I’m on the hunt . . . . looking for a place to meet some new people, do some Bible study, service projects . . . that kind of stuff. Church #6, Sunday school # 4.

I went to the single adult Sunday school class today. I’ve gone to a few, they are generally full of people who are either pretty but gay, or they are ugly, boring, weird beyond description, extremely needy or just plain dumb. I’m not saying this to be mean, I have been to several single adult classes, and it just so happens that these are the people who congregate for single adult groups. I mean when you start talking to them, you quickly realized why in fact they are single adults. A single adult class is where I found Betty. Go figure.

Because of the single adult stigma, at this church (which I like) I started in the college and career class. The people were nice, the teachers were okay, the material sucked and the format was even worse. (In case you don’t know already, I admit and fully embrace my status of Sunday school/Bible study snob).

So, there I was sitting in the single adult room, when behold, a beautiful man walked in! It was apparently his first time there as well. I had a dream last night that I met a beautiful man in the Mediterranean and we . . . ah well anyway- Mr Pretty-guy came and sat near me, everyone asked us all our business, I learned: Insurance guy, new in town, at least 28 years old (that’s how the class was divided.) I knew I liked him as soon as he laughed at my little joke. (SS teacher: What would you do if you had a dream about a man from Macedonia calling you to come help him? Me: I’d say, “where the heck is Macedonia?”)

We walked out together after class, and I confessed I didn’t really know how to get out of the church, but he didn’t either, so we wandered around until we found an exit sign. He asked if I would be there next week, and I said (in my head, “Oh yes, Mr Pretty-guy, you are worth coming back to look at.) out loud, “Yes, see you next week.”

As it turned out the rest of the class wasn’t too bad either. There were a few of the usual suspects: the very short round lady with no ankles to speak of and the tiniest feet I’d ever seen on an adult, one guy who kinda set off the gaydar, one foreign guy who didn’t know what hopscotch or pumpernickel were (don’t ask how I know that) and “the weird guy” You know that guy who usually gravitates toward me because of the universal pull I have which draws all weirdoes unto me wherever I go. His name was Billy-Bob of course.

The lesson- not too bad. Only one point to argue, which wasn’t the teacher’s statement, but the international student minister’s comment. (I think that is one of two jobs I’ve ever heard of which I felt qualified for in regard to my training and education.) We were talking about the calling of God in our lives. They started talking about the burning bush, and why doesn’t God make it so obvious to us now as he did to Moses then? Like, why don’t we get talking burning bushes? The guy said “Well, Moses had been praying and seeking God’s will with an open and pure heart, so God revealed himself in such an obvious way because he knew Moses trusted him.”

What the heck? Where did that come from? I mean, it’s possible, but what would lead a person to think of it? My Bible says Moses killed a guy in Egypt, fled into the desert, married a flock herder’s daughter and was out in the wilderness with his sheep when he saw this bush that was on fire but wasn’t burning up, so he said to himself “I will go over and see this strange sight.” (Exodus 3:3)

What I get from that is that Moses was a hothead who killed a guy because he was mad, ran away like a coward and hid in the desert until he was so bored with life that even a bush on fire was interesting to him.

I get that Moses noticed something out of the ordinary and went to check it out. I get that Moses had probably learned a thing or two about sheep and about himself in those 40 years he’d been gone and that he was ready to hear from God at that point.

Maybe God had tried to get his attention before the bush, but Moses was so caught up in himself and what he had done and what he was doing that he hadn’t noticed. That is conjecture, but at least my conjecture starts with a maybe!

I know the Bible can be made to say just about anything, and if it doesn’t say it, you can pretend its in there and 8 out of 10 people will go along with you.

“And the wise men were on their way to kill baby Jesus when-“
“WAIT A MINUTE! That’s not in there!”
“Oh, it’s not? I haven’t read the story in a long time.”

Read the story! And remember your “maybes” in conjecture! Someone might really think you know what you are talking about when you make statements out of things you’ve pulled out of your butt!

I have a small blister on my ankle as a result of "Tina-Turner-Barbie-dress-up-birthday-at-the-roller-rink-night."

quote of the week:

"He's just lucky I don't make his head explode with my laser eyes . . . he's just lucky I don't have laser eyes."

I miss my pudding pop.

I fell at work the other day. I was out on the roof, and I tripped over a huge cement block. I scraped my knee and got a little bruise. I made the mistake of mentioning it in joke to my boss, who immediatly asked me if I needed to go the the hospital.
I said "no, it still bends" He was insistant, "Do you need to see a doctor? Are you sure it's okay, maybe it will hurt later."

"Gosh, only if I'm lucky huh?" I wanted to tell him not to worry, I wasn't going to sue the company for letting me be dumb enough to fall over a cement block.

I'm thinking if I went to a doctor with this skinned knee, he would laugh at me.

The "Saftey Officer" came to ask me if I was okay, if I needed a doctor, and how it happened, and I had to explain why I was out on the roof (goofing off).

Mental note: Next time you're goofing off, and you skin you knee, TELL NO ONE!

In class the other night they came upon this conversation of seeing an animal being killed for the first time. Everyone had a story of a chicken or a pig or a goat.

I had a story too, but I didn’t tell them . . . they weren’t worth my story. But I think I’ll write it for posterity.

My grandfather had chickens, I may have talked about the chickens before . . . I was afraid of the chickens . . . anyway. There was this one chicken with a limp. My grandfather didn’t want it to breed other limping chickens, so he told my brother to kill it. The 13 year old gladly accepted the challenge. He grabbed his hatched, grabbed the chicken and headed down to the big boulder that stuck out of the ground at the end of the field.

Being a curious 5 year old, I of course followed the brother, the hatchet and the limping chicken.

He may have described to me what was going to happen, I don’t remember. I do remember the hatchet hitting the stone, the head falling to one side, the limping chicken falling to the other side, and the amazing sight of a headless, limping chicken with blood splirting out of his neck flapping and running in circles until he fell down, kicked his good leg a few times and then finally gave it up.

I don’t remember being traumatized by it at all. I did stop eating chicken not long after that. Maybe I was traumatized, and I’ve blocked it out. Who knows. I still don’t like chickens with or without heads.

I remembered the taste of an icicle, out of the blue, I remembered the taste . . . like the smell of cold on the wind . . . I haven’t tasted it; I haven’t smelled it for such a long time. Icicles and cold- cold cold enough to smell, they don’t come to this area often. And if they do, it’s hard to trust a city icicle . . .besides they are never big enough around here. And the smell, it was even so rare in the north. I don’t remember when I last smelled that smell, and I thought I had forgotten.

But it came to me in the middle of the day, in a tall building, under florescent lights. I was washing my hands and I tasted it . . . the very icicle that my brother and I broke of the eves of my grandparents’ house. The one that was nearly as big as I was. The one next to the one that fell when we were jiggling it. It fell and ripped my coat, a parka with a faux fur hood lining. It seems like a dream now.

Oh, I hated the snow and the ice, but I had to go out side for so many reasons. And I liked the creaks and cracks that the new, thin ice made when I walked across it. I liked the squeak of the coldest snow under my boots, and the collection on my soles that gained me up to three inches in the sticky snow. And I would watch the bubbles move under the ice before it was solid. And I liked to walk on the crusted over snow seeing how long I could stay on the surface then hearing the breaking glass sounds when I fell through. And I liked to look at a clean white expanse, and to walk across that expanse, my foot prints alone evidencing that I was the only person who had ever walked that space.

I liked those things, I haven’t thought of them for a long, long time. Or thought of the frost that painted its self across the window pane, and I would wipe it away, and I would lend it my breath, hot on cold, creating new intricate patterns unique and beautiful, and I would scratch them off again with my fingernail so I could see what the new snow again.

November 22, 2003: 78 degrees, Arlington, TX.

I heard a song today that made me smile. It was called, and I will quote, "What Would Willie Do?" "Willie loves all people, Willie loves all races, he even made a hit country song with Julio Iglasis, and that's not easy" It was a tribute song of all the greatness of Willie Nelson. It told of his adventures and misadventures, about the time his wife, whom he beat when he was drunk, how she one day had had enough so when he passed out, she sewed him up in a sheet and beat him with a broom stick. It talked about how he handled it when the IRS took all his stuff, his house, his golf course, all his cars. All he had left in the world was his tour bus, his four semis full of equipment and his crew of 40 people. But he bounced right back.

Indeed, Willie is an icon.

Another thing that made me smile today was the Asian man I saw crossing the road. I don't always smile at Asian men crossing the road, but this one was wearing high water pants that would have kept him dry for day in the time of Noah's flood. He had on white socks and black shoes. Very cute.

Just before that I had been sitting at a stop light listening to CCR when I suddenly realized that I was way into a shoulder dance. Blessed are the tinted windows.

Drat!

I had a Morman Jesus sighting. I was at 1/2 price books. I walked into the Christian section and there was this guy talking to this woman. He was holding a paper and explaining some point of theology to her. She kind of sounded like she didn't really want to know, but was indulging a stranger. I didn't pay much attention to them as I was hunting a book. But when I turned around and looked at them, the guy was Morman Jesus! He has shoulder length wavy blond hair, a full beard and blue eyes. He was shorter than I had imagined Morman Jesus. All the same, I felt like following him when he walked away, just to see where he was going. Maybe that was how James and John felt too.

People have been remembering me doing things I never did, being places I never was.

I was told that was better than not being remembered at all because at least they are thinking of me.

