The preacher had denied our request for assistance and recommended that we not confront the demon; his suggestion was a little late. I still wonder if the good preacher was too settled to be roused from bed, or if this supposed expert doubted his own ability to confront whatever harassed Susan.”

(Ooh, Jindal’s totally casting aspersions on this guy and calling him lazy. Also, a “rival” group? Heh. They’re totally all Sharks and Jets over there. The other preacher – and Susan – are the only two sane people in this narrative.)

When you’re an exorcist, you’re an exorcist all the way…

“At first, Susan responded to biblical passages with curses and profanities. Mixed in with her vile attacks were short and desperate pleas for help.”

(Please let me explain what Susan was saying. “Fucking let me GO, you fucking insane LOONIES! SOMEONE HELP ME I’M LOCKED IN MY DORM ROOM WITH THE GOD SQUAD!” Curses/profanities/pleas for help. You’re welcome.)

OK, we all did crazy shit in college. Well, that’s a broad generalization. *I* did crazy shit in college. Maybe you behaved yourself, I don’t know. Most people I know did crazy shit in college. Most of it I have no qualms talking about now. In a self-deprecating tone, like a “college, you know? What can you do?” way. THIS GUY IS STILL PROUD HE PERFORMED A BACK-ALLEY EXORCISM.

Um. This is worrisome. Totally worrisome. Also, it kind of explains why he’s not doing anything to stop these God-schools from operating (although it doesn’t really look like he could, probably – if it’s an “approved” curriculum, and it seems pretty much anything passes THAT hurdle, they can get the funding and they can teach the material.)

Louisiana! You are a state of many exciting things like delicious foods and haunted hotels and many species of tree frogs and parishes and bayous and laissez-ing the bon temps rouler! WHAT IS GOING ON? Please stop it. You’re making me worried. I may have to choose to bon vivant elsewhere someday when I am a very famous bon vivanter and that would just make me sad, because as of right now, I’m afraid if I stepped foot in your state, I’d be met by a crowd of creepy blonde children, led by your governor, and I’d be fed to an alligator or something. *shudder*

WE BELIEVE WHAT WE ARE TAUGHT IN SCHOOL FOREVER

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Adam, the goodliest man of men since born his sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve; oh, and a stegosaurus.

Is it science day? Yes, it seems to be. How lucky for our Science Fellow! And how lucky we HAVE a Science Fellow on days like this! 

Now, I come across many sciency articles in my day-to-day, and then I HOARD them. Like a CHIPMUNK. Not in my cheeks, that’d be crazy. You can’t save a website in your cheek. It’d get all soggy and shit. No, I have a FILE for them. It is labeled “stuff.” I know, descriptive, right? It’s where I keep…well…my stuff. And I realized today, look at all this sciency stuff! Let’s talk about our sciency stuff. 

Today, we have UFOs, Jesus dinosaurs, cake, and strippers. Um, Amy, you are saying. These don’t sound overly sciency. Are you sure they are sciency? YES I AM SHUSH YOU. 

What do you want first? Strippers? OK, fine, I’ll give in to your need for strippers first. I’m down with that. 

According to this article, if you are a stripper, you need to plan your work shifts around when you’re ovulating, because strippers make a metric shit-ton more tips when they’re ovulating as opposed to when they’re not. 

Is that not mind-boggling? 

Here’s a breakdown of how much women made, tip-wise, according to this one study, based on their time of the month. 

  • Women menstruating: $35 (I’m guessing this is because the women wanted to stab their customers because of the cramping, and who wants to give a tip to a stripper who’s all bloated and stabby?)
  • Women anytime between menstruation and ovulation: $50
  • Women ovulating: $70 

Now, women on the pill averaged $37 an hour overall, as opposed to women not on the pill, who averaged $53 an hour overall. 

Apparently, according to SCIENCE, when you are ovulating, you experience “changes in body odor, waist-to-hip ratio, and facial features.” Also, you dance on the pole more seductively. Huh. Really? Mostly when I’m ovulating I get weird shooting pains, and I’m all “oh crap in like two weeks THAT shit’s going to happen again EFF ME BEING A LADY-PERSON IS SO EXHAUSTING” so I’m cranky. But I’m always cranky, it’s not like that’s a new occurrence or anything. So, wait, does that mean I’m broken? How come my ovulation milkshake doesn’t bring all the boys to the yard? Why do I have a broken ovulator? 

Now, to be fair, according to Jezebel, real-life strippers did this study themselves and found out it was WRONG. (Also the scientists studied ONE CLUB over TWO MONTHS. Bad scientists. BAD!)

Anyway, so, fellas, the next time you’re at a strip club, remember, the stripper you find the most appealing probably really isn’t; she’s possibly just totally fertile, so if you end up letting her climb your pole, use protection or you might find yourself a daddy all of a sudden, you deadbeat. (Also, be nice to strippers if you go to a strip club because they work really hard and the one time I went to a strip club they were SO SO NICE and totally let us use their secret bathroom since there were no ladies’ rooms in the strip club and we got to see their dressing rooms and it was like being backstage of a theater except the costumes were scanty and the makeup was pasties and glitter.) 

