Methodists gone wild

My mom was here a month or two ago. Came to town with my dad, for my mother in law's funeral services. Mom stayed in town for over a week afterward, God love her, to watch the young 'uns whilst we went on our (frantically rescheduled) cruise to Alaska.

Mom's pretty great.

Mom had a few days between when Dad left to go home, and when we left for the frozen tundra, so she kinda hung with us. Did the normal stuff, including going to church. Normal for Mom, cause she's a minister's wife, but not so normal in this case, cause she's a Methodist, and we attend a Presbyterian church. Oh well, she got to see how the other side lives.

Ma is used to having to learn the ropes of a new church, cause those crazy Methodists move all the time. You kind of have to learn the rules at the new church each time. what do people wear, dresses or pants? Who sits where? Is it ok to help in the kitchen, or are you infringing on someone's territory? That kinda stuff.

I personally don't care about the rules at our church, especially cause I haven't regularly attended for quite a while, and I'm not a rules person most days anyway. Hubby, on the other hand, attends at least one service every Sunday, and sometimes two, probably to pray for his wayward wife, but what the heck. I work weekends on a pretty regular basis, so it's not like I can go most of the time anyway. (Yeah, it's an excuse, but whatever.)

So Mom and I show up with the dh. We look at the bulletin and have to laugh, cause this week, the Presbyterians are singin' Methodist. First up was "Holy Holy Holy," which we sang all the time growing up, and which my elder sister always swore was about our socks. Mom didn't think she knew the second song, but I read the music and had to laugh -- the melody was "O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing." Doesn't get more Methodist than a Charles Wesley tune. Afterward, Mom thanked our minister for the tunage after services were over. It gave him a laugh.

So Ma survived the Presbyterians. But now she's gonna have some 'splainin to do, cause we just got a DVD in the mail today, hawking the stewardship campaign at church. Interspersed amongst the fine things people said about the church, are clips of a service. A service where my mother is plainly visible, singing "Holy Holy Holy" with the best of the Presbyterians, whilst the choir marches up the aisle.

Our associate pastor jokes that his mom joined a Methodist church after her Presbyterian minister husband retired, and that she was always looking over her shoulder, worried that the Presbyterian Police would come and revoke his pension. So now I guess Ma better be looking for the Methodist Police.

My mother, I'm sure, will say that every good church needs a Good Methodist. And that it probably will be a more successful stewardship campaign, with the Methodists thrown in the mix.

And you know what? She might just be right.

So today, I had to find something that a Fine Young Methodist would wear, when undercover with the Presbys. Came across this cute Vtg 60s 70s Burgundy RUFFLE Secretary Mini Dress S/M, from Feathered Fawn Vintage, on ebay. Not that Ma could carry it off with her red hair, but if everyone is bowed in reverence, who cares?

Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Broncos

DS is at college. Left home in August with the "don't call, don't email, I am fine, I'm not coming home, I'll see you newbs at Thanksgiving" attitude.

He was home two weeks later.

Been home every two weeks or so since. He has only brought his laundry home twice -- and that is because he literally did not have one more thing to wear. The weekend of fall break, he was outside the dorm, talking on his phone when I arrived. He turned around, and I saw he was wearing a pair of khakis, an awful green Tshirt given to him by the school -- probably to identify him as a newbie freshman, cause's it's pretty gaudy. Dress shirt, unbuttoned, OVER the green shirt. Sandals. And socks.

Some fashion plate, my kid.

So he brought home about 1800 lbs of laundry, all of which got washed and folded over the next few days. I don't mind doing it if I have time, cause he's been responsible for his own laundry for several years. I know he knows how to do it. But when left to his own devices, he waits till the last possible pair of boxers before plunging into the laundromat.

So he emails me last night. Said he was down to his last shirt. Did three loads of laundry. Left to go to the bathroom whilst the last one was finishing. And when he came back -- only had one load of laundry.

Yep. They stole his whole wardrobe, lock, stock, and boxers.

He was not a happy camper. I believe that he may've invented some new words in the emails he sent -- especially the second one that mentioned that his Champ Bailey Broncos jersey was amongst the apprehended clothes. Threatening bodily harm to those who have wronged him.

They may want to be afraid.

So now I am faced with the dilemma of how to get his clothes to him. Fortunately, all of his winter clothes are still here, so I guess I'll box 'em up and send them to him, like a third world orphan. Cause that's what us mommies do.