I'm not sure though.

maybe why I'm skeptical:
I was the youngest grandchild. That left me open to being picked on by not just my older brothers, buy by my cousins too. One time when I was a little kid, maybe 5, they showed me a piece of candy and said, "This is a pill."
I said, "No it' isn't." It looked like candy to me.
They insisted it was a pill and I had to take it. They said "Don't bite it, swollow it with water."
They gave it to me, I put it in my mouth and bit it. Just as I had suspected, a red hot.
I said, "It's candy."
They said, "It's a pill, now swallow it this time." And they gave me another one.
I bit it, and said, "It's candy."
They said, "NO! it's a pill! SWALLOW it!" and they gave me another one.

Now, even at the tender age of 5 I knew that this was a game all to my advantage: I figured if I went along with the story and swollowed the "pill", they would probably stop giving me candy, but if my skepticism remained, I could probably get all the candy I wanted.

I've been feeling pretty skeptical lately, where's my candy?

I dreamed of French Creek last night. A smallish river that runs through the town I grew up in, French Creek was locally famed because George Washington (so the story goes) threw a silver dollar into it. I don't think I ever knew why he threw it in.

I think I'll try to find out.

He probably did a lot of things in and around French Creek. He probably crossed it several times, (but the Delaware gets all the glory for that.) I expect he peed in it too (French Creek and the Delaware) but nobody really wants to talk about where the first President of the United States of America urinated.

I digress, but I think I will continueto digress: I never went swimming in French Creek myself, (although it is possible that President Washington did.) My brother and I would go down to the river sometimes, throw rocks and sticks, spit off the bridge, look for turtles on the banks, but we never got in, due to a healthy fear of the undercurrents instilled in us by our grandmother.

When my grandmother was a child, she and her little brother used to go swimming in French Creek. One day when he was about 10 and she was about 12, they were swimming. She said the last time she saw him he was laying on one of the cement support structures of the bridge. The next time she looked, he was gone. His body was found the next day. No one can say what happened. He was a strong swimmer. Maybe he hit his head, maybe he passed out, maybe he was sucked down by the under current. My brother and I never went swimming in French Creek.

My dream . . . I was standing near the bank when I decided to fly over the river (because you can do that in a dream) to get a better look. I was using some sort of small hang -gliding contraption. While I was over the river I notice how low the water was. I thought to myself that I had never seen the river so low, but I knew that it was still dangerous to get into the water.

As I was coming back across the river in my hang glider, I looked down and saw a large piece of debris floating down the center. It was shaped like a Star of David. I was wondering what it could be from when I lost control of my glider and plunged into the water. I was afraid, but I grabbed hold of the Star of David and I knew I would be okay until I could get out of the water.

So . . . should I become a Jew?

Should I avoid hang gliders?

Should I learn the history of French Creek?

I don't know.

I do know this: French Creek joins the Allegheny River in Franklin, PA . The Allegheny River joins the Monogahala River to form the Ohio River in Pittsburgh, PA. The Ohio River joins the Mississippi River in Cairo, IL. The Mississippi River empties into the Gulf of Mexico in New Orleans, LA.

Thank you Mrs. Zeigler 7th grade geography.

9. Apply it correctly. Surratt advises this method: Line and fill in lips with liner. Apply lipstick from the tube or using a lip brush (which eases color into tiny lip lines) over the liner. Blot once with a tissue, and lightly dust with face powder. Apply one more coat of lipstick, and you're set.

I went to inform the leasing office of my aptartment complex that there was a crack in my tub. My room mate had pointed it out, I would have never seen it.

The leasing agent wrote "Tub cra" and scratched it out. She wrote "Tub crac" and scratched it out. She wrote "Tub crak" and for a third time scratched it out. She wrote "Tub cr." She asked me, "How long has it been cracked?" I said I didn't know.

She gave me a look like I was the biggest idiot on the planet.

I'm thinking a woman who doesn't know how to spell "cracked" has no right to give such looks. I told her I wear glasses, but I take them off to shower so I can't see the crack, my room mate mentioned it to me.

She laughed at me as an adult might laugh at a child who is telling a story with too many details and said, "that doesn't matter."

I wanted to flick her forhead.

She asked me what my apartment number was. I was thinking I'd help her out by making it very simple. I said, "Four Zero Two."
She began to write as she spoke, "4 . . . "
I said "Zero Two."
She said "4 . . . "
I said "Zero Two."
She said "4 . . . "
I said, "Zero Two, Four Zero Two. FOUR ZERO TWO!"
She looked at me and asked with raising intonation "Oh two? four-oh-two?"
I said "Yes, four-oh-two." I guess that whole zero bit threw her off. I should have known when she couldn't spell cracked.

They must try hard to find the biggest dummies alive for that job. The first leasing agent I talked to wanted to be sure I made at least "ten hundred" dollars a month before I moved in.

"Did that really happen?" said Maggie White. She was an dull person, but a sensational invitation to make babies. Men looked at her and wanted to fill her up with babies right away. She hadn't had even one baby yet. She used birth control."
Slauterhouse Five-- Kurt Vonnegut

I don't know which one I like more, "Love, love the Jews" to the tune of "Love, Love me Do," or "Baa, Baa We're Lambs" to the tune of "Bar-Barbara Ann." I got a tape from my friend of Christian parodies of popular secular songs . . . I can only hope they were intended to be funny, because that they are.

The degeneration of a conversation:

Flossie and I were admiring our new "associate appriciation" t-shirts and I tried to say that I was going to alter mine, but the words got jumbled up and some strange made up lanugage came out instead. She matched my made up language with her made up language, and I responded in an Asian sounding made up langauge and a bow. She said, "It looks like you're praying to your t-shirt." At which time she got down on her knees and began to worship my t-shirt.

The I thought, "Good Lord! This conversation was so normal less than a minute ago! How does this happen?!" It's not like it was an isolated incidence either. This is why people ask if we've been huffing gas from the lab.

I bought a dvd player. When I turned it on for the firs time it said, "WAIT . . . LORD"
Well, that caught me off guard. I wasn't sure how I felt about my new audio visiual equipment addressing me as "LORD" when I realized that it had really said "LOAD."

Which makes me wonder 1. why I can't read and 2. why I often assume the oddest things when I misunderstand a word or situation.

One time I was riding with my friend when I saw a sign that said, "10% DISC NT" So I said, "Hey did you see that? It said 10% disco night!" (It was a Ci Ci's pizza place) "What does it mean? Is it 10% off if you dress like a disco person? or do they play disco music and you get 10% off?"

My friend looked at me and said, "Are you kidding? That says '10% DISCOUNT' the "U" fell out!"

Oh. I still thought Disco night would be more fun.

Not only can I not read, I can't speak either! The other day I was making fun of my co-worker for saying "elbow tennis" in stead of tennis elbow and I was all. "Oh no, I have tellbow ennis! . . . ah wait . . . I mean elbow tennis . . . I mean tennis elbow . . . dang it!"

Those brain cells are going fast.

http://msn.match.com/msn/article.aspx?articleid=1274&trackingid=516311&bannerid=542128

What is your flirting style quiz:

my score: Your flirting form is like that perfect martini — a great balance of style and smoothness. Your twist? Your natural curiosity about people leaves them feeling like they made a real connection. How's that for a perfect 10?

See, even the non social type can do it right if we really try!

I went to get my hair cut on my birthday. I hadn’t had it done in a while, because well, I hate paying to get it cut. I mean, it’s not like I have a “do” so I don’t have to worry about it growing out. My general pattern is to get it cut to my shoulders and let it grow for a few years. When it’s too heavy, and it gives me a head ache, I get it cut again.

So off to the Vietnamase school of cosmetology I go, for an experience and a $5.00 hair cut.

I walk in, and immediately get the sensation of being foreign. I’ve entered a strange new land. I am the only white person in the room and a foot taller than anyone in the salon.

I am greated: “Hello! You wan’ hair cut?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You sign paper.”

The paper is to remind me that I am getting my hair cut at a reduced rate because it will be done by an advanced student of cosmetology. The school is not responsible for my satisfaction.

Fine, I live on the edge, I sign the paper.

Then I am asked, “How you wan’ hair?”
“I want three inches off the back, long layers in the front, and bangs.”
“Ah, okay, okay, no problem, you follow her to shampoo room.”

So I picked up my purse and when I turned to “follow her.” I couldn’t tell which one she was! Dash it! They are all small Asian women with black hair! So I wandered around until I found a room with a very large black man sitting on a very small chair. He was getting a pedicure. It seemed Alice-in-Wonderlandishly out of place. I said, “I’m looking for the shampoo room.” I was told to come in.

While my hair was shampooed I was told several times “How Fine, how good,” my hair was. “Your hair very fine! So much! Very nice!” I figured by “Fine” she meant “good,” and by good she probably meant full or healthy or thick, or some adjective that goes with “nice” for hair, but I suppressed the English teacher inside of me and didn’t correct her with a lesson on what “fine” means in connection with hair.

So my little Vietnamese student of cosmetology started cutting my hair. I could tell she was a little nervous, I think she even measured my hair to be sure she got three inches exactly. She was a little shaky and she asked, “You in hurry?” “No? Okay, I go slow, be very careful.”

So, an hour and a half later, after several consultations with other students and teachers, after every student there gathered around what turned out to be that day’s lesson plan (me and my long layers) the teacher/owner of the school finished off my $5.00 hair cut with a razor comb and a flourish. There was applause and someone spoke from the crowd to announce “He is a master with scissors!”