Much nicer than you’d think! Also, willing to share their bathroom, aw!

What do you want next. Jesus dinosaurs? OK, good. Andreas, I can hear you now shaking your head about how NOT SCIENCY this is. There is totally a scientific basis to everything I’m discussing today. I stand by that 100%. 

In Kentucky (slogan: “Unbridled Spirit,” which is nowhere NEAR as good as their original slogans, “It’s That Friendly” and “Where Education Pays” – I’m totally serious about these), there is a museum called The Creation Museum. In The Creation Museum, you learn important things. One of which is that Adam and Eve hung out with velociraptors. 

Here are Adam and Eve. In the background: DINOSAURS.

Apparently everyone knew about this place but me (and it was in the movie Religulous, which I really have got to get my hands on at some point, you people need to start reminding me of these things), because there are a LOT of awesome photos of it on the intertubes. But this museum is about dinosaurs, and also the BIBLE. And it tells you how God created dinosaurs on the same day he created all the other animals, and the dinosaurs lived in the Garden of Eden with Adam and Eve and tra-la-la everyone was so cheery. I guess until one of the T. Rexes ate Eve and then Adam had to commit the sin of Onan, or maybe have sex with a goat or something. Oh, also it says dinosaurs were on Noah’s Ark. Man, that ark must have had much chaos what with the chompery on the less-angry species, right? 

I am writing this at work, and I can’t click on the website for The Creation Museum because it’s blocked. Due to “religion.” I AM SO OFFENDED WORK. I am having to research this using a combination of people’s reviews, Wikipedia, and random other sites. It is not optimal. 

Apparently, the point of this museum is to “equip Christians to better evangelize the lost.” Hee! “The lost.” HELP WHERE AM I. Or maybe Sawyer and Jack and Kate! Oh, and in case you’re wandering around the museum and you’re like, “Dude! I AM ONE OF THE LOST!”, “To help the museum’s mission to evangelize, a chaplain is on staff for visitors in need of spiritual guidance.” HELPFUL. Also, to work there you have to sign a statement that you hate the gays and you believe that Adam and Eve hung out with velociraptors and that Noah’s Ark really happened and everything in the Bible was real, I’m assuming up to and including Balaam’s talking donkey. Oh, OH, also, all African-Americans are the “cursed offspring of Ham.” That’s a new one on me. That’s a thing? Good grief, like there’s not ENOUGH racism in the world. Also, apparently if they know you’re there to mock it and you’re sciency, they make you sign something that you won’t mock it while you’re in there, or say anything like “THIS IS QUACKERY BULLSHIT.” (I highly recommend you click on that link in the last sentence. It is intelligent and wonderfully written and hilarious. I very much would have liked to visit the museum with this guy. “I do not think I like these people.” Indeed.) 

Also, apparently the museum, in order to explain WHY T. Rex wouldn’t have just chomped the shit out of Adam and Eve, decided to say T. Rex was a vegetarian. You know, because that’s what you do when science doesn’t fit what you’re trying to explain with the Bible. ZOMG is Andreas’s head exploding right now, I can hear it across the WORLD exploding. (Also, Andreas, to add insult to injury? The dinosaurs are even made wrong. Their skin is wrong, their bone structure is wrong, they stand wrong, and because the museum people don’t like that some dinosaurs had feathers because it doesn’t fit into the Biblical timeline they’ve made up, they took off the feathers. Love it? Thought so.) 

ZOMG also DRAGONS you guys. DRAGONS!!!1!!

A full-sized replica of Noah’s Ark that you can take an adventure on will be unveiled in 2014. It is called ARK ENCOUNTER. Man I hope that part of ARK ENCOUNTER is that you get eaten by a velociraptor. Unless those are vegetarians, now, too. I’m not sure if all the dinosaurs are vegetarians in this version of the past or not. 

Listen, I can’t be the only person who wants to go to this museum to mock it so bad right now, right? Thing is, it’s doing REALLY WELL. And I can only imagine those of us going there to mock it make up, like, half of the clientele. Which means the other half? ARE PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT ADAM AND EVE RODE TRICERITOPS LIKE TINY PONIES. 

All saddled up and ready for ridin’.

Sometimes I despair, I really do. 

Let’s talk about something less stabbity and more delicious. Cake. Mmmm, cake. 

According to this article, the reason we’re all fat and eating all the HoHos is because the economy sucks. 

Yummmmm.

Apparently, in our brain, we’re like, eff this, the world’s going to hell in a handbasket, LIVE FOR TODAY I WILL EAT ALLLLL THE PUDDING, and then we do and we all get diabetes. 

Apparently, what you’re supposed to do in order to make better food choices is calm the hell down and think about the long-term and not about the short-term and blah blah bliddedy blah did someone say cake earlier? I think they did. 