And so, in mourning for Champ Bailey and the Broncos fans who are left wardrobe-less, here's a vintage Broncos shirt, from an ebayer with a really fun name, shirtswithballs, on ebay. Cause it takes a ballsy guy to leave DS naked in the cold.

Excitement, dismay, and heartache

Counting pattern pieces is like therapy. Most of us could use a little therapy, but it can be get your mind off of things, but can also bring out heartache.

Take this vintage 60s Nina Ricci Vogue Paris Original pattern for a mod coat. It is FAB. Reminds me of the blue trenchcoat that Rebecca Romijn was seen in recently. Absolutely fab. I was happy just to look at it. But I've been looking at it for weeks, and all good things must come to an end.

Went to offer it up today, and realized OMG -- there are 56 pattern pieces. 56! I don't think I've ever seen a pattern with that many pieces. I've done jigsaw puzzles with less pieces. Freaked me out. How does one count 56 pieces, without losing count? But it's a fab pattern. Oh well, hubby is watching football tonight, so it's all good. I just was hoping I didn't jump and tear some pieces up when he shouted GO BRONCOS!!!

So I start counting. And ended too soon, because I realized that all of the pattern pieces for that fab coat are MISSING. Gone. Nonexistent.

That made me so sad. I love that coat. I really did have full intention of counting all those pieces, and only about half of them are there. For a cute 60s suit, pictured below. But I still hope to find the coat. Not that I'll look like Rebecca mind you, but ain't it cute?

Random Acts of ROBBERY

More musings on the Catholic faith later..........

Our house was robbed yesterday. OK, maybe the real definition is burglarized, but hey, someone came in our house and took our stuff, so I am mad, and I can call it whatever I want.

I was sitting in the living room the day before, when I heard a little pop. Dog heard it too, cause he immediately freaked out, started rummaging behind the TV, cause he thought it was a mouse. (He had driven himself nuts the day before when he saw our once yearly rodent race across the floorboards.)

Well, whilst he was rodent rummaging, I realized that the TV was off. What in the world? Tried to turn it back on. Several times. No luck. Tried unplugging, replugging, saying some savory words. Nothing. So I tracked down the Best Buy receipt, called and scheduled a (free in home) service call for our three year old TV, and broke the bad news to the hubby.

He took it better than I figured, for a football nut. Only said a few dozen bad words.

Fast forward. Next afternoon, the dd calls me at work. "Where's the TV?" I was a little irritated, cause I was being interrupted at work, and said "I don't know. What are you talking about?" She couldn't find the TV. The 42 inch behemoth that sits in front of our living room window. Like you can MISS a 42 inch TV. I figured dh had moved it, to make room for another TV to watch football on. Whatever. Forgot all about it.

Went home, threw my stuff down, didn't see the TV, again figured he had moved it. Till I noticed, about an hour later, that my laptop was missing too. WTH? Checked with kids: no go. Checked with hub. "I'll be right there." Called the police, cause someone had invaded our space.

Only took the laptop the TV and dh's iPod, but it could've been worse. DS12 was home, upstairs, the entire time the time they were in the house. Fortunately, he didn't come downstairs. Of course, if they had gone upstairs, it would've been a bloodbath, cause the dogs were up there with him, and my mangy mutts would've been more than happy to take a few bites outta them. Heck, I've lost more than one vintage fur to those dogs. But the dogs were closed up in the bedroom and never heard them.

Oye.

So now, I've got to get a new laptop, and we have to find another TV, and with ds at college, dh will have to learn to load up his own iPod. That, in and of itself, is a challenge for my technologically impaired husband.

So, if you want to go cat-burgling yourself, stay outta my hood, unless you're just dressing the part. In that case, try this vintage 80s Spandex catsuit, from Richtig, on ebay. It'll cut down on wind resistance while you're haulin' ass away from my dogs.

It might also calm your crack dealer down when he finds out the bad news -- the flat screen you went to all that trouble for is just like you -- IT DOESN'T WORK.

Going to Hell in a blister pack

One of the hospitals we answer for at work is Methodist Hospital, in Indianapolis. The Methodists believe in freedom of expression, so we can talk pretty freely to our callers. The Catholic hospital I used to work for, on the other hand, probably had me right on the top of the "needs a rosary said for them" list.

I probably have at least a dozen nuns praying for me nonstop, even now -- seven years after I left there.

The Catholics believe that birth control is a sin. They don't use it (::wink wink::). We weren't allowed to discuss birth control with our callers, EVER. I think sometimes that they got Protestant callers to call in as mystery shoppers, just to make me sweat. I toed that line so close that my boss would come out of her office, shaking her head saying, "you sure do dance all around it, but you never QUITE break the rules, do you?" I just grinned.

