Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
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or Search by State

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Contact The Media
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Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Wednesday, December 01, 2004  
You know you’ve hit rock bottom when the company church lady comes to visit you. In every office I’ve ever worked, there has been one person, usually a middle aged woman with very vague job responsibilities, who is very religious and will pounce on any opportunity to spread the word of God.

How to Identify the Office Church Lady: A Fieldguide

  • They always have religious paraphernalia strewn about their cube. (these women always work in cubes, draw your own conclusions, but I think one reason is they are always also intense gossipers and prefer cube farms so they can hear everyone else’s conversations)
  • They know there is a thin line between freedom of religion and harassment and they walk dangerously close to crossing the line. They will not lead the weekly production meeting in a prayer, but they will make a cliché comments alluding to scripture at every opportunity.
  • They have a Bible Verse-a-Day calendar.
  • They collect Precious Moments figurines.
  • They crochet blankets for homeless people and orphaned babies while at work.
  • They work exactly nine to five with a one hour lunch break at exactly noon.
  • They will always bring a casserole to the office potluck. Always. A. Casserole.
  • You can spot her holiday grab bag gift by the religious themed wrapping paper which looks to have been designed in 1973. The gift inside will be a bookmark with a Psalm quoted on it or an ornament for a Christmas tree or a gift certificate for the Cracker Barrel. Regardless of the fact that more than half your office is Jewish, Hindu, or atheist and no one except her lives within 50 miles of the closest Cracker Barrel.
  • She will wear imitation Laura Ashley-ish clothing.
  • She will either not wear a drop of make-up (except Chap-Stik in extreme circumstances) and do nothing with her hair except wash and brush it (no cutting, no styling, no coloring, no highlighting, no perming, nothing) or, she will wear heavily and badly applied make-up and wear her hair in a labor intensive but at least 10 years out of date hair style. (Yes, these are women of extremes)
  • There will be: a Jesus fish, a pro life bumper sticker and a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker on her car, and in states allowing front license plates of choice, a God is My CoPilot license plate. Her car radio will be permanently tuned to CBN. (Her car will be something very generic and very Chevy.)
  • She will still have her Bush/Cheney ‘04 AND ‘00 buttons still prominently pinned in to her cube partition.
  • She is either unmarried (a virgin, of course, as God deems it) or met her husband at church or band camp when they were 15 and have been together ever since. Both types proclaim their virginity/teenaged romance loudly and at every opportunity, if there's not an opportunity they will make one. ie: You might say, "Wow, did you have one of Debbie's cookies? They're great." Virgin church lady will reply, "Not as great as saving it for marriage!" Married church lady will say, "Not as good as the cookies I won over Bob with back when we were teeangers!" Note to virgins and people married to their teenage sweetheart: Those facts alone do not qualify you for church lady status.
  • If married, she will have children. (either many, an excessive amount, or exactly two, one for each time she’s had sex)
  • Her children will not be allowed to have Barbie dolls, but the entire Veggie Tales collection of movies and licensed products is a-okay with the church lady. (Yes. Talking, singing, dancing, preaching vegetables apparently send a positive message to children which will mould them into good, well adjusted adults. If I had watched Veggie Tales as a child instead of playing with Barbie and her wayward gang for hours on end my life would be better than it is. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been put in a situation with talking, singing, dancing, preaching vegetables and I didn’t know what to do. But put me in a room with a bunch of vapid blonde models and watch me handle it with innate skill. But then maybe that’s just me and my life. Maybe other people have to face more talking, singing, dancing, preaching vegetables than vapid blonde models.) (If you want to read a true church lady’s take on toys and children, brace yourself and click here.)
  • And yes, yes, YES! she probably has a cat or two, okay? Yes. And probably a dog and if space and money permit, a horse. These animals will be named for obscure characters in the Bible. This is so that when anyone comments on the unusual name of the animal church lady can launch into a scripture lesson. (That thin line I mentioned.)