Listen, I have no idea if the science backs this up. It seems to, whatever. The sheer fact of the matter is, cake and potato chips and pizza and food that is bad for us is DELICIOUS. Things that are less delicious? A healthy garden salad, or a bowl of Wheaties with skim milk. We are intelligent. We KNOW the latter is better for us than the former. But we ALSO know that MAN that cake is full of delicious noms. Is it a live-for-today thing? Maybe. But also it’s a “my tastebuds are happier when I have me some buttercream frosting, yo” thing. Do with that what you will, science-types. 

Finally? UFOs. 

Apparently there’s a show coming out about UFOs, so the people making the show did a survey, and 36% of Americans believe in UFOs. 1 in 10 people who responded think they’ve SEEN a UFO. 77% of respondents believe there are signs that aliens have visited earth at one point or another (yet the article doesn’t tell us what these signs are. I’m guessing The Creation Museum.) And 65% of respondents think that Obama would handle an Independence-Day-style invasion better than Romney. (I agree. All that spaceship-wind would muss the HELL out of Romney’s perfectly-styled politician-coif.) 

…watch the hair, aliens. THE HAIR.

Also, there are a LOT of people who believe in conspiracy theories like my Dad does, because 79% of people think the government is hiding evidence of aliens and 55% think the Men in Black really exist. 

Um. Well, here’s my theory on aliens, if you care. I think it’s really short-sighted to think we’re the only intelligent form of life that exists. So do I think there’s something else out there? Yeah, probably. Somewhere. Do I think they’ve been here? Don’t know. Probably not. We’d know if they had, wouldn’t we? Probably? I guess if they came a long time ago, maybe not. But if they came now, I don’t know how it could be kept a secret. Not with cell phone videos and YouTube and everything. I mean, secrets aren’t kept that well anymore, not in the age of the internet. 

I’ve never seen anything I can’t explain that might be a spaceship. I know someone who has, but I promised that person I’d never mention it to anyone so I won’t. But that person seemed really, really serious when telling me about it, and I believe that person truly believes that what was seen was of alien origin.  

48% of respondents, by the way, said they “weren’t sure” whether or not they believed in UFOs. That’s the majority of respondents. I’m in the majority on this one. 

There you go! More scienciness than you can shake a sciency stick at! Isn’t science day the best?  

I’m going to go check the backyard and see if there are any T. Rexes or maybe velociraptors hanging out outside and then maybe I can RIDE them. Huzzah! 

Oh. Shit. Guess I’m not riding one of these. (Hee! This is totally going to take a nip out of this guy’s suity butt.)


I don’t get my rabble-rousing tendencies from the neighbors, folks.

So it’s have-an-adventure-at-the-tea-place day, and it’s also get all my shopping done so I can finally mail Ken’s winning package of win to him day, and ALSO it is try to do some writing day and maybe also a little loafing, but only a little because there’s not all the time for loafing, only a little time for loafing. NO REST FOR THE WICKED! Or the very busy blogger. NO REST FOR THE VERY BUSY BLOGGER! 

It is Father’s Day. That needs to be addressed. You all know I love my dad more than anything, because he is awesome and funny and supportive, and I am very lucky to have the father I do, because, let’s face it, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t be reading this, so TECHNICALLY, you, too, are all lucky I have the father I do. Because the guy my mom was dating before my dad was a total dud. Well, according to my dad he was. I don’t suppose my dad would call his competition a really good guy, who would do that? No one. Or, maybe someone really well-adjusted might. I don’t think anyone’s ever accused anyone in my family of THAT particular trait. Heh. 

So, in honor of Father’s Day, here is a Dad conversation we had the other night. 

Dad: I had another one of those class reunion planning meetings the other night.
Me: You have a lot of meetings and reunions. Can you imagine wanting to hang out with the people you went to high school with that much? I certainly can’t.
Dad: No, of course you can’t. I LIKE the people I went to high school with.
Me: I know. You’re weird. Was Super Sarah there?
Dad: At first, she wasn’t. So we thought she might not be coming. That made most people really happy.
Me: I love that everyone knows she’s a kook.
Dad: Well, 2/3 of our class won’t come to the reunion because of what she did at the last one.
Me: What? What did she do at the last one, bring Jesus in a Spaceship as a date?

“Sorry, Super Sarah, I’m going bowling with Alf that night.”

Dad: No. He probably had alternate plans that night. She got up in front of everyone and took over the microphone and started testifying. For like half an hour. People were SO MAD. She WOULD NOT STOP.
Me: Oh, I would have walked out. No one captive-audiences me unless it’s a work thing and they’re paying me.
Dad: So when we sent out the RVPS cards this time, only about a third of our class responded.
Me: I think they’re RSVP cards.

Meh. It’s just the alphabet.

