For Nam. Because everything else I've posted bored her to death and she came back to life as a vampire.

     Dusk. The wet leaves sloshed underfoot. The vampiress was awake - and she was HUNGRY! She was tired of the blood of squirrels and moles and other small animals that invaded her parents' well-manicured lawn. It was time to find something a little more satisfying...
     So she called her cousin at 2 am.
     "Its 2 am!" said her cousin. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
     "No. No, I'm not okay," said the vampiress. "I need you to come over. RIGHT NOW. Because I'm HUNGRY. Don't forget to bring your redneck coffee holder."
     "Go look in the fridge! I'm trying to take a nap over here."
     "The fridge? Blech! I don't want to drink the blood of chicken livers!" protested the vampiress.
     "I don't either," said her cousin. "It sounds pretty gross to me. Is that all your parents feed you? I'll be right there."
     Then, faster than the Jimmy-John's delivery guy (which was awfully fast for a big red 23-year-old rusty pickup truck), her cousin arrived. It was so fast that the vampiress hadn't even said 'redneck coffee holder' yet, which means that her cousin had gone sooooo fast she had actually gone back in time. And therefore, she forgot the roll of duct tape which was the redneck coffee holder. (She also forgot to bring her vintage 1962 bottle of Holy Water, which might have come in handy.)
     "You forgot the redneck coffee holder," said the vampiress. "But who cares? I don't want COFFEE. I want BLOOOOOOD!"
     "Why are your eyes really dark? And why does your perfectly white skin kind of sparkle in the lamplight?"
     "You smell soooooo tasty!" said the vampiress.
     "That's because I didn't brush my teeth. You probably smell sardines and goat cheese."
     "I smell - HUMAN BLOOOOOOD!" screamed the vampiress.
     And nobody ever saw the cousin again. She did not turn into a vampire. She did not pass Go or collect $200. The Big Red Dodge felt rejected and he ran away.

THE END

Conversations with Little Sister

Little Sister: "Vatican II" sounds like a violent video game.

Me: "Vatican II: Revenge of the Vampire Bishops" - Ve vant to vear your pointy hats...

~

 

Little Sister: I need more Jesus and less candy this Easter. (Little Sister only says stuff like that when she's really depressed and worrying about End Time Events. So I will cheer her up.)

Me: I'll eat your candy. I already ate Jesus.

Little Sister: LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

~

Little Sister: My church lets me drink CappaTripleMochaIceEspresso Coffee IN THE SANCTUARY.

Me: My church lets me eat Jesus. IN THE SANTUARY.

Little Sister: ...lol

Me: And I get donuts afterward. In the fellowship hall.

Little Sister: My church lets me eat donuts IN THE SANCTUARY. ...You do know you can't talk to dead people right?

Me: I talk to dead people IN THE SANCTUARY. And they don't know they're dead. Becauuuuuse...they're NOT dead. Christianity teaches that people who die in Christ have eternal life.

Little Sister: ...lol I still have my CappaTripleMochaIceEspresso Coffee.

Me: Carp.

(I just made that up.)

Jesus Is Polite and Has A Beard (Why I Hate Pop Quizzes)

     I am am introvert. My brain is designed differently than the majority's. It takes me a long time to process information and produce the necessary result; so long, in fact, that I have already begun to panic in the silence between your question and my answer. When I panic, I stop thinking. When I don't think, I don't talk. When I don't talk, people think I am stupid or rude, and I panic more. Then I finally say something that only reinforces their suspicions. If we could exchange emails instead, this would not happen.

 

~

     In the process of becoming Catholic, lots of scaries happen, some of which are supposed to happen, some which aren't. One of the scaries that is supposed to happen is the Confirmation Interview, which happens in order to be sure that the person seeking Confirmation has adequate knowledge of the faith (its bad to kill people. Its good to do what mommy and daddy say - unless they tell you to kill people). The typical age of someone approaching this milestone is 7, although some wait until highschool. If a 7-year-old can do it, I can do it. As long as it doesn't involve squirting Play-Doh out of the tear ducts. I can't do that. But I couldn't even when I was 7.
     The Effervescent Priest has his signature question that he asks of each person seeking Confirmation: "Who is Jesus to you?"
     Remember, The Question is, "Who is Jesus to you?"
     When I went in for my Interview, I had been very careful to memorize all the little details that poor pitiful 7-year-olds ought to know: What are the 4 pillars of the Church? What are Her precepts? What are the Fruits of the Holy Spirit? What are the Gifts of the Holy Spirit? What is the Holy Spirit? St. Augustine, St. Cyril of Jerusalem, and Pope St. Gregory the Great walk into a bar; what is the punchline? Why do Polish people eat Paczki on a certain Tuesday several weeks before Easter?