Never really envisioned myself dancing around a pack of birth control pills, but whatever rocks your world. I never got written up.

It was so crazy there that that same Irish Catholic boss, who was, I will say, much admired by yours truly, hated to shut her computer down because it said "aborting operation." Oye. She wouldn't let her kids eat at McDonald's because there was some connection between them and Planned Parenthood. Don't ask me what, cause I didn't want to know, but maybe Ronald was secretly handing out prophylactics with the fries. Brings a whole new meaning to the idea of a Happy Meal, now doesn't it?

But here with the Methodists, I started out yesterday with a call about erectile dysfunction, and ended it with someone who had "rainbow colored bugs flying out of every orifice." And started my day today with someone who wanted "help with conception." What she thought I would be able to do about that, I'll never know, but maybe if she'd called the Catholics......

So yeah, those Catholics are probably still praying for me, but so are some Methodists I know, as well as some Presbyterians, and probably a few others that I don't know about. God knows, I can use all the help I can get.

But underneath it all, we're all the same, so let me show you the way with this Henson Kickernik lavender teddy, from The Ornament Gal, on ebay. Cause if I'm gonna burn in hell, I'm gonna look good doing it!

The not so demon child

I was raised a good Methodist. Yeah, the kids went to Lutheran schools for a bit, and we are members at a Presbyterian church, but you know how the song goes, "I'm a Methodist Till I Die."
DD, on the other hand, is a Presbyterian who has an admiration for the Catholic faith. Never mind the fact that she's never actually attended mass, and has no idea what the pope does, she loves those Catholics.

::Disclaimer:: Continuing reading of this entry may be hazardous to your faith. If you are Catholic, that is. And please keep in mind the Utterly whacky way of life at our house. You've been warned.

DD loves to watch shows on TV about ghosties and possessed people. I don't even know the name of the two shows she watches, but she loves to see those Ghostbusters go flying in with their weird equipment, looking for spirits. There's one show where either the house or its occupants are always possessed by something. Reenactments abound, a la America's Most Wanted or Rescue 911. Things will be flying, crazy things are happening, they get the shaman, the minister, and the kitchen sink to bless the place. Nothing happens. Then dd announces "watch -- this is where they bring in the Catholics."

"Cause them Catholics can get them demons out yo soul."

Yep. That's the dd's ghettospeak for her admiration for the Catholics. Seems like all those priests do is show up, and the demons go running -- maybe toward the Protestants, I don't know. But they definitely do like Elvis and leave the building. I don't think I've seen an episode yet where they can survive the father's blessing. So maybe the dd is onto something -- those demons really CAN get them demons out yo soul.

More ponderings on Catholicism tomorrow. Totally tongue in cheek, mind you.

And meantime, while I am praying for forgiveness, I'll be thinking of these wonderful Sterling Silver and Pink Tourmaline earrings, from Tami's Treasures, on Main Street Mall Online. Holy water not included.

Growing up Cat Lady

The DD is a teenager, so of course, the mind is all on boys. Of course, she is still a polygamist, but she's always looking for someone new.

There's a guy at the junior college she attends who reportedly looks like Orlando Bloom. We call him Orlando Bloom. She's never spoken to him, but she passes him every day in the hall. Probably doesn't have a hot accent though, so it would be a disappointment to actually have a conversation with him.

Her obsession with the opposite sex should not surprise anyone, but her outlook might. She said that she has to get her first kiss this year, or she will grow up to be a Cat Lady.

Cat Lady, as in someone who owns a gazillion cats, all of whom roam freely around the house, until Animal Control comes and takes them away - and commits her. And I guess that every Cat Lady missed out on a first kiss at a tender age, cause The Bratty Gurl is sure that that will be her fate. After that, she said, they will make a movie about her.

It will be titled The 80 Year Old Virgin.

Oye. It's not like she doesn't like anyone. She actually has a thing for someone at church, but he's kinda clueless (big surprise, for a teenaged boy), and hasn't figured out what it's all about yet. And it's not like the mother can intervene and say "c'mon dude, get with the program, or she's gonna be living in my basement as a Cat Lady." So she waits. Till a BOY isn't clueless.

She might be waiting a while.

But while she waits, she might just check out this adorable Malcolm Starr circus animal skirt. With all those big cats, it's perfect for the sweet 16 and never been kissed set. From TheFashionEyeOnline.