  • She will loudly condemn Harry Potter and anyone who reads the books or watches the movies and deem J.K. Rowling as Satan himself.
  • But they love all things Disney and consider that nice Walt Disney to be the right hand of God himself. (I once innocently asked an office church lady why Harry Potter is Satanic but the Sorcerer’s Apprentice is okay with God. I was cast out of the flock and banish-ed from any further contact with her. You might try this trick if your church lady is getting to be too much for you to handle. If that doesn’t work, mention The Haunted Mansion, and what makes Magic Mountain magic, anyway? And then there are the curses in: Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty (to name a few), and the latest blockbuster, Pirates of the Caribbean: The CURSE of the Black Pearl (and on that point, is it not just a little blasphemous to have the “sexiest man alive” (and the father of two illegitimate children) in the leading role of a Disney movie? (not that I’m complaining, but then, I’m in the played-with-Barbie-Harry Potter-rocks-I’m-going-straight-to-Hell-on-the-express-train-while-thinking-impure-thoughts-about-the-“sexiest man alive” group.))
  • They are homophobic to an alarming degree. (draw your own conclusions here...if she’s of the unmarried virgin group, well...if she’s of the exactly two children one for each time, group, well...)
Okay. That’s probably enough to help you ascertain if you have a church lady in your office. If you have doubts or are uncertain about someone in your office, write me.) Yesterday, as I toiled, brow furrowed, one hand typing an email the other prepping a project to go to print, things literally flying around my office, projects, deadlines, meetings, clients, professional holiday obligations all vying for space and time in my life, in walks our office church lady. Without invitation or announcement, this woman walked into my office, shut the door behind her, sat down, stared at me with grave concern and said: Tricia (church ladies almost always use your proper name even if you have never been called by your proper name even by your parents), you need to take time to count your blessings. Things are rough for you right now but maybe you’re bringing some of it upon yourself. Negativity breeds negativity. (Church ladies don't beat around the bush. (Unless it's burning in which case they start quoting Revelations) They know they are unwanted by their chosen victims and know they have limited time.) "um. yeah. hi church lady. how are you? even though I don't actually believe in 'blessings' I know what you mean and I guess you're right. I’ll do that when I get a spare moment. (mind racing to the blasphemous Prayer-a-Thon experiment) kind of busy right now. thanks for stopping by. see you next week at the party." God has given you so much Tricia. "um. well..." You have more intangible gifts than most people. Great parents. Good friends. Everyone knows you’re the driving creative force of the company. All the clients want you on their projects. You are a very special person Tricia. I’ve always thought that about you. I’ve never met anyone like you. God has special plans for all of us but I know he’s got something big in store for you. He has given you wonderful gifts of creativity, artistic ability, you're smart, you can be funny at times, I don't always understand your jokes but some people do... (Trillian’s head spins as she hurls something resembling split pea soup out of her mouth.) ...seriously Trillian (trying to ingratiate herself by using something other than my proper name), I know if you just take a few minutes to count your blessings, take stock of the good things in your life you’ll feel a lot better and end this string bad luck. (Luck? Luck? Um, church lady, I thought there’s no place for luck, good or bad, in Christianity. I thought there is no such thing as luck, only God’s plan and hand. I’m confused...) It’s not all doom and gloom. God works in mysterious ways. God would never give you more than you can handle. These are not tests of faith, they are tests of character. They are blessings in disguise. These are opportunities. (Church ladies also love management seminar fodder. They really love Successories.) You should choose to learn a lot about life and about yourself and grow your spirit as you face these challenges. “Look, church lady, I appreciate your concern for me, thank you for the advice and inspiration. I mean no offense by this, I respect your beliefs, your religion is your business, but don’t make it mine.” Tricia. Trillian. Please. I see you teetering on the edge. I know you are suffering. Put your faith in God. He’ll throw you a rope (to hang myself?) and