Dad: Who cares, it’s just the alphabet. When we asked why people weren’t coming, they said, “Because if we wanted religion, we’d go to church.”
Me: I hate Super Sarah.
Dad: Don’t say hate, it’s rude. Say “dislike a lot.”
Me: I dislike Super Sarah with a lot of hatred.
Dad: Better. Anyway, so I told this woman I graduated with, Sharon, that if Super Sarah showed up, I’d tell her there’d be no testifying this time around. Sharon said, “You’re son-of-a-bitchin’ right there won’t.”
Me: Whoo, Sharon sounds feisty. I like Sharon.
Dad: She was really rough in high school. I was scared of her. I still kind of am.
Me: Sharon and I would get along like peas and carrots.

Aw! Peas and carrots!

Dad: Yeah, I think you would, Forrest. Anyway, so we thought Super Sarah wasn’t going to show up, but then she did. At the end of the meeting, no one said anything to Super Sarah, so I said, “Sarah, there won’t be any God-talk at the reunion.” Sharon said, “There sure as hell won’t, SARAH.”
Me: Heh. You’re a rabble-rouser.
Dad: Your Uncle G. likes everyone to get along like Rodney King so he tried to butt in and say, “Oh, now, ha ha, water under the bridge” but Sharon told him to shove it.
Me: I kind of want Sharon to adopt me.
Dad: No, because then I’d have to marry Sharon and she looks like she would punch me in the face. Anyway, Super Sarah got very red and said, “I’ll talk about Jesus if I want to,” and I said, “No, you won’t. Not this time.” And Sharon started to yell at her. Then she ran out crying.
Me: Good grief. Super Sarah has issues.

Dad: Yeah, she cries a lot. And then G. was very disappointed in all of us. Then it was time to say a prayer but Super Sarah wasn’t there to say it so no one wanted to do it.
Me: Who prays at a reunion meeting? You didn’t go to Catholic school.
Dad: I don’t know. I think Super Sarah printed up the reunion meeting rules.
Me: Of COURSE she did.
Dad: Then the phone rang in the meeting place. G. answered it. He kept saying, “Oh, now. No, no. Calm down.”
Me: Super Sarah! It was Super Sarah.
Dad: You’re like a little detective. She called to say she wasn’t coming to the reunion at all now.

If I’m a little detective I want to be Velma.

Me: YAY! Was there much cheering?
Dad: Sharon laughed and laughed. G. was very sad and kept saying, “We should apologize to her.”
Me: I feel like G. slept with Super Sarah in high school or something.
Dad: No. I asked him the same thing. He says he didn’t, but he wishes he had.
Me: He should be glad he didn’t. I hear crazy is a communicable disease.
Dad: No, I don’t think it is. If it was, there’d be a lot more crazy people running around upstate New York. There are a LOT of crazies up here.
Me: So what happened?
Dad: I don’t know. Nothing. Sharon kept telling G. that if he apologized to Super Sarah and got her to attend the reunion she’d be furious at him, and G. just kept sighing, and then I went home.
Me: You should call all the people that said they weren’t coming and say, “The eagle has left the building. You’re safe to come in for a landing, little pigeon.”
Dad: Because my graduating class are all spies?

Me: Sure they are, you don’t know. It happened in Grosse Pointe Blank. Listen, there is one downside to this, though.
Dad: What?
Me: There was an off chance Super Sarah would have done one of those doll-skits at the reunion, and then you could have told me about it. So now we’ll never know. WE WILL NEVER KNOW.
Dad: Yeah, I guess we won’t. I think that’s probably a good thing.
Me: Yeah, it’s more of a win than a loss. For sure.

So Dad’s reunion is at the beginning of July, when I will actually be home for The Nephew’s birthday party, so I’ll get all the scoop. VERY EXCITING.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. You are the best, and I love you, even though you’ll never read this because I use too many words.

And now, because you liked the last one so much and because I thought of a funny thing and it made me giggle and giggle like a moron all the way home the other night, I totally made you a video of an important discovery I came up with in the car. But then when I filmed it I realized it wasn’t even funny. But you still get the video, because it’s kind of funny to watch me crash and burn so spectacularly, and also I almost got murdered right before I filmed it.

HAPPY SUNDAY! Now it’s time for me to write some book reviews and some posts for next week in advance and some other things that I have to work on and then maybe loaf. A little. Just a little loafing. WHOO!


Ride, captain, ride! Upon your mystery (space)ship!

I strangely find myself with way too much free time at work today and nothing to write about. I’m days ahead on the old bloggity blog here, which is good – this week’s going to kick my ass, time-wise – but I have no topics! No topics at all. What will a person talk about. Listen, I wrote THREE BLOG POSTS yesterday. THREE! That’s like seven straight hours of writing. Well, not straight. I stood up sometimes and did other things. Bought some clothes. Walked around a little. Went over and paid the rent. Spent a little time with Dumbcat. But mostly, typing until my fingers almost fell off. Whoo! 

I have some Dad conversations for you. I think you’ll enjoy. You like such things, right? Sure you do. 