     I tried to be very sure that I was well-prepared. I emailed the RCIA coordinator (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) to ask about the difficultly and preparedness level, and to explain that I had always been bad at pop quizzes. She said, "You're fine." (She is Polish and makes Paczki for a certain Tuesday in early Spring from recipes that have been in the family for 86 generations, since before they even knew what Paczki was.)

     I arrived too early because I thought I would be too late. Then the Effervescent Priest arrived.
     Q. "What is your favorite food?"
     A. "Pizza."
     Q. "What is your favorite restaurant?"
     A. "Pizza Hut."

     He eventually asked what I thought Holy Communion was. Then he said, "If someone were to knock on that door right now, and I said 'Go open the door and see who's out there!' And you got up and opened the door and it was JEEESUS - what would He look like?"
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     This is why I hate spontaneous quizzes: 'The door! The door is wood. I don't know what kind of wood. Sort of pale. The handle looks aluminum. It opens inward. Who cares?! Why am I opening the door?!!! Its not MY office!...oh, I see, its because he TOLD me to, and I'm the younger, less important person in this room; I open the door, because I'm polite and respectful to my elders and betters, especially when they ask me to do things like open doors. Annnnnnnnd...its Jesus? Why is Jesus knocking?? He can walk through walls!!!!!'

     "What?" I ask.
     "Somebody just knocked on that door, that door right there. I tell you to go open that door. You jump up and open the door. Its JEEESUS!!! What does He look like?"

     'Okay, okay, Jesus is knocking because its the polite thing to do, it is NOT polite to just walk through closed doors - Jesus is polite, and I'M polite, Jesus knocks and I open doors when people knock on them even though its not my office. Okay okay I got it. We are BOTH polite. O carp, that wasn't the question. The question waaaaaaasssss...okay, Jesus looks like - a Jewish person! Jewish people look Jewish! He has a beard. He looks liiiiiike...a Jewish person with a beard! No, no, no...AAAAAAAAA!! the priest is very very busy and I still don't know what the question is?? Oh okay! Jesus looks like George MacDonald!....becauuuuuse...they both had beards! Nonononono!!! Because, ah, George MacDonald was - ***WARNING***THREAT TO SYSTEM DETECTED***POTENTIAL RISK OF EMOTION***WARNING***PROCEED ANYWAY?***OPERATION CANCELED***...oh wait, I get it, I GET it, he doesn't care what Jesus LOOKED like, he's asking what Jesus IS like...too late TOO LATE appropriate response time exceeded beyond capacity, abort mission...abort...abort...'
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     "Uh-hhh a ki-i-innnd person?"
     "You must know Him well!" says the Effervescent Priest.

     Later, I realized, 'That was The Question, The Signature Question.'
     Go directly to Jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
     O carp.

 



The First Place part 1

     At my Confirmation Interview, the Effervescent Priest said, "And have you ever thought about becoming a nun?"
     I thought, 'What is it about me that would make him think I wanted to be a nun? The bad hair? No makeup? My Goodwill fashion statement? The fact that I speak in monosyllables and don't have a boyfriend?'
     "Yerrum," I said.
     "Okay! I will get you in contact with a vocation director! You're going to love her!"

~3 months later~

 

     At a weekday Mass, the Effervescent Priest mentioned that there were two people in our parish, a boy and girl, who were interested in discerning Religious Life. (Everybody clapped.) I thought, 'Okaaaay...that's me, right? I didn't hear from anybody yet. Was I supposed to hear from somebody? I'm pretty sure I was supposed to talk to someone. Maybe he forgot. No, of course he didn't forget, he just now said a girl was discerning. I'm not a girl, though. I'm a woman. He forgot?'

     I went to the parish office. But first I went to the Big Red Dodge and thought about breakfast at McDonald's. Then I drove in the general direction of McDonald's. Then I drove around the block and parked in the church lot. Then I drove back towards McDonald's. Then I made a sharp right into the parking space directly across from the office. Then I left again.

     Then I went to the parish office. The door was locked because the secretary was gone. I thought, 'Aw, too bad, I can't schedule an appointment to talk to the priest, oh wellll...maybe next year.' But the Nice Scaryman ran over and opened the door before I could get away.

     "How can I help you?" said the Nice Scaryman.

     "I was just going to make an appointment to talk to the priest, but I'll come back later."

     "What do you want to talk about?"