I half expected the scene to go hazy and an ancient blind master to appear saying, “Grasshopper, you must not let the scissors master you--- you must be the master--- of the scissors!”

The paomnnehil pweor of the hmuan mnid.

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in
waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht
the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total
mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the
huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a
wlohe.

Amzanig huh?

It's good to be a ledgend somewhere, to be that person someone's mother says "why can't you be more like . . . ." about. Yes, someday when I've disappeared without a forwarding address, you'll be sitting around saying, "Yes, I know Shannon would do that." (or would never do that which you will have done) "I wonder what she's doing now . . . she's probably in Mongolia, acting as the saviour to a goat set for sacrifice, a goat long ago spray painted pink and decorated with tinsle in anticiplation of a feast."

Yes, and most likely that will be exactly what I'll be doing.

I was listening to the oldies station at work the other day, “Sugar-Pie, Honey-Bunch- you know I love you . . .” “My brown eyed girl . . .” “Join us for Oldies Fest with Earth Wind and Fire . . . “
“Saudi Arabia is a modern nation which as always enjoyed good relations with the United States. . .”

Uh – Wait, are they really talking about Saudi?! I halt my work to listen to what they are saying, it sounds like someone is reading an Encyclopedia Britannica entry about Saudi.

“Saudi is a country rich in resources and hospitality. The Saudi people are family oriented and have a strong faith network..”

I don’t understand why the oldies station finds it important to give me this information in the middle of the afternoon. I’m boggled.

“In Saudi, we have a very good education system, and the most modern medical facilities.”

“This message was brought you to by the people of Saudi Arabia.”

Wow. I’m not sure what to think.

They totally just played a “Love me, love me—I’m a good Saudi” commercial on the oldies station. Has it really come to that? Do we have “Love me, love me” commercials in Saudi?
What would they say?

“Here in America, we aren’t as bad as you think. We aren’t all slut-whores and perverts. We aren’t all welfare-crack head-unwed mothers hoping to get enough money together for another abortion. No, some of us are church people who wouldn’t touch a dirty whore in need with a ten foot pole. (We’re sure that’s what Jesus would do, or more to the point Wouldn’t do.) We are a prosperous nation, everyone likes us, because if the don’t like us, we beat them up and take away our toys and leave, until we can find another reason to come back and beat them up again. We’re good people and pretty too, I mean look at Hollywood, it’s fabulous. They aren’t all Jews you know. Some of them are New Agers for sure. Sure, our education system is going down the crapper, and we can’t even keep the lights on in New York City, but that doesn’t matter because WE’RE THE BEST!”

The other night Daniel was talking to his mother on the phone obviously trying to get her off the phone "No Mother, I won't be out all night. Yes Mother I know, it's irresponsible. No, Mother, I'm not sure when it will be. Yes, she's here." (It's never a good sign when she asks about me) When I hear him say, "Do you want to talk to her?" I'm sitting on the other side of the table shaking my head no in a not-so-subtle fashion.

He hands me the phone and I say "Hello." We chit-chat for a second when she gets to her point, "Shannon, what is your philosophy on staying out all night long?"

I say, "Ummm, well, I think you should only stay out all night when you can sleep in all day." (sounded like a good answer to me.) She sighed and said in a disappointed tone, "Oh, that's what Daniel thinks too." (I tried not to laugh. )

She said, "Well, I encourage you, as I encouraged him to not stay out all night." I said, "Okay." I was thinking, "I'm not going to stay out all night, my mom taught me better than that, I'm going home, and your son is coming home with me."

I didn't say it. No, no I think my very exsistance in the life of her precious fisrt born is almost enough to send her over the edge. I'm sure she prays for me every night. The very idea of hinting at faulty mothering would be going TOO FAR!

So I was at Taco Cabana a few weeks ago (I feel so behind on my blogging duties) it was 2 am and we are eating our burritos and such when this guy starts yelling.

At first we take no notice, but then he says the magic phrase that makes us want to hear more: "Come on! Yeah, I'll call immigration on your bitch ass!" An immigration threat, now that's serious, and he kept repeating himself, some times adding even more colorful language, "You stupid bitch-ass-wet-back-red-neck-hick! I'm gonna call immigration on you!"

From what I could tell the young man speaking was of latio origin himself, and since the guy he was yelling at never said anything back to him I can either assume that he was a) smart enough to keep quiet and not cause even more of a scene, b) he didn't speak English or c) he was afraid that immigration really would take his "stupid bitch-as-wet-bak-red-neck-hick" self way. Whatever the case was, he handled it well. He looked like a good guy, white hat and all.

The police came and hauled every one away. I wonder if immigration ever got his bitch ass.

I was listening in on a conversation with a guy who owned a truck which he had installed a 27 inch lift kit on. The floor boards were about to my shoulders. It was rediculous. He commented on how he got alot of attention from the police, how little his gas milage was and how many times it had been broken into. He talked about how much it cost him to get everything the way he wanted it.

When he was asked if he enjoyed the off roading he got to do, he said, "Oh, I haven't done any. I'm afraid I might break something."

What the . . . ! That is alot of hassel and exspence to go to for someone too afraid to use the equipment he's installed.

I don't even know what to call that, overblown consumerism, a need to grow up, or at least enjoy your toys.

I don't get it. I'm not a collector. I get something, a collector's edition, I have it out of the box in three seconds. I don 't want to collect it, I want to play with it. I want to enjoy it. Got a pretty candle, burn it. Beautiful soap, wash with it. A truck that will bounce all over creation, drive the crap out of it, go home and assess the damage.

That's how to live.

The other day I saw a cowboy running down the highway shoulder. He was running fast like he was chasing something, or something was chasing him. But there wasn't.

Sometimes I just don't get Texas.

Independence day 2003: I had a pretty darn good day. I got up at 9:30, opened a pina colada wine cooler and enjoyed my first taste of the day. I took a shower and scraped off all the hair from the offensive parts of my body. I then ironed a periwinkle, strapless, floor length formal (crinoline included) gown. I put on the dress, called my friend, agreed to attend a lunch party with her, and warned her of my full intent to wear the formal all day as part of my Independence day celebration. She said it was a good idea, she would wear a formal as well.

Before she came I had time to finish my pina colada and run to Walmart for a hat to complete the outfit.

The lunch party consisted of a set of Iranian twins, Amir and his brother Amir, (no joke) and their father who was visiting from Iran. (Interesting to me was the fact that their father had been the third highest commander for the Iranian Navy before the Revolution) two Indian fellows (one I could not understand for the life of me, and the other, named Robin Alex. That was actually his given name, he was born in India, raised in Bahrain and had a perfect American accent.) my friend Catherine, who told us all how to pronounce her Chinese name correctly Yan He: (Yawn Hu(h) Not Yan Hee, never Yan Hee, just call her Cathy and don’t worry about it any more.) the international students minister of First Baptist Church Arlington, and me.

Amir and Amir declared themselves Agnostic, their father Muslim and the rest of the group claimed Christ. We discussed everything from fire works to Iranian poets. We talked about Sunnis, Shi’ites, Sufis and Ismiles. Amir-1 said the Sufi’s wrote great poetry to God, but he really thought that it was opium induced dancing and love poems about women they couldn’t have.

His brother Amir-2 said he heard that mystics could do many strange things, even stop a train with their eyes, (but, oh, how tired his eyes must be when he had finished.)

I think the Indian boy I couldn’t understand said he had once seen a holy man charm a rope out of a basket as if it were a snake. Or maybe it was a snake that looked like a rope . . .honestly every sentence that came out his mouth sounded like one very long, strongly accented word.

I think the best bit of conversation was this exchange:
The Iranian father (Baba) said, “Yes, many things were very different in Iran before the Revolution, it all changed with Khomaini. Now the priests run the government and the people who should be running the government work in the bazaar.”
Amir-1: “Khomaini was a very bad man.”
Baba: “Yes he was bad.”
Catherine: “I hear about Khomaini a lot, but who was he, what did he do?”
Amir-2: “Khomaini was very terrible, if there is a hell, he is there. He is burning at the very bottom, in the fire, he is the charcoal that burns other people in hell, he was the worst man.”

Now that is serious! Not since Dante of Judas have I heard of such things said about anybody dead or alive. “He is the charcoal that burns other people in hell.” I’ll have to remember that. I can only imagine who well the curses and insults would have come off in Farsi if they were that impressive in his second language.

The next party was a pool/cook out affair. I was not half impressed with the conversations which were by a bunch of adult missionary kids who were newly married, or about to be married or really wanted to get married and about their dogs and/or babies and going to church. (“Gag!” I mean, “cough, cough, excuse me, I need to leave this conversation now.”)

I had changed into my swim suit before most of the guest had arrived so they missed out on the formal, but I put it back on before we left and walked out in all my glory, floppy white hat and all, everyone looked, no one spoke. I smiled graciously, but didn’t say a word. I can only imagine what might have been going through their tiny little mk minds.

At the third party of the day we shot off fire works for an hour or so, I came away with only one small hole burned in my dress near the hem.

I’d have to say that dress was well worth my $4.00 investment at Thriftown.

I had an interview today. I don't think my interview was at all impressed with the fact that I'm a grad student. Drat. It's always something. At least that's a better excuse for not getting a job than "because your name is Shannon" which is why I didn't get the last job. They actually told me that! Losers.

At work tonight I was holding my bucket of shinning, glowing, blinking, flashing feather roses doing my job with the same enthusiasm I always have at work when this girl looked at me, patted me on the shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

I said, “Thanks.”