Oh, some background: so Dad’s class reunion is coming up. Dad was a popular kid in high school. Or at least he’s a popular kid now. He says he wasn’t that popular in high school but he sure looks awful smiley in all the photos I’ve seen and there are a lot of lay-deez hanging around with him. He says they were not HIS lay-deez but they were hanging around with him because his brothers were popular so they thought that’s how to get in good with his brothers but I think that’s what a person says to their daughter because what are you going to say to your daughter, “I was a total stud in high school?” Ew. Brain bleach BRAIN BLEACH. 

I tried to find a picture from around when Dad was in high school. This is close to the year he graduated. WHOO! Look at these hep cats getting DOWN!

Anyway, so he’s on the reunion planning committee with a bunch of ladies and it seems he’s the only fella. I think he enjoys this because he feels like the only rooster in the henhouse. And there’s a crazy person. Well, that’s mean. I don’t know that she’s CRAZY. She’s…religious. Let’s just say she found Jesus. Because he was apparently playing hide-and-seek. And she found him! Winner! Olly-olly-oxen-free, Jesus! Oh, Jesus, you so crazy, hiding behind the gardening shed! 

This seriously made me snort-laugh. Sorry. I have a really, really juvenile sense of humor.

So this woman – she has a nickname which makes me laugh but I don’t want to use it, that’s rude, so let’s call her…um…Super Sarah, it’s close to the nickname – Super Sarah wanted everyone to know about how she found Missing Jesus. So she wrote a book about it. There seemed to also be something about aliens in it. And spaceships. And how she was a FALLEN WOMAN but Jesus forgave her trampery. 

But no one wanted to read the book. Super Sarah was sad! So she took the list of names and addresses of all the people she graduated with and mailed them all a copy. As you do. 

Well, Dad didn’t like that. Dad didn’t like that AT ALL. (This all happened a couple of months ago. These are two different conversations. I don’t want to confuse anyone.) 

Dad: Remember I told you Super Sarah tried to give me that Missing Jesus book at the planning committee meeting but I was like, I don’t think he’s missing, so I told her I didn’t want it?
Me: Yes. I still think you should have taken it, I want to read about the aliens. I think I could have written an excellent review of that on my blog. Like, Where’s Waldo for the religious types. Only, with aliens. And also Jesus.

Oh, you knew someone already did this, right? A two-second Google search found me this.

Dad: She mailed me a copy this week.
Me: What? In your really real mailbox? How’d she get your address?
Dad: She told the woman in charge of the mailing list she needed it for reunion purposes. But that was a LIE. She needed it for MISSING JESUS BOOK PURPOSES.
Me: I am SO EXCITED. You mail that to me right now. I’ll reimburse you for the postage.
Dad: No. Can’t.
Me: Can’t? Why?
Dad: I wrote “unwanted solicitation” and “illegal use of the U.S. Postal Service” on the envelope and mailed it back. Did you know you don’t even have to pay for mail if you do that? It’s FREE.
Me: You DID? First, BOO, Dad, I WANTED that, and second, HA! I hope the Postal Cops arrest her for sending Jesus through the mail.
Dad: Nah. They won’t. Your Uncle G. read it. He said it reads like she went off her medication.

(Note: my “Uncle G.” isn’t my uncle, but my cousin. But he’s the same age as my uncles, so when we were kids, we were encouraged to call him Uncle G. and it’s kind of stuck. I sometimes call him G. now, which he encourages, and it sounds weird to me because I grew up calling him Uncle G. I also have an Uncle R. who isn’t my uncle but my Dad’s best friend. It’s an Amy’s-family thing, I don’t know.)

Me: I AM SO MAD I DON’T GET TO READ IT. Will Uncle G. send me his copy?
Dad: No. I don’t want you making fun of Jesus on the internet, even if he is in a spaceship.
Me: FINE. You’re totally a joykiller right now.
Dad: If you go to hell for making fun of Missing Spaceship Jesus I’m going to be really sad.
Me: I know. I know. It would be a sad turn of events if you come to find out Super Sarah was on the right track and Jesus was totally a missing alien, like E.T., and the loaves and fishes were really Reese’s Pieces.

E.T. would like you to know he does not approve of this message. He would NEVER make fun of Missing Spaceship Jesus.

Dad: You’re totally going to hell for saying the loaves and fishes are Reese’s Pieces.
Me: I’m going to hell for so many other things than that. That’s just delicious peanut-butter-flavored icing on the burny hellcake, Dad.

So this past weekend, Dad had a reunion party. It wasn’t the REUNION, but a PARTY for the reunion. The reunion’s in July. These people have a LOT of events. I can’t even imagine wanting to hang out with the assholes I graduated with once, let alone a gajillion times. But this party was for everyone who’s ever graduated from his school, and then in July there’s the actual reunion. It’s exhausting just thinking about it. I wonder if, as you age, it’s like “any excuse for a party because most of us are dead anyway?” (I’m KIDDING. They’re only SOME of them dead. Not at ALL mostly.)