     "Uyrrrm, I wannobe annun?"

     "Sit over there! I'll go get him!"

     NO! Bad Scaryman! Bad, bad Scaryman! But Bad Nice Scaryman was gone.

     So I waited. I looked at a book about John Paul II. He loved children, they loved him. The Effervescent Priest arrived in a sacred cloud of warm fuzzies.
     "Hello Sweetie!" (My secret code name is Sweetie.) "What can I do for you?"
     "UmIwuss inderested in discerninvocationto religiouslife."
     "That's so wonderful! Since when?" Okay, yes, he forgot.

     He wanted to know if I liked any particular group; I mentioned one. He said, "O that's so far away! There are ---------- right here in ----- -----. I will get you in touch with their Vocations Director. You're going to love her."

~2 months later~

    
     I can't be a nun. It was really stupid to bring it up to a priest; thank goodness he didn't remember to give me the contact information. I am too weird. I probably have lots and lots of disorders. I am very likely a danger to society. Anyhow, I like my Big Red Dodge; we go places together and listen to the FM radio (FM! Wow, oh wow! Little Red Dodge only picks up AM!). Nuns do not own trucks. I will join a Secular Third Order, maybe. Yeah, I will do that. I don't have to be normal to be in a Secular Third Order, and they will let me keep the Red Dodges.
     I have been hiding from Nice Scaryman because I am sure that he remembers me and is very perplexed because he knows that I would make a terrible nun.
     I have also been hiding from the Effervescent Priest because I have visited his office twice now, and both times my brain stalled and nothing intelligent came out. He has definitely begun to wonder what is wrong with me.
     (Actually I'm hiding from everybody. Because otherwise they will see me. They will say "Hi!" and I will say "Hello!" and they will say "How are you?" and I will say "I'm doing well how are you?" and then we will stare at one another until someone makes up an excuse to stagger out of the awkward situation.)
     I attended a local lecture on the Catholic response to the HHS Mandate. They had nametags, before the lecture, at the front door; after the lecture, snacks at the back door. I drank all of my coffee and stood up to get a refill, but then I sat back down, because the Effervescent Priest was sitting in the chair next to the coffee. Oh well, who needs coffee.
     But people are starting to leave; it is probably time to go; the tables are crammed in too tightly and some of the chairs are blocking aisles; the only way out...is past the coffee. I walk very softly. I walk forgetfully, because when I do that, people forget to see me. I walk riiiiiiight past the Effervescent Priest. I'm safe! I'm okay! I'm -
     "O! Sweetie!" says the Effervescent Priest. Carp. Carp, carp, carp, carp - there, now its polycarp.
     He has the number for the Vocation Director. He has been saving it in his wallet so that he can remember to give it to me someday. How lovely.

~1.25 months later~

     So I talked to the therapist.
    
     I should not know more about Disorders than the doctor who is supposed to diagnose and treat them. However, when the Therapist Who Doesn't Quite Know What I'm Talking About says that she doubts that I have anything, I finally drawn courage from the wells of my shallow being and I call the Vocation Director.
     "This is Ron."
     "Wrong number. I'm sorry to bother you."

     "I can't imagine whose number I must have given you," says the Effervescent Priest. "Ron? Who is Ron? Maybe it was a bar? I'll have to see if I can get you the right number. ...Ron?!"

 

The Eucharistic Lord of the ebil Catholic lyars

tran·sub·stan·ti·a·tion: It used to be bread and wine. Now it is Almighty God who gives Himself to us under the outward appearance of bread and wine

 

 

Since then He Himself declared and said of the bread, ‘This is My Body,’ who shall dare to doubt any longer? And since He has Himself affirmed and said, ‘This is My Blood,’ who shall ever hesitate, saying, that it is not His Blood? – St. Cyril of Jerusalem Catechetical Lectures 22.1

~

"You ebil Catholic lyars (that was redundant, wasn't it)! You worship a piece of bread! You think God is a cookie! Don't you know that's idolatry?"

Yes, to all outward appearances, Catholics fall down and worship a piece of bread. We believe that, by power of the Holy Spirit, Christ becomes fully present - body, blood, soul and divinity - under the guise of bread and wine, just as He promised when He said that He would give us His flesh as real food and His blood as real drink, that by partaking of Him we might have eternal life.

"You ebil Catholic lyars! You have no concept of 'nuance'! Jesus was talking symbolically about that whole 'eat Me' thing. Just like He said 'I'm the vine,' or 'I'm the door.' Do you worship doors?"