I was inspired to write down all the jobs I can remember having:

1. baby sitting
2. McDonalds—kitchen crew, until the day I forgot to put the meat on the cheese burgers, then I was moved to register
3. Geneva College cafeteria worker—food server,(describer of mystery meat) salad wench, (kept the salad bar stalked)click chick (counted people entering cafeteria) and clean up crew
4. BSU summer worker—home repair supervisor/shelter counselor (ha-ha)
5. Day care kindergarten childcare provider
6. Dallas Christian College library assistant
7. Dallas Christian College recruiter (torture, it was like torture!)
8. Dallas Christian College Camp team
9. Tutor at LCC
10. sales associate for some crappy mall store for X-mas
11. Day care floater (substitute/helper for which ever class needed me)
12. UPS quality controller
13. IMB journey man—strategy coordinator intern/ESL teacher/community development ie tourist
14. register/stock clerk at Dollar General
15. Interlibrary Loan coordinator at GGBTS library
16. customer service at florist
17. Kirby bastards
18. guest services at Meryvan’s
19. customer service at Temp Glass
20. paper shuffler at Verizon mail center
21. telemarketer for AOL/Time Warner
22. paper shuffler at Adessa Auto Auction
23. customer service at UTA SECC
24. customer service at Dish Network/Digital Link
25. customer service/sales Feather Rose of TX

I saw a Jew today, complete with long beard, tassels, fedora hat and Harley Davidson T-shirt. He walked by twice muttering something to himself, oddly enough he came from the same direction both times.

I get the words evanescence and effervescence mixed up.

I am now registered for fall classes, all in good faith that I will have $1,000 to pay for it when the time comes.

I would like everyone to be duly informed that Summer's parent's dog doesn't like pickles.

I went to Sunday School last week. As I was filling out the visitor's card the single's minister asked me where I was from. I told him I was from PA origionally, and he started up with a 20 point quiz about PA history. I think I passed it. At least I did alot better on PA history than I would have on TX history.

As soon as the quiz was over I was introduced to the minions, and was immediatly handed an invitation to a party. Ummm, friendly little baptists. When I actually looked at the invite I noticed it had two dates on it, and I couldn't figure out what the intention was until I saw it said, "bring your pillow" a sleep over. This girl invited a total stranger, who just happened to show up to Sunday school to her sleep over? (She's 20 something and having a sleep over?!)

Anyway, the class was good, I argued with the teacher about the total depravity of man and predestination while the rest of the class sat there and looked stunned. One girl told me she thought I was "really brave" for showing up to Sunday school and church alone. Yeah, well, I could tell her a thing or two about showing up places. Sunday school was one of the least of my adventures in showing up.

an email I sent last night:

I would like to take a moment to vent:

My feather rose boss says to me tonight, "You know, you really need to be more talkative to the customers when they come to the stand."

He blah-blah-blahed about it, but that was the jist of the lecture. and I'm thinking, "I am not a people person! I hate selling things! If you had interviewed me before you hired me you would know these things!"
Man, people come up to the booth, they are talking among themselves, I don't feel the need to interrupt them with a witness about the obvious! The freaking stand says "Feather rose"

So I'm supposed to walk up and say, "Hey, it's a feather rose. It's a rose made out of feathers-- even the leaves are feathers, because it's a rose, and roses have leaves, but FEATHER roses have Feather leaves. And it's scented, like a rose, get it? Rose? You want to know why it's scented? because these are made out of goose covering, and when they aren't scented they smell like a drowned goose! Isn't that cool? You want to buy one? They are only $4.84 each, including tax"

Okay, so I need to be more personable. I'm simply working under the premise that sales people should be available to answer questions, not necessisarily volunteering information out the wahoo.

They can bite me. I hate people. I want a job working with nobody. Just minding my own business and doing my work which has been carefully explained to me, and me doing exactly what I'm expected to do, no more, no less. ok

good night

Sometimes I find myself doing something, and even while I am doing it, I am wondering
“why . . . what possesses me to do such things as this?”

I was driving down Collins the other day, munching on French fries as I went, listening to Cake (the band) when I noticed an Arlington police officer behind me. I immediately checked my speed. I was actually under-speeding in a 35 zone. I was okay with that, what- with the fries and all.

When I got to the light, it was just turning yellow, so I stopped. (I got a ticket one time for going through a yellow light that happened to turn red while I was under it.) Well, I had every intention of turning right. I was in the turning lane, and the police officer was still behind me. When the light turned red, I couldn’t remember if I could turn right on red or not. It seems like it was illegal somewhere I had been. But I couldn’t remember where. I spent some time considering it, and came to the conclusion that I could turn right on red here in the great state of Texas, but inexplicably I was compelled to sit right there in the turning lane in all of my blue Buick glory with my turning signal on, not turning.

Now it was a LONG light. One of those ones where everyone gets their turn, people going straight, people turning left from the south, people turning right from the north, people turning this way from that direction an “obey your traffic signal only” kind of intersection, right there before you get on 30. It was the kind of intersection where anyone who wanted to turn right on red had every opportunity to do so.

Every once in a while I would eat another fry and look in my review mirror to see what the cop was doing. He seemed very patient at first, but after a while, at least a full minute of sitting there for no reason, he started getting fidgety, looking out the window, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and I just sat there and looked at him like it was a movie in my mirror.

I was wondering about things like:
1. why am I still sitting here?! I’m already late for work!
2. does he have somewhere specific to go?
3. if its not illegal to turn right on red, is it not illegal to not turn right on red?
4. is he going to keep on following me now because I made him mad?
5. does he think I’m some old person driving this Buick?
6. he’s kinda cute.
7. these fries need more salt.
8. is this light ever going to change?
9. would I still be sitting here if it weren’t a cop behind me?
10. someday I’m going to . . . finally, he interrupted my thoughts when he turned on his siren for about a second.

I moved along, feeling somewhat defeated. I’m not sure why.

Yeah, I'm just waiting on the edge of my seat for something exciting to happen. . . . when it does, I'll be sure to write a blog about it.

You are... Shrek - "Well I have to save my
ass!"
You walk tough and talk tough, but inside you're
just a gooey ball of mush. Your friends are
important to you (whether you admit it or not)
and you'd do just about anything for them (but
you wouldn't like it). Trust is important to
you, and so is respet. Looks don't matter to
you; it's the gooey ball of mush inside that
really counts.


What movie quote are YOU?
brought to you by Quizilla

"Nooo! Not my gumdrop buttons!"

I am infinity You may worship me, but from afar _

what number are you?

this quiz by orsa

Huh . . . I was thinking I would have been a natural number.

Random thoughts from a tired mind:

I like the names Edwin and Skyler Porter, which were my grandfather’s and grand mother’s father’s names.

I also like the name Lucian, which I’ve never met anyone named

I think the toilet paper is too hard, my butt hurts now

I want a stuffed animal caterpillar from a Six Flags game, a blue one

I need a license plate holder for my car

My new plates say “YPH” . . . if

I’m hooked on phonics

Last night I had a dream that I was dreaming, and in my dreaming dream, I was dreaming.

I woke up confused

Miss Venezuela is now Miss Universe

Venezuela is kinda hard to spell

I’m glad I have globe on my desk

I went to a grave yard on Memorial day. There was a celebration going on, but I missed the whole thing as I was only there to pick up a friend (a live one). As I was waiting for him, I decided to look around.

I like looking at the older stones. It seems 100 years ago, people had such interesting names. I suppose it’s a morbid idea to go to a cemetery to pick names for children. But I wouldn’t put it past me.

I found one grave marked, “Dred Greef Widdon.” Dred Greef? What was happening in that family when he was born? That’s a terrible name! It reminded me of the “Not Loved,” “Not Wanted” children in Hosea.

I’m amazed at the stories a grave site will tell, just the name, sometimes an epitaph, flowers or abandonment. I think I would prefer to not have a gravesite or to have it unmarked.

I think I’ve mentioned before the slave yard I saw once in TN. There was a stone that read,
(her name)
She the Suns-
hine of our
house.
She was a second wife, with the information of the first wife engraved on the same stone, just above her name. All the stones in that yard had engravings with spelling mistakes and like this one, hyphenations out of place making it look to be read “Suns hinie.”

But when I consider the time and/or expense it took to engrave that epitaph for the second wife of a slave man . . . when I consider what it must take to be the “Sunshine” of a household that is in every way owned by another man, even down to the last baby, when I consider the losses they surely must have already experienced, I know her stone, and her epitaph are important, historically. Even if none of her descendents know of her, or what she did to be the sunshine of a slave household, at least I know she did it.

She is an encouragement for me.

Dred Greef is a warning.

I watched SuperStar last night and I think I understand now why Catholics like to confess to the priests. I'm sure there is something to be said for confessing and having someone give you penitence and forgiveness on the spot.

I mean, sure we can confess to God and forgiveness is already ours, but it's not the same as when someone with skin says, "You are forgiven."

Yeah-- I think I will make a few confessions to you . . .

Forgive me World for I have sinned –

I watched Bubble Boy for the 4th time this weekend, Super Star for the 3rd time and Office Space for the 2nd time.

I thought they were all really funny. (I was told I needed to admit to myself that I was watching "some really crude stuff") I admit it to you.

When I was driving the other day I called the woman who pulled out in front of me a "little bitch."

I got “hit with a tennis ball.”