Me: So how was the party?
Dad: Fine. Your Uncle G. was the hit of the party. He talked to everyone, even if he didn’t know them.
Me: He’s pretty friendly, that one.
Dad: He made Super Sarah cry.
Me: He DID? Why? Did he tell her the Jesus Spaceship crashed?
Dad: He told her I hated her because she sent me that book, and she started CRYING and WAILING and saying “I CAN’T BELIEVE HE SENT IT BACK TO ME” and then ran to the bathroom. I don’t hate her, I just didn’t want that stupid weird Missing Spaceship Jesus book.

YOU GUYS I FOUND THIS ON THE INTERNET FOR YOU WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING HERE

Me: Ha! What did you do?
Dad: Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t there. It was in another part of the room. G. told me about it. I didn’t see any of it. She stayed right away from me. I think because I don’t believe in Jesus Spaceships. So I’m probably a heathen.
Me: What did Mom think?
Dad: Your mother said, “that woman was always a drama queen” and rolled her eyes.
Me: Good call. Also, you’re probably already pretty emotional if you’ve got one eye on the sky for Missing Jesus in a Spaceship. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.
Dad: No, probably not.
Me: I’m still really mad you didn’t keep that book and mail it to me.
Dad: I think someone said she has a website.
Me: WHAT? I LIVE ON THE INTERNET. What’s the website. What’s her last name?
Dad: I’m not telling you because you’ll make fun of it on your blog.
Me: Of course I will. Anyone would.

PS – I totally just found her website using a combination of her first name, the town where she went to high school, and the word “Jesus.” That’s worrisome. She was the FIRST RESULT, too. Wow. She’s really got a niche market. 

I won’t link to it, because that’s really over the top mean. It’s not her fault she believes in Missing Spaceship Jesus. But I have to put in the book cover. Listen, I HAVE to. It’s – it’s got dolls on it, you guys. DOLLS. With DEAD DEAD EYES. And one was in a FIRE, or possibly needs a BATH.

The “pretty” doll in the mirror has a wonky eye. Couldn’t Missing Spaceship Jesus fix that? That’s kind of rude of him.

Also, per Dad, she was the salutatorian, but her online biography says she barely graduated high school because she couldn’t read. So that kind of means that either there were only two people in the graduating class (there weren’t) or she was REALLY GOOD AT PULLING THE WOOL OVER PEOPLE’S EYES. Or she’s a liar. 

And also, on her website, it shows that she seems to go around doing talks about Missing Spaceship Jesus? And she puts on SKITS. Using PROPS. And COSTUMES. One of which is her dressed like ONE OF THE DOLLS ON HER BOOK COVER. And laughing with her mouth really wide open while wearing crazy-person-on-the-subway-who-doesn’t-know-how-to-color-within-the-lines lipstick. This is just horrifying. And also kind of hysterical. 

I wonder if anyone I went to high school with became a crazy? Well, MORE of a crazy? I’m not going to the reunion to find that out, but it’s an interesting idea that never crossed my mind. 

Also, Dad has NEW TECHNOLOGY NEWS for us! We all like technology so I thought I’d share. 

Dad: You can cancel your Facebook now.
Me: I can? I always could, probably. That option is available to me. Why now, though?
Dad: You don’t need it anymore. There’s a new Facebook. It was on the news.
Me: Oh? What’s the new Facebook?
Dad: Google Plus Something.
 Me: It’s not Plus anything. It’s actually Minus something. Members.
Dad: What? You’ve HEARD of it? But it’s brand new!
Me: No, it came out last summer or something, I think. I’ve been on it for a while.
Dad: No, it was on the news!
Me: Well, that’s good, Dad, but I assure you it’s been around for about a year. Maybe it was telling you it’s been around for a year and people should sign up because it COULD be the next Facebook, were anyone to sign up for it.
Dad: It said it’s better than Facebook! Because it’s from Google!
Me: It’s not bad. But no one’s on it. It’s like someone telling you, “stop going to the most popular nightclub in town, this one’s better!” and you show up, and it’s nice, and it’s shiny, and it has good music and drinks and stuff, but there’s no one there. You’ll eventually go back to the first nightclub because you’re bored out of your mind and there’s no one to talk to but the bartender.
Dad: There’s music and drinks?
Me: No. It was an analogy I just made up just now. It wasn’t very good. If I’d had notice, I could have done better.
Dad: Why did the news tell me it was better than Facebook if it’s not? I don’t understand.
Me: I think the people at Google are very sad their master plan didn’t work out. They do so well with so many other things. I imagine the Google people very perplexed about the failure of Google Plus to take off. Also, it’s all very subjective. It MIGHT be better than Facebook, if people were to join it. There’s no one to talk to right now.
Dad: I feel tricked. I got an email from Google telling me I should sign up for it the other day. I should reply and give them a piece of my mind for lying to me on the news.
Me: You could. But I don’t think they’d care, Dad. Also, it’s not a lie. It’s an OPINION.
Dad: I WOULD CARE.
Me: OK. Well, then feel free to email Google and take them to task for giving you their opinion about the superiority of their social media platform.
Dad: I MIGHT JUST DO THAT.