No one left Christ over His claims to be a vine or a door. But many disciples abandoned Him over this "hard saying," that they must eat His flesh and drink His blood. He let them leave, and asked His own apostles if they would now leave Him, too. He offered no clarification that would support the notion that He was speaking symbolically. At the Last Supper, He lead by example in performing what would later be termed "transubstantiation:" a real change in substance, by the power of God, from what was once ordinary bread, and is now divine. "This is My body...this is My blood. Do this as a memorial to Me."

"You ebil Catholic lyars! You think that, by an act of supreme selfishness and presumption, your priest can force the Almighty God to appear before you like some kind of magic trick! You can't understand that God is not a rabbit in a hat, to pull out on a whim, in whatever shape you think appropriate! God made everything; priests CAN'T make God!"

Christ Himself is both the high priest and the sacrifice. When a Catholic priest says the words of consecration, the holiest prayers of the Church, it is no longer he who speaks, but Christ. By the power of the Holy Spirit the substance of bread and wine is changed. The priest is an unworthy vessel; it is not by his own authority that the miracle of Transubstantiation occurs.

"You ebil Catholic lyars! You think Jesus has to die over and over for your sins! Didn't you read that part of the Bible where Christ died once and for all?...oh wait, sorry, dumb question, you're not allowed to read the Bible."

The Bible was compiled and authorized under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit through the Church's councils. The Church's Book isn't going to refute the Church's doctrinal teachings. Or didn't you read that part of the Bible that says the Church is the pillar and foundation of Truth?...The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is not a re-crucifixion of Christ. It is a re-presentation of one and the same sacrifice at Calvary. This sacrifice is eternal; after the resurrection, when Christ returned in His glorified body, the wounds of crucifixion remained. In Revelation, when John sees in a vision the Lion of Judah, it is a slain lamb. Not someone who was killed but has recovered - that's a whole different beast. The atoning wounds don't heal. They don't go away. He is always "Christ crucified." And every Mass revisits this eternal sacrifice; the crucified, resurrected Christ comes to us in the form of bread and wine.

Some stuff:

Normally, only a priest may self-communicate (eat the Eucharist by himself). Laity normally receive the Eucharist from the hand of a priest, deacon, or EMHC (Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion - a layperson entrusted to distribute the Eucharist). However, if a Host (the wafer that was consecrated and has become Christ) is in danger of desecration unless it is consumed, it is OK for a layperson to self-communicate (in fact, he must do so).

The True Presence of Christ remains in the form of bread until the entire Host is dissolved and no longer resembles food (about 15 minutes after being eaten). Under the form of wine, Christ remains until the liquid is sufficiently diluted with water.

The Host must be consumed immediately after receiving from the priest, deacon or the EMHC.
1. Do NOT carry the Host back to your pew and eat it there.
2. Do NOT let your kindergartner use it as a crayon to keep her occupied for the rest of the service.
3. Definitely do NOT take it home with you (unless you have special permission to bring Holy Communion to a sick or elderly person who could not make it to Mass).
4. It is normally NOT permitted to keep a Host in one's home for private devotion, not even if you're really reverent, not even if you found an awesome monstrance on ebay, not even if you have a first-class relic of St. Peter (or Paul, or Mary. Or all three of them).
5. The deliberate abuse of a Consecrated Host is a mortal sin which incurs instant excommunication. It cannot be absolved by a priest without written permission from Rome.

If the Host falls on the floor,
a. pick it up at once and eat it. Or,
b. alert the priest or an EMHC. They can soak the Host in water until it dissolves and no longer has the appearance of bread, and they can dispose of it in a special sink in the sacristy which drains directly into the ground rather than a sewer. Or the liquid can be poured on the ground where no one walks.

In the Adoration Chapel: if there is an earthquake, tornado, fire or zombie, take the monstrance and go to the designated safe place. DO NOT: Give him Jesus...in the jugular. (Even though the monstrance is pointy and could hypothetically do great damage.)

Q: What is the monster?
A: The monstrance is the pointy shiny thing that displays a Host in a small glass case when the Eucharist is exposed for adoration.
Q. So laypersons can just walk up and grab the monstrance?
A. Short answer: No. Long answer: NOOOOOO NOT EVER EVER.
Q. So how do I take the monstrance to a "designated safe place" if I can't touch it?
A. I don't know.
Q. Would I explode?
A. No, that would be too cool.