I took a job selling a ridiculous product that not only would I never buy for any serious purpose, but that I would mock others for purchasing. (I'll be working at Six Flags this summer at the "Southern Rose of Texas" I will be hawking feather roses. That's right, roses make out of feathers. They look and feel real, except that they are made out of bird parts. There are even some that light up and blink in an epilepsy-inducing kind of way. Yeah, I get and extra fifty cents each for pawning those puppies off on people whilst I walk around the park in the heat of the summer night in the great state of TX.)

I forgot to lock the door last night.

I stayed in bed for 13 hours straight last night/today.

I stayed up until 5:30am the day before engaging in “tennis” related actives.

I checked the mailbox yesterday, it was all for my room mate, so I left it there.

I watched a soap opera this week which included a love circle that involved a Mexican cop, a blonde heiress, a psycho brunette, a lesbian lunatic and an orangutan named Precious.

I've driving a car that is unregistered, uninspected and has out of state, expired tags. (and needs to be vacuumed)

Alright, that's all I have to confess for now.

O wait, a typo I just made (I typed lishp instead of list) reminded me I have on more confession:

I was thinking unkind thoughts toward the televangelist with the lisp this morning.

Okay.

Freedom in nothing

Because New Year’s resolutions are too hard, I decided to make a series of New Month resolutions. This month it is an experiment in poverty and plenty.

I’m certainly not alone in my hand to mouth experiences, but sometimes I wonder if people realize that sometimes there really isn’t any benefactor in sight who’s going to help us out of whatever crisis we may find ourselves in. There’s not working mom and dad to help with the rent this month. There aren’t any retired grandparents with great credit and a some extra to lend a little to get the car fixed. No brothers or sisters who could scrape a little together for the electric bill.

Nothing. Nothing to be seen in any event. All my friends are equally as poor as I am.

Fortunately, I’m an optimist. I have hope because I have a provider. I always have. I’ve always had a provider, sometimes I lose sight of the hope.

But this month I wanted to see it again. To aid in my quest, I decided to spend nothing for one week. Nothing, not even one penny. I started Tuesday, the 20th. I have come across some inconvinences. 1. I have to do careful research in my cook books to find a recipe that contains only the ingredients I have (or can find a substitute for in my pantry) 2. I went to the library (cheap and free entertainment) however, I cannot check out a book, I have a fine on my card.
3. My habits of looking at adds and wandering around stores for that “really amazing deal” is useless. Even if I find that really amazing deal, I can’t have it.

That’s fine. The point of the exercise it to remember how much have already. I don’t need to buy anything, even if I can afford it.

I did go to the mall yesterday. I tried on a key-lime-pie-green formal gown.

The strategy is to only look at and try on things you would never buy. But much to my surprise, it was kinda cute once I got it on! DRAT!
Ah . . . were would I have to go to wear a key-lime-pie-green formal gown anyway?

I have freedom in needing and buying nothing.

When I was a little girl, I was convinced I could fly. Well, not really fly, but float. I could float down the stairs, as long as nobody was looking. I could move down the stairwell without ever touching a step. I could do it because I was a little girl, and that made total sense to me. I knew that adults couldn't do it, and that they would never understand if I told them, or if they saw me. I knew that someday I would get too old to do it anymore.

It happened one day when I was between three and four years old. (I find it amazing that I can recall a lucid thought at that age) I stood at the head of the stair well, and nothing happened. I remember thinking, "I must be too old for that now." Accepting it calmly I walked down the stairs for the first time in a long while. Always before it was an unwilled action. I stopped at the first step, and it happened. I let it. It never suprised me. It just was. I never asked why or why not.

I've read that young children often confuse their dreams with reality. I've thought that was the case with my floating. I wonder now though, if it wasn't my first taste of the magic and fantastic qualities of life that the reasonable mind refuses to believe, the logical eye refuses to see, what the responsible life refuses to live.

Sometimes I find myself in the most unreasonable, illogical, irresponsible circumstances--
I wonder if everyone lives the same sort of rediculous life I lead. If they do, I wonder if they know.
I wonder if they see it as magic and fantastic too.

A man walked down the street, said, "Why am I short of attention? Got a short little span of attention and oh my nights are so long. Where's my wife and family? What if I die here? I don't want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard."

Paul Simon

"To Do" list for 5/19/03
1. Make a "to do" list for 5/20/03.
2. Make a post-production "been done" list for 5/19/03 in order to establish a sense of accomplishment.

Pogo Jesus hops across my screen in four big "boing-boing-boing-boings." He has a halo, dreds flying everywhich way and a crinkly-smily face. He has spawned many a speculation concerning the historical Jesus and whether or not he would have liked a pogo stick.

If you type "pogo jesus screen saver" into google, you can find and download him for your very own.

I should have been a rollar durby queen. Are those days of glory gone?

The corner by the door

Grey carpet in our apartment, covered near the door by a tribal looking carpet. It’s blue, black and off white, with geometric shapes and bits of orange, red, green and blue dispersed throughout. Carpets always sound worse when you describe them then they do when you see them. My room mate has left four pairs of shoes by the door, work shoes, tennis shoes, dress shoes and flip-flops.

Usually by the time the collection has grown to that size, I’m tired of looking at them and I gather them up and throw to the middle of the floor in the bedroom. I then announce that we need to clean the bedroom because it’s making me claustrophobic. It’s never just the shoes. It’s all our stuff that oozes out of our closet, dresser drawers and laundry baskets. It’s things that have places, under the bed, in the corner, tucked under a table that creep out to the middle of the floor until there is not carpet to be seen, no flat surfaces apparent. . .

I digress.

Above the carpet, above the shoes, there is a night light. It is The Virgin Mary holding her sacred heart. Mary is always turned on, so to speak.

Above Mary is “Mormon” Jesus. Blue-eyed-blond-hair-red-cloaked-never-making-eye-contact-back-lit-head-and-shoulders-Jesus. Mormon Jesus is wearing a T-shirt under his red cloak which reads, “I want your life.” Obviously this is not mainstream Protestant Jesus. He would have dark hair, dark eyes, he would always make eye contact and his T-shirt would read, “I (heart) you.” in fuzzy red lettering. Or maybe that’s just my idea.

Above Mormon Jesus is an AOL CD with the Pyrotechnic Porno Babies penned upon it with indelible marker.(Not the words, the cartoon characters.) It hangs to the left of the light switch plate. Above the CD is a frame containing pair of silver, miniature Arabic sandals. Above the sandals is a small plaque, about four inches in diameter containing a sample of Lefcara lace, handmade in Cyprus. Above the plaque, dangling from the ceiling is a purple, paper Chinese lamp, with no light source.

On the door there is a purple post-it note with the word “LUNCH” and a smiley face printed on it. It was to remind me to take my lunch in my previous days of employment. Above the door in the corner to the right is a web of red yarn. Entangled in the web is giant golden “S.”

A coat rack, a Pakistani puzzle (unsolved) and Senorita Misteriosa hang quietly on the opposing wall. Senorita Misteriosa features a “glow atomic dress.” And willingly tells her story to all who take the time to learn it. She is an accoutrement for mystery. Tucked just behind Senorita Misteriosa is a blue, glittery sticker in the shape of a butterfly that announces “Self Esteem.”

One corner of my living room.

My life as a pirate-ette.

This is my kissing friend and I at the Scarborough Faire: While I was dressed as a one eyed maiden, my friend was actually wearing a camouflaged shirt that said, “HA! Now you can’t see me!” blue shorts, an orange hat and boots, apparently a medieval hick. Or maybe a hick-vampire as it looks like he is about to bite me.

His mother looked at this photo and said, “Why are you sitting like that?” It seems we were actually touching, which is against her Elizabethan standards. (She knows what boys and girls do alone together in the dark.) The question is, does she know what one eyed maidens and medieval hick-vampires do alone together on cow upholstered couches?

You should be a Pisces, Sensitive, imaginative,
multitalented, multifaceted, intuitive,
compassionate, people oriented, sympathetic,
receptive, big-hearted, generous, but can be
escapist, unpredictable, irrational, gullible,
passive, indecisive, weak, uncertain, clueless,
vague, lethargic, vindictive, lazy, self-
indulgent


~*What is your TRUE Zodica sign?*~
brought to you by Quizilla

This is how you know the price for the car part you need is outrageously priced:

You say: “Do you have a (car part you need) for a (year, make, model of your car)?”
Parts guy says: “No, but I can order it for you, let me look up the price.”
Parts guy looks it up and says: “Whoa! I’ve never seen one cost that much! That’s ridiculous! That much just for a (whatever you want)?!”
You say: “Thanks, I’ll check some other places.”

What's your Super Power?

Super Mind-Reading Skills

We can't say for sure whether your mind-reading powers would come from some mystical force, or maybe just from sheer intuition, but in the Flipside Super Universe, that's what we think you'd have. And that's nothing to be trifled with. First, you'd be able to predict the next step in some Super Villain's dastardly plan by looking at their face. But even more importantly, you'd be able to figure out whether that Super Cutie is flirting with you, or just being friendly.
Think we're super wrong? Take the quiz again!

4% of the people who took this quiz got the same evaluation

http://www.the-n.com/games/quiz_main.php?ipv_sectionID=43&ipv_quizID=452

It's National Goodwill Industries Week. visit your local store for details on special offers and give aways. "Goodwill has been chaning lives for 101 years."

www.goodwillfortworth.org

Breasts: Their Evolutionary Origins as a Deceptive Signal of Need for Provisioning and Temporary Infertility
Edward M. Miller Professor of Economics and Finance

Female Rewarding of Male Provisioning During Lactation
Even in existing apes food provision can be rewarded with sexual access. Females appear to reward with copulations males who feed them, even having been seen to take meat from the mouth of the male copulating with her (Goodall, 1986, 483-484). Estrous females succeed more often at begging meat from males than non-estrous ones (Goodall, 1986, 483-484). Kano (1979) describes how bonobos (pygmy chimpanzees) presented and copulated with males with fruits they wanted. Once hominids had adopted hunting, males frequently found themselves with meat which could be distributed to females. Males naturally distributed this meat to females who in turn gave them sexual access. [para 22]

Probably why I’m not rich. . . .