Man, Google Images is winning today. PENGUIN COMPLAINTS!

Me: Were you even going to sign up? You don’t even have a Facebook account. You hate Facebook.
Dad: No, of course I wasn’t. Those places are where the government spies track you.
Me: This is really all a moot point, then, isn’t it?
Dad: DON’T LIE TO ME ON THE NEWS.
Me: OK, Dad. OK. No lying on the news. Wait, was this on Fox News?
Dad: What other news do I watch?
Me: Oh, yes, then I can see how you’d get upset about a lie being on Fox News. You write that letter. Can’t have lies being on Fox News. 

There’s the latest in Amy’s Dad-land. Much DRAMA! 

Don’t forget – you have about 36 hours to comment on this post in order to enter the drawing for a box of as-yet-undetermined awesomeness! 

And…for today’s Bloggiversary celebration…your THIRD MOST POPULAR POST! This post is one of MY favorites, too. Because it was a group effort, and we all coordinated and laughed and had the best time and it was a whole WEEK of awesomeness and people STILL find my blog be searching for “Sneaky Fuckerism.” I love that you’re all still reading this. (Caution, little kiddos who might be reading, there’s a LOT of cussing in that post. But it is sciency cussing.)

I’m a Lover, Not a Fighter, and I’m Really Built for Speed 

Happy Thursday! Look how the week is almost over. I have rehearsal tonight. Then I’m going to go home and schlump on the couch all exhausted-like. WHAT A WEEK WHOO!


Also, “The Owl and the Pussycat” is FILLED WITH INNUENDO. Just letting you know.

Here we go! It’s the day I go back home. Plane leaves at 2, should be at the airport around 5, should be back in Albany around 8. I HAVE MISSED YOU ALBANY. Next vacation is at the end of July. You’re not going to like that one as much. It’s in the mountains and there’s no internet or phone service up there. You’ll hear from me about 3 times in a whole week. I KNOW. I’ll try to bank blog posts so you still have them, though. I love you just that much. I know, right? Aren’t I just the best? Sure I am.

This morning has been a nightmare of Dad running around like a crazy person packing and packing and freaking out and checking and then double-checking drawers to make sure nothing’s in them. I asked him, “Did you even put anything in the drawers?” and he said no, but he still keeps checking them like things might have sneakily hidden themselves in the drawers when his back was turned. This has been going on for two hours now. It’s utterly exhausting to watch. I’m hiding with my laptop behind my pile of luggage waiting for it to be time to go.

Now we are in the hotel! It is just a basic hotel. However, Dad is SO EXCITED ABOUT IT. It’s adorable to watch. He’s so excited about all the free things in here. Like the little shampoos and conditioner and, MOST EXCITING, the little coffeemaker with a little packet with sugar and creamer and a stirrer. Every five seconds he’s all, “AMY AMY LOOK LOOK LOOK” and it’s making me laugh the hardest. What’s funny is, I think probably in his life he’s stayed in a lot more hotels than I have. Yet he’s still five years old when it comes to staying in hotels. FREE LITTLE SOAPPPSSS!

Free! Free! FREEEEE!

Mostly I’m excited about the free wifi, which is better than the free wifi in the condo. The condo did not like me to use my phone or my laptop unless I was sitting in a certain place and facing a certain angle. Here, there’s a teeny desk! And I have all the bars! This is great. Yay, Comfort Suites, I highly approve! Free wifi and a teeny desk like I’m playing executive!

Also, Dad thinks we should go to Hooters for dinner, because “that’s a good family establishment.” I said I was on to him and didn’t want to go to the titty bar but he was welcome to go to the titty bar and I’d walk across the street to the Cracker Barrel and have some nice chicken fingers. Then he was all, “WHAT? The mascot of Hooters is an OWL. You like owls! Owls are for families. They’re ANIMALS! You LOVE ANIMALS!” Then I tried to explain that owl was a metaphor, or maybe a euphemism, on a couple of levels, and he wasn’t fooling ANYONE.

“What? That’s just a nice owl,” he said. So I attempted to explain that not ONLY were the owl’s eyes representative of boobs, but that hooters was also a word that MEANS boobs. I’m not 100% sure if he knows these things and he’s pretending he doesn’t in order to get me to go to Hooters, or he really, really thinks a restaurant where the waitress has boobs sticking all in your face and hotpants is an appropriate place to visit with your daughter when you’re on vacation. Either way, no thanks, buckaroo. We’re going to Cracker Barrel and Outback Steakhouse where the waitresses keep their personal business tucked away like they’re supposed to. Sheesh.

The Cracker Barrel was the loudest place I’ve ever eaten in my LIFE. SO MANY SCREAMING BABIES. And also old people who cackled like the toucans at the zoo. Dad was not impressed. He seems to have sensitive eardrums. I keep telling him he’s a delicate flower. He doesn’t like to be told he’s a delicate flower and thinks he should have worn earplugs to the Cracker Barrel. “THIS NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED AT HOOTERS,” he said. I tried to impress upon him we were much less likely to get gonorrhea at the Cracker Barrel as a side with our lunches but he’s still sad about the no-Hooters situation.