Interesting website: http://www.calledtocommunion.com/2010/12/church-fathers-on-transubstantiation/

Jesus is not an alarm clock

     I finally signed up as an adorer in the Perpetual Adoration Chapel. I decided on the midnight hour that had been vacant for months. When the Effervescent Priest pleaded again for volunteers, I felt that I could be very-very-helpful to him somehow, and maybe he wouldn't always look so tired. So I asked first thing on Monday. The substitute secretary said "Absolutely!" but the people she told me to call said that it had already been taken. I could have the next opening, 4-5 am; it would be even more difficult, and even more very-very-helpful, than 12-1. If I had received 12-1, I could have simply stayed up a little later past bedtime, and come home to bed at 1:30. But 4-5! After that shift, there wouldn't be much time to finish sleeping, and just a few hours to sleep before! I could be even more very-very-helpful than I had dreamed!
     All week long, I worried.
     For several nights leading up to it, I barely closed my eyes. If I slept all night on a Wednesday or Thursday, I might miss waking up at 3 on Sunday morning!
     On Saturday I began to panic. I checked my alarm every hour to be sure that it was set to ring at 3. I would need to get up at 3, so I could start a pot of coffee, drink 2 cups, eat cereal, and then, because of the coffee and cereal, I would have time to spend in the bathroom. (I absolutely must not need to use the bathroom during adoration. I absolutely must not even think of it.)
     My cellphone is so good at waking me up in the mornings. I can sleep through the regular clock; it works itself into the tapestry of my dreams, as a singing bird or the burglar alarm in a grocery store, and I won't even know it happened. But my cellphone! I am terrified of phones. I always wake up, all the way up, when the phone rings. It deprives me of my peace. It means that someone demands to talk to me, and I have to decide whether or not I want to talk to them. I don't want, but I must, though I may wait and listen to them on voicemail to see if it is something I can deal with right now, or if I need to prepare a speech first. And someday, what I think is my cellphone alarm will actually be a phone call that will need to be dealt with right away or they wouldn't be calling so early.
     Then I discovered a fantastic trick. I could set my alarm to ring weekly at 3 am! I would never have to worry about forgetting to set an alarm for adoration again! I had marvelous technological skills!
     I even prayed to Jesus to help me wake up. Somebody did that once, and wrote a book about it, and even though I thought it was silly...anything to help.
     I woke up every half hour, then every hour, then every other hour. I stirred out of a vague dream, I think there were sheep in it, or maybe children, or a shopping cart, and someone was singing a sappy song about how "The Father is Calling". If it was getting close to 3, I would just as soon get up; I was tired of being tired, going to sleep and popping awake again. I ought to just try to sleep; the phone would ring. There was no way I could oversleep the ringing.
     It was 4:30. I was not a technological genius. I had no idea how to make the phone ring weekly at 3 am. I also had no idea what to do. It was too early to be emotionally worked up, but it would happen, any moment. It takes 20 minutes to drive to church. By the time I arrived there would be nothing left to do. I had a one hour shift. The hour would be over. And I would be despised, and fired, and my baptism would be revoked, and I wouldn't be allowed to eat paczkis again.
     I would go. I would get dressed quickly and...but there was no use! Nothing could be done. No, I could do something. I would face whoever had waited and waited for their replacement. The Effervescent Priest, maybe. Then he would hate me. Perhaps a freak accident would have left a broken handrail that I could impale myself on in order to express my sincerity; at least he would know I was sorry. But priests can't hate people. Maybe some do. I was already halfway there; what a pleasant drive it seemed! No traffic, no red lights. If only the circumstances were more favorable.
     Along the way, I explained to the sluggish atmosphere of the carpeted ceiling (cautiously, with the understanding that I am superfluous and I blow away very easily), that God was supposed to wake me up. It was partly my fault; I didn't specify what time; though I really shouldn't have had to...so no, it wasn't my fault. But if I had set a backup alarm! Then I wouldn't have been failed so miserably by the cellphone which never failed. So yes, my fault. What an idiot. As though the Essential Existence was an alarm clock.
     I wouldn't think about it, though. I needed to look sorry, but not disastrous. The tears were already inventing themselves. I found one napkin in the backseat, a flimsy, narrow napkin from an icecream cone. It melted quickly, like the icecream. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I couldn't, I was too late! But it would have made apologizing easier. Now I would have to manage not to dissolve in snot, AND to talk without breathing. It was too early in the morning for them to expect anything else. So I had a week of anxious nights culminating in bitter failure that wasn't even strictly my fault.
     I apologized to the nice man (who was not the Effervescent "I-am-not-a-morning-person" Priest) who replaced me. Nobody fired me. I stayed 5-6 instead. I will eat paczkis again. Maybe I will even have green beer.