I was bored on Saturday, and when girl is bored, and poor what is she to do? I’ll tell you what she’s to do, she’s to find a friend, drive to a ritzy (and far way) mall try on formal wear and take pictures of each other in the dressing room. (I should have the pictures back Tuesday; maybe I’ll be able to post one for jollies) I was trying to use up some old film, and this seemed the perfect opportunity.

This outing made me realize why God chose me to be poor. It’s prom season, and just when we were finished with our fun, we were walking out of the store when we passed by the juniors section. There, before our eyes was the most amazing dress we had yet seen. It was a Barbie-pink-sparkly-super-poofy-monstrosity. The skirt was four feet in diameter, the dress could stand up by it’s self. It was amazing! My friend immediately grabbed one and ran to the dressing room. I followed with the camera. We got two pictures taken before the attendant said, “I hate to tell you this, but you can’t take pictures in the store.”

DRAT! There was certainly more fun to be had with that dress. However, I obediently put my camera away, as she gathered her skirt to wade back to her changing stall. We continued to talk about that dress the rest of the afternoon, finally concluding, if we were rich we would each buy a dress like that. We would buy all the accessories (shoes, tiara, gloves, costume jewelry (maybe even a wand and a pair of wings!) and dance around the mall. We would ice skate, then take it to the streets.

We would go to important places like Walmart, dollar stores, dollar theater, ghetto skating rink, the falafel place for sure. We would be followed by a camera man, and maybe a cellist.

Life would be good with a Barbie-pink-sparkly-super-poofy dress.

It cost $358.00. I would do it. Maybe that’s why I’m not rich.

I went to first Baptist Arlington today. The pastor opened his sermon by asking the congregation to call out some names of Jesus found in scripture. From the last pew in back corner of the sanctuary I wanted to scream "ISA!!"

Why is that the first thing to pop into my head? He should specify which scripture.

Qui vive! A sentinel's challenge.
Idiom: on the qui vive
On the alert; vigilant: “a loathsome Dublin politico who is on the qui vive for... terrorists” (Julian Moynahan).
[French, (long) live who? (a sentry's challenge to determine a person's political sympathies) : qui, who + vive, third person sing. present subjunctive of vivre, to live.]
qui vive used like the English challenge: ``Who comes there?''

To be on the qui vive, to be on guard; to be watchful and alert, like a sentinel.
qui vive n : condition of heightened watchfulness or preparation for action: "bombers were put on alert during the crisis" [syn: alert]

Blame it on Finfrock!

I watched Shrek en Francais last night. Good stuff.

"Pas mon gumdrop boutonne!"

The other night I locked myself out of the apt. and as my room mate didn’t answer her phone or open the door when I knocked, I decided to find an alternative entry. Which I might add, was rediculously easy to do.

Mental note: try to make it less rediculous

I watched Bubble Boy this weekend. Twice. I endorse it.

“Do what I tell your father to do, just say the pledge of allegiance over and over until it goes away.”

“Have you seen my son?!”
“Yeah, your weird ass son got on a bus with some bright and shiny people, they were heading off to Las Vegas, you know, Satan's anus.”

“Bright and Shiny! Bright! and Shiny! . . . if you save yourself for God, you will get the golden rod!”

“Have you ever been karmically bitch slapped by a six armed goddess?!”

I was just starting to dig the whole idea of working 8 days a month when I realized that in two more weeks, the semester and my job ends. Drat! I need a sponser.

I got this on an email titled "If Iraq won the war" . . . do Iraqi women even wear burkas?

She said, “Okay, it’s late, I want you to come right back. You don’t need to be out all night, because I think you both know what kinds of things boys and girls do alone together in the dark.”

I SO wanted to give my most naive and blameless look and say, “No, I don’t know what they do. Is it a Bible study?”

Can I have that red wine vinaigrette if you aren’t going to keep it?

The collective score on the purity test was 71.25. I’m pretty sure the other two were bringing me down. What would EE say?!

Eve Ensler's play "The Vagina Monologues" (a series of explicit speeches on sexuality and repression) was performed at a hotel in Islamabad, Pakistan, in March, by Ms. Ensler and a troupe of local actresses (bundled in their traditional clothing) to an invited audience of 150, who apparently loved it, according to a report in Toronto's Globe and Mail. "If (the play) can happen here, it can happen anywhere," said Ms. Hibaaq Osman, a Somali Muslim activist, who in a fit of enthusiasm renamed the capital city "Vaginabad." "Having these Pakistani women talking about vibrators (is) what it's all about." [Globe and Mail, 3-17-03]

Good Friday
The origin of the term Good is not clear. Some say it is from "God's Friday" (Gottes Freitag); others maintain that it is from the German Gute Freitag, and not specially English. Sometimes, too, the day was called Long Friday by the Anglo-Saxons; so today in Denmark.

Maudy Thursday
Canon 24 of the Council of Carthage dispenses the faithful from fast before communion on Holy Thursday, because, on that day, it was customary take a bath, and the bath and fast were considered incompatible.

Something has gone tragically WRONG!

Oh my gosh. I've seen things I did not want see. I've exposed library patrons to things nice little Indian boys and girls should never even know about!!

Wow, I was just going to check on the welovetheiraqiinformationminister site and this warning came up about adult content. "Well," say I to myself, "This must be a joke for last time assuredly I nary saw anything of adult only content." Oh, and alas, how wrong I was! I couldn't close that window fast enough, and when I did, FIVE more popped up! What? I'M FREAKING IN A PUBLIC PLACE!!

So, that being said, I was going to check the site for the latest update concerning the information minister, however, I cannot do it now. I am frightened that parts might start showing up all over the place again.

Seriously, how do they get a porno site with a name ANYWHERE NEAR "welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com"?!

I was honked at and waved at five times, and asked if I wanted a ride twice in the mile and a half walk to school this morning. I think it’s the dress. Not that I'm wearing a particularly alluring dress, but just that it's a dress. For some reason men always look at women wearing dresses differently ... to say the least they are generally more . . . helpful . . . or something along those lines.

Mental note: when traveling on the interstate, always wear a dress. (the whole looking- helpless, “I’m sure I can’t possibly change a tire all by my little ol’ self” bit always works better with a dress.)

"Except for the sky, there are no fences facing."
Mr Tamborine Man, Bob Dylan

from www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com

"I speak better English than this villain Bush"
"We will welcome them with bullets and shoes."
"We will kill them all........most of them."
"they are nowhere near the airport ..they are lost in the desert...they can not read a compass...they are retarded."
[On surrenders] "Those are not Iraqi soldiers at all. Where did they bring them from?"
"I blame Al-Jazeera - they are marketing for the Americans!"
"They're coming to surrender or be burned in their tanks."

15 April - Breaking news: Iranian paper reports rumor that Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf (M.S.S.) may have commited suicide by hanging

smart people use their time more wisely

You're the smirk,a frown-smile hybrid that's a
little bit cocky and usually associated with
evil or arrogant,but attractive people.You
probably just don't give a damn,but it's
everyone else's fault if you don't because
you're too awesome to have any real faults.


What Kind of Smile are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Gay Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Until further notice, my new hotmail address is flipflipsummer

I had a message on my answering machine last week that said I was fired from my crappy part time job at the satellite company. I suppose I’d been expecting it. I tried for a while to figure out what I had done wrong. The message said it was because there just wasn’t enough work. That was a lie, but, the easiest way out I suppose.

The conclusions I came to were 1. I wasn’t eager or needy enough in the job. They would say, “You want to pick up an extra shift?” I’d say “No.” They’d say, “You want to stay late (No) or come in early?” I’d say, “No.” I came in when I was scheduled, and left on time.

The other thing was the perverted owner of the company. He called the other girls in the office cute little nick-names like “Fat-Ass” and “Useless-Bitch.” He came in one day and insisted on licking some girl’s toes. (What the . . .? I KNOW!) They would laugh at him and act like they thought it was all acceptable behavior. Of course they would only complain when he was gone. I never had the misfortune to meet the man, and I never pretended it was funny when he said asinine things on the phone.

One day he called, cussed everyone out and told them to close the office (in the middle of the day) because he was mad. (You don’t gotta tell me twice) I left. The next day they said they then got yelled at for leaving. I told them he sounded bi-polar and if he ever treated me like he treats the other girls I’d charge him with sexual harassment.

Guess I should keep my mouth shut about all future plans.

Well, being fired solved one problem anyway. Since the ex-boyfriend wanted his ex-wife’s ex-car back the week before, with one less job, I no longer needed to worry about how I was going to get to work.

My friend pointed out that if the opposite had been the case, if I had suddenly gotten a job and a car out of the blue, I’d have a lot to praise God about. I could then, as the Baptists do, say, “It’s all in God’s perfect timing and isn’t it amazing?”

Ah what the heck anyway? “It’s all in God’s perfect timing. Isn’t it amazing?”