Oh, also, you know how there’s a huge gift shop attached to Cracker Barrel? This happened:

Dad: What the hell is this.
Me: What is it? Oh, it a box of Moon Pies.
Dad: What’s a Moon Pie? Is it astronaut food?
Me: No. It’s  dessert. It’s delicious. Wait, you’ve never tried a Moon Pie?
Dad: No. They sound stupid.
Me: THEY ARE DELICIOUS.
Dad: What’s a Moon Pie?
Me: It’s two cookies, with marshmallow inbetween, covered in chocolate.
Dad: What? Who would eat that?
Me: EVERYONE would! You love all the desserts! What’s wrong with you? You are being a total crankypants, they are delicious.
Dad: No one wants these. This gift shop is too loud, let’s go.

I think Dad is broken. He loves desserts. This guy can hoover a whole box of cookies, I’m not sure what’s going on here.

Let’s see. What’s happening in the world, anyway?

Well, we’ve got some piece of shit homophobe pastor in North Carolina wanting parents to punch their children if they notice them acting “too gay:”

 “So your little son starts to act a little girlish when he is four years old and instead of squashing that like a cockroach and saying, ‘Man up, son, get that dress off you and get outside and dig a ditch, because that is what boys do,’ you get out the camera and you start taking pictures of Johnny acting like a female and then you upload it to YouTube and everybody laughs about it and the next thing you know, this dude, this kid is acting out childhood fantasies that should have been squashed.

Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You are not going to act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you are going to be a male. And when your daughter starts acting too butch, you reign [sic] her in. And you say, ‘Oh, no, sweetheart. You can play sports. Play them to the glory of God. But sometimes you are going to act like a girl and walk like a girl and talk like a girl and smell like a girl and that means you are going to be beautiful. You are going to be attractive. You are going to dress yourself up.'”

There are so many things wrong with this I don’t even know where to begin. OK, first, I’m confused about the YouTube scenario. Is he saying that you should put videos of your kid on YouTube and mock them? Or someone did and everyone laughed and that was bad because it made someone want to be more effeminate? It’s oddly worded.

And the gender roles. THE GENDER ROLES. You’ve got boys, who should be digging ditches and acting male, whatever that is (but whatever it is, we know what it is not – it is NOT “dropping the limp wrist.”) And you’ve got girls. Listen, girls, Pastor Sean Harris is cool with you playing sports – “to the glory of God,” even, whatever the eff that means. Maybe Tebowing after you score, I don’t know. But you ALSO need to act, walk, talk, and SMELL like a girl. (Smell like a girl? What exactly does a girl smell like? Perfume? Body wash? Apples? Coconut? Sex? I need further clarification, here.) How do you do these things? Oh, it’s easy enough, I’ll tell you how. By being BEAUTIFUL. And ATTRACTIVE. And DRESSING YOURSELF UP. Because – guess what? Lesbians aren’t any of those things. OH WAIT. Lesbians ARE beautiful, attractive, and capable of dressing themselves up! Just as much as straight women are! WHAT? AMY NO! It’s true. I’ve known some gorgeous lesbians who killed in a dress. And I’ve known some heinously ugly straight women who looked like shit in pajama pants and a t-shirt. HOW WILL WE KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE STRAIGHTS AND GAYS? Oh, this is bad, this is total anarchy, lock up your CHILDREN, the gays are on the LOOSE, they look just like US, Z!O!M!G!!1!!!

Oh, and don’t forget that you should “man up” and punch your son if he drops that limp wrist. That’ll teach him. That won’t make him any more apt to hate himself enough to commit suicide and contribute to the staggeringly high statistic of suicidal gay teens, no no not that.

Good old Pastor Harris says he was KIDDING, come ON, you guys, how could you THINK he was advocating CHILD ABUSE, but he 100% stands behind gender roles. OK, you know what? Screw you, and screw your gender roles, and screw your we-know-you-weren’t-kidding about punching your son. People like you are the reason kids are committing suicide and the reason there’s so much hatred in the world. And you’re supposed to be a good person, you prick. You’re supposed to be a model for what’s right, as you’re a religious figure. Just take a flying leap, you waste of breath. You’re unnecessary. No one needs you to exist. No one. And, gay kids? You’re perfect just the way you are. Suffer through what you have to, because when you’re free and you’re living your own life and are able to love who you want, you’ll be happy you stuck it out. People like Harris aren’t the real world. The real world’s a lot more forgiving, if you make it to the right place. I promise.

And of course, you remember what we learned not too long ago about raging homophobes, right? Right.

For your totally awesome, God-loving ways, YOU, Sean Harris, get the Lucy’s Football coveted DOUCHE OF THE WEEK AWARD! You can totally frame this, it’s something everyone wishes they had.

OK, you guys, the next time you read my blog, I’ll be home safely (let’s hope, anyway.) Florida vacation over! Real world, let’s do this!


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