Want to know what else is amazing? I got a letter in the mail yesterday that said (lucky me) all my student information has been stolen from the UT system. Bye-bye Identity, see you later Social Security number, been nice knowing you Direct Deposit Bank Information. I’ll miss you--- All My Private Information! Whever gets my ID is going to be sorry they picked me. I don't have anything to take adventage of.

This morning I was informed that my five year old hotmail address had been deleted. Again, it was nice while it lasted, Address Book.

I am blessed to be a blessing.

"free is always better . . . unless it's sugar free . . . then it's not better."

A stranger started guessing my bra size in the store the other day. Sure, we had had some polite conversation for a few minutes, but when she started guessing, I felt a little violated! I considered informing her of the general social understanding that strangers (even friends) don't guess another's bra size! I decided to just back away, quietly.

The next day a guy siddled up to me to ask if I was married. Huh, well, pickup lines are getting more direct. (In the parking lot!) I said, yes. That did not have the detering effect I had hoped for. He followed me across the parking lot, (in the rain) to ask me if I had kids, if I needed ride, if I wanted him to buy me some flowers.

People are weird.

"You mark my words, everybody is coming back to God. You will see, we shall all see."
"I used the word," said Tristram brutally, "as a gesture of defiance. It is just a dirty word, that's all."
"Exactly," said the unfrocked with quiet joy. "All dirty words are fundamentally religious. They are all concerned with fertility and the processes of fertility and the organs of fertility. God, we are taught, is love."

The Wanting Seed Anthony Burgess

Word of the day

Main Entry: log·or·rhea
Pronunciation: "lo-g&-'rEa
Function: noun
Etymology: New Latin
Date: circa 1892
: excessive and often incoherent talkativeness or wordiness

I was asking alot of questions about the planetarium here on campus, my coworker said, "I don't know! Go ask the geology department!"

The geology department?!

In an effort to prove to myself that that was a random mistake, that most people really do know what department would be running a planetarium on university campus, I asked someone else, "What department would you contact if you wanted information on the planetarium?" He said, "I don't know, Botany?"

Apparently this was not a point I would be proving to myself today.

Guess who said it:

“At least you aren’t wearing parachute pants.”

“In the name of Jesus! Convulse!”

“There are no rules! This is Earth!”

“I didn’t expect two of the speakers to be flamers!”

“Wabi Sabi, Habi Labi”

“I want a Mother Heart of God room!”

I was in Office Depot playing with a talking globe (for sometime as I was waiting for some one to meet me at the plaza) when the salesman came to tell me, "We sell those." I didn't even bother to look at him, I said, "I know, I'm playing." and finished my game.

A not so subtle hint gone awry

There was a bumpersticker on the register with a picture of a bear that read: “We have the right to arm bears.”

My aunt and I went to eat at the Spiral Café, the to be place for vegans in Ft. Worth. We both had spinich lazana. It was good, would have been better without the tofo, but everyone has their own opinions. . . after we ate, we learned from a brochure the benefits of a vegan lifesyle for all the carnavores, including cats and dogs (Vegan pets . . . what next?)

We had stimulating conversation about why we were there, (vegan-lent thing) and the explanation of what a vegan is. After I gave her the low-down on what a vegan is as opposed to a vegatarian, she said, “So you can eat anything that would go in the compost heap?” “Yes, and thank you for giving me that visulatization.”

We spoke of church politics, the chosen quote on that topic was, “I know we are all part of the body of Christ, but I don’t understand why there have to be so many ass holes!” She’s a funny one, dealing with the antics of the Methodists at the moment.

During our discussions we watched the vegan population come and go we noted a few details:
1. they were all young people, ages 16-25
2. all the girls were (surprisingly) on the plumper side of life
3. all the boys were (expectedly) exceedingly thin
4. they all wore black clothing with some flamboyantly colored assessory (a yellow bandana, a rainbow hand bag,
purple stockings or red shoes)
5. all the girls had red hair (except for the one with hot pink hair.)

Interesting, one could do a full study on the subculture of the vegans of Ft. Worth.

New co-worker says to me: "There's no 'me' in team . . . unless you're dyslexic . . . "

Going to War and Going to Church

Generally I am one to keep my comments out of the ears of strangers. (Okay I know I’m posting them on the internet for the world to see, but I’ve not invited to world to see them!) I try to either keep my little thoughts to myself or only share them with the one who happens to be sitting next to me. I know, I tend toward the sarcastic and sometimes “brutal honesty.” And I wonder if I don’t avoid Bible studies lately because of my urges to critic the presenter after he has completed his lesson. “Here comes the Bible study snob . . .”

First Baptist Church, Dallas; singles group. The first thing that made me smile to myself was this quote in the middle of a prayer. “All's I think about is Habakkuk.” Really? Of all the things in the world to think about ALL he thinks about is Habakkuk? We’ll call that hyperbole and move on.

By way of announcements the leader starts talking about upcoming events concerning the Easter season, he says this: “I want to tell you about what we’ll be doing the week before Easter. In English we call that week ‘pre-Easter week.’ In Spanish we call it ‘Holy Week.’
I think this: “ummm . . . ‘Pre-Easter week?!” What the . . . in English we call it ‘Holy Week’ too! Crazy Baptists!”

With that I was just being picky, but soon after he offended me. He started talking about the war and the atrocities of Saddam Hussain, how Saddam has been known to torture and kill Christians, describing a scene of how people get stoned in this modern age. And he said, “We are fighting a just war. This is a Holy War.” A ‘just war’ seems a contradiction in terms, but Holy War!? I don’t think so! That’s going too far! I’m not an anti-war activist, I haven’t been interested to attend the peace rallies or marches, I have not criticized the actions of the President. I’m sure I don’t know enough of the situation to make accusations (as I think most people don’t so they should shut up.) I haven’t said much about it one way or the other, but calling this a Holy War was going too far for me.

He informed us at that point that instead of a lesson plan, he would lead us in a time of prayer concerning what is happening in the world. We prayed for peace in Jerusalem that ‘God’s chosen people would turn to him’. Sure, great, I’m all about peace in Jerusalem, but we are at war in BAGDAD! You want to pray for Bible cities, lets pray for peace in Babylon!

Then he told us to pray for “Our enemies; the terrorists, the Muslims and the Iraqis.” By this time I wanted to get up and pop him in the mouth for being so stupid. Instead I prayed for patience.

When he finished I went to talk to him. I said, “I don’t want you to think I’m being overly critical, but I just wanted to comment on a few things you said.”

He said, “Oh sure.” (little did he know)

I said, “Well, first the whole thing about the “Holy War,” not only is that historically and personally offensive, but it’s wrong for you to say. This is not a “holy war” by any sense of the words. No war led and perpetuated by men is ‘holy’ not only that, we are not fighting for the rights of Christians in the world. Otherwise we’d be all over the Sudan. When Jesus comes back riding a white horse, THAT will be a Holy War. Not until then.”

He said, “Oh, I see what you mean.”

I said, “And one other thing . . . You said, ‘pray for our enemies the terrorists, the Muslims and the Iraqis.’ The terrorists are our moral enemies, the Iraqis our political enemies, but what do the Muslims have to do with it?”

He said, “Well if you knew anything about what the Muslims believe you would . . .”

I interrupted, “I know enough about Islam to know they are not our enemies.”

He said, “Maybe you should read a book called . . .

(I interrupted again) “I know enough about Islam to know they are not our enemies any more than the Jews are.” (this time I said the magic “Jew” word, he had to listen) “Are the Jews our enemies too? We were just praying for peace in Jerusalem, which seemed odd since we are warring with Baghdad. If you think Muslims are our “spiritual enemies” (which seems just as much as a contradiction as ‘just war’) then where do you draw the line? The Catholics? Orthodox believers? Just Baptists or are Lutherans okay?”

He said, “Oh, you think I’m being too general.”

To which I replied, “As a church leader you are responsible to these people to choose your vocabulary very carefully. When you say Muslims are our enemies in the same sentence as terrorists and Iraqis are our enemies, you are making a much bigger statement. You are helping to form the opinion of these people who are unfamiliar with Muslims and Iraqis and indicating to them that Muslims and Iraqis are generally just as bad as terrorists.”

He said (by way of ending the conversation) “Well, thank you for your input.”

I told him he was welcome.

Spring Break was Good. (Aside from the whole war thing of course.) I have many adventures to record. Mostly for mine own amusement—but then aren’t they all?

First there was my purchase of my second minor appliance in a month. A few weeks ago I bought a blender. And I am well pleased with my purchase—I’ve blended a few vegan smoothies and have been satisfied with the results. This week, I bought a vacuum! That may not seem like much, but when you have hair balls challenging your authority in your home, it’s a big decision.

I had been considering the investment for some time. For me, even buying minor appliances is a sign of commitment. Owning a blender and a vacuum says, “I plan to be here long enough to make these purchases worth while.” And let’s face it, a vacuum is a big step in a staying-girl’s future. Even a cheap vacuum costs at least $50, and I’ve seen them all the way to $2,000. (Kirby-bastards)

So, before making any hasty decisions, I went to the vacuum guru for guidance and wisdom. My guru, also known as “Brandon the repair man” was found at Mid Cities Vacuum Sales and Repair. He endeavored to sell me a $500 vacuum. Obviously, that didn’t happen for him, but in the process he told me all about what to look for and what to avoid in vacuum sales. Here are some hints, in case you need to know for the future: (Which I will present in the style of Psalm 1 for no particular reason at all)

Blessed is the consumer who does not purchase in the brand name of Hoover
Or invest in the style of the bagless upright
Or undertake to suck dirt through a hepa filter.
But her delight is in the brushroll which is not plastic.
And from this brushroll she cleans the entwined hairs monthly.
Her carpet will be one in which hairballs will not multiply,
which may be walked upon by the barest of feet.

But not so the bagless upright, when the dirt gets sucked into the motor,
Or the hepa filter which were not designed for high air velocities or
voluminous amounts of dirt.
Forasmuch as the plastic brushroller shall overheat and melt, or shall break under the
strain of overmuch cleaning.
For the LORD watches over the careful consumer who researches her purchases.
But the careless shall perish and their hairballs with them.

So I went to Target and bought a wooden-rollerbrush-laden-bag-using-non-hepa-filter-mint-green Dirt Devil. To which my room mate commented, “I can’t believe you brought a demon into our house.” (I think she's been watching too much Buffy) To which I was oh-so-tempted to reply “Yes, indeed I have brought one in that sucks and blows.” However, as my demon only sucks, and does not blow at all (that I know of ) I did not voice my comment.

I do believe it is an auspicious day in Shannonland. After years of whining and complaining I found (out of the blue) my amethyst turtle from Islamabad! I have a turtle collection and before I left Islamabad my jewler-friend gave me a little turtle carved from an amethyst. I thought I had it when I got home, but could never find it in my packing and unpacking. Today it is found!

She said, "Hell . . . if I'ma been 'pure as the driven snow' I need to get some credit for it!'
Then by way of explanation, "It had something to do with fornication, Bill Gates, a TV audience and my grandmother."

Resulting in one confused look and I replied, "Alls I'm saying is there was somekind of coin operated machine, with some kind of small animal playing some kind of sport."

speaking of that lunch salad . . . I realize people cannot read my mind, they do not know why I'm asking a barage of questions concerning a salad, but they sure must be thinking some odd things when they answer me.
I'm vegan for the season and the following conversation ensues:

me: I'd like a dinner salad
her: ok
me: does it have meat on it?
her: no
me: eggs?
her: no
me: cheese?
her: no . . . but it has cucumbers.
me: ok . . . (thinking-- what does a cucumber have to do with it?) I'll take it.
her: ok.

This morning I left the house late, there was an accident on the way to work, I had to go all the way around the long way. Then I couldn't find a parking place. My boss told me I was supposed to work on Wednesday, but I forgot. Then, I told my co-worker to "go away, I don't want to talk to you any more." I went to lunch, but could only have salad, I spilled my water all over the counter, some one stole my funny papers and now my wisdom tooth is coming in again.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

(But the optimist says, "maybe not!")

Main Entry: ob·nu·bi·late
Pronunciation: äb-'nü-ba-"lAt
Function: transitive verb
Inflected Form(s): -lat·ed; -lat·ing
Etymology: Latin obnubilatus, past participle of obnubilare, from ob- in the way + nubilare to be cloudy, from nubilus cloudy, from nubes cloud -- more at OB-, NUANCE
Date: 1583
BECLOUD, OBSCURE
- ob·nu·bi·la·tion /-"nü-b&-'lA-sh&n, -"nyü-/ noun

Country Music makes me smile:
The lyrics to a song I heard today (as much as I can remember through the giggles)

"I cain't buy beer at the grocery store
I'm leavin' Amarillo and I a'ain't a'comin' back no more!
Screw you! You ain't worth passing through!
I'm leavin' Amarillo and I a'ain't a'comin' back no more!"

I went to the UTA symphony orchestra last night. It was pretty good (as much as I can tell good from bad.) I was sitting between two men. One was my friend; the other was an older Chinese gentleman. One of them, and I don't know which, frequently emitted the faintest fragrance of flatulence. I'm not friendly enough with my friend to ask him if it was him, but it was distracting. What to do?

Appearently I am not as anonymous as I first thought: got this email last week.

so i was looking up this web site on rocks and poof up came yours
what is the crazy world coming to
ok my popcorn is done
keep up the interesting work

cheers
shauna

Main Entry: fu·ga·cious
Pronunciation: fyü-'gA-shus
Function: adjective
Date: 1634
1 : lasting a short time : EVANESCENT
2 : disappearing before the usual time

I went to Goodwill the other day in high hopes of finding something new-to-me and fabulous. But, there was nothing for me, sadly there was also nothing for me at Salvation Army.

I was telling my sad story before class started and the woman behind me said, "You were looking for clothes at a second hand store?"
Me: "Uh . . . yeah."
Her: "I bought some clothes from a second hand store 20 years ago and got a terrible lingering skin disease. I'll never buy clothes second hand again."
Me: "Oh." (thinking did you WASH them first?-- and besides that, Eeewww!)

Lent notes: I told one of my class mates lent would begin on Wednesday and I would become a vegan for 40 days.

I was a little antsy in class on Wednesday, so she asked, (full of concern) "Are you sure you should be on lent?"

Yesterday I saw a camouflage painted pickup truck (which was not military, and which I thought was unfortunate at first glace.) When I got behind the pickup truck I noticed the lettering on the tailgate: “KILL ‘EM ALL. LET GOD SORT ‘EM OUT.” Even more unfortunate. Where is my camera when I NEED it?!

New Lip Gloss I taste like a crunch-berry.

So, I was in the shower, shaving my leg when (uh-oh) 19 tiles including the built in soap dish fell of the wall, into the tub. Only bearly missing my toes.

As the hot water was beginning to fade, I took that as a sign that I should exit my shower. Unfortunatly I had only shaved one leg.

Now, I have one hairy-scary leg and one smooth. I called maintance, but apearently they did not believe me that, seriously, a bunch of tiles have fallen out in my shower. I hope they show up early to fix it, because all the dry wall is now wet wall and is totally rotted out. It might take a while to fix.

I thought it said, "Likes to track bigfoot in the rain."

It really said, "Likes to walk barefoot in the rain."

My reading was very much more colorful and exotic.

eccentric . . . maybe

Eccentricity-Eccentricity
I was told I was eccentric. I haven't thought of myself in that adjective before. I think of old ladies with big hats and brightly colored shoes as eccentric. You know, the ones who wear a ring (or two or three) on every finger, have crazy white hair and give you tidbits of life wisdom when you least expect it.
"If it has tires or testicles, you're going to have trouble with it."
"Oh, okay."
I've thought of aspiring to eccentricity in my old age . . .

I suppose eccentricity must be measured on a scale. Maybe the one who called me eccentric just has a much smaller scale than to I.

Main Entry: 1ec·cen·tric
Pronunciation: ik-'sen-trik, ek-
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Medieval Latin eccentricus, from Greek ekkentros, from ex out of + kentron center
Date: circa 1630
1 a : deviating from an established or usual pattern or style b : deviating from conventional or accepted usage or conduct especially in odd or whimsical ways

I'm tempting fate by drinking from reused water bottles

Ha-Ha!

A translation of the popular French children's song 'Alouttta'

Lark, kind lark, Lark, I will pluck you.

I will pluck your head (repeat) And your head (repeat) Lark (repeat) Ah!

(Refrain)

I will pluck your beak (repeat) And your beak (repeat) And your head (repeat)...

I will pluck your eyes (repeat)
I will pluck your neck (repeat)
I will pluck your wings (repeat)
I will pluck your feet (repeat)
I will pluck your tail (repeat)

French brutes!

shannon, your best quality shines through in how Intelligent you are!

The fact that you're a smart person who is more able to understand complex concepts than many other people are really draws people to you! But that's not the only thing. Your answers on the test indicate you're a funny person who is likely known for your great sense of humor. You are an inventive and creative person who usually has an abundance of imagination and ideas, too.

In all, there are 15 qualities that help define you when you're at your best. Those are the traits potential employers, friends, and partners look for in you. What makes you unique is your particular distribution of those 15 qualities.

We've found that your particular combination of qualities is rare — only 1 in 10,000 people share the same general mix of traits. Those are great odds if you're trying to show a potential employer, colleague, friend, or date why you're exactly the right person for them.

I'm smart! I'm smart dang it! :0)

I found a book on Kwanzaa, it is, of course out of season, however, it was also on clearance. I figure learning about a new holiday for $2.00 is an extreamly good deal. I will certainly add it to my repetoir of holidays to be celebrated. (Yes, I realize it is an African American holiday, but I figure half is good enough-- I am, after all American.)

Here are a few quotes that impressed me deeply from my new book, A Kwanzaa Keepsake. Celebrating the Holiday with New Traditions and Feasts

It wouldn't be funny if I were making it up myself. . .
"Those who think that holidays are days steeped in centuries-old tradition are always surprised to hear that the African-American feast of Kwanzaa was established in 1966. The name Kwanzaa comes from the Swahili word kwanza, meaning first. The second "a" distinguishes the African-American from the African kwanza "

"An apocryphal tale is told that during one of the early Kwanzaa celebrations, a children's pagent was held, with each child holding up a card with the letters of the word kwanza, which was spelled at that time with one "a." One child was left, letterless and weeping, at the end of the row. A second "a" was quickly produced, the day was saved, and the holidaywas forever after known as Kwanzaa."

This, my friends, is "the miracle of the second a of kwanzaa." Let us celebrate together (when the time is right, I'll let you know) Kwanzaa with two a's.

A man knocked on a door.
"Who's there?" Asked God.
"Me." Replied the man.
"Go away then." Said God.
The man left and wandered in the arid desert until he realized his error. He returned to the door and knocked again.
"Who's there?" Asked God.
"You." Replied the man.
"Then come in," said God, "there's no room here for two."

Sufi teaching story.