help pull you through all of this. “I thought you said these were tests of character, not faith, and that God would never give me anything I can’t handle. So why would he throw me a rope and pull me through if I’m supposed to be building or proving character or taking opportunities and learning something from all of it? What am I going to learn if God does all the work for me?” (smugly satisfied smile) Now you’re getting it. “No I’m not. I’m confused by your opposing suggestions and rhetorical double speak. For the sake of ending this discussion and the fact that I really need you to leave my office now, do you think my character or faith is being tested?” Both. “Then why did you say these aren’t tests of faith?” Because the challenges themselves are not tests of faith, those are tests of character. The test of faith happens after you’ve learned your lessons and built your character. (phone rings, divine intervention and salvation, yes, divine, sublime, all seeing, all knowing Godly intervention) “Sorry, church lady, I’ve got to take this call. Thanks. Really. No offense.” Count your blessings Tricia. I’ll keep praying for you. “Thanks.” (see you in Hell) Last night, after a little (hic) celebration, I settled into my little chamber of solace to begin this year’s Prayer-a-Thon. It was difficult. I wasn’t certain I was going to do this. For all the same reasons as last year. I’m agnostic at best, what business have I got messing around with prayers? Particularly prayers to a saint because if there’s one thing I am definitely not, it’s Catholic. Particularly prayers to a saint asking for a personal desire to be granted. (Maybe you should pray for religious enlightenment, Trillian...) If there’s a God and He hears these prayers or St. Andrew sends him an email outlining my situation, I don’t expect or want near instant gratification from Him. That’s not the sort of God to which I want to hitch my wagon. I’ll get my instant gratification while shoe shopping, thank you very much. I have no expectations because I don’t actually believe in saints and my relationship with God can only be described as estranged. And I am neither a hypocrite or a liar. And carrying out the Prayer-a-Thon, by definition, makes me both. But. What I did learn during last year’s Prayer-a-Thon is that those few minutes of disciplined me time were helpful to me. I didn’t feel at one with God, or even St. Andrew, but, the repetition and focus required to carry out the prayers made me take time to do a specific thing which was all about me and my thoughts. This isn’t like gym me-time, or reading a book me-time, or having a glass of wine after work me-time. This is about a daily ritual that is all about introspection or at the very least concentration on something other than work, family, relationship, money. Which is something I don’t do often and probably not enough. This year, for now anyway, I am going to use my Prayer-a-Thon time as my time-out from all the crap in my life right now and think bigger and smaller thoughts. Period. Church lady is of course right on a few points. I know I am “lucky.” I have enormous big deals in my life for which I am thankful. My mum is alive. I’m alive. My niece is alive. My sister isn’t in jail. I do have really great friends. I have a job. I have a wonderful animal companion. I have many incredibly smart, funny, thoughtful, caring friends whom I’ve never actually met face to face but who read these words and write me with words of support, encouragement and humor but never pity, platitudes or rhetoric. (I love that about you, by the way, thank you.) I could have sex tonight, with one of two (or both!) men who really like me, by making one phone call. Yesterday I detailed a few little things that are irritating. Not big deals, but irritating, annoying nuisances. Today I’m detailing a few little things which are pleasant. Not big deals, but nice, smile inducing pleasantries. The people responsible for these little pleasantries will lead rich, fulfilling and rewarding lives.
  • The scruffy, middle aged, Bud beer truck guy in 7-11 yesterday who, on his way back out to the Bud truck stopped and said in gruff Sout Sidenese, "Doze are great boots."
    Me? "Oh, erm, (flustered by confusion at the fact that this guy would notice anything on a woman other than naked boobs yes I know I'm stereotyping but you should have seen the guy) thank you." (Smile, but not in a oh gee thanks you're so cute kind of way)
    "Dem are real nice. Day match your coat perfect."
    "Oh! Thank you!" (Smile broadly because someone noticed my coordination efforts and commented on it!)
    And then he was gone.
    His purpose of just being observant and nice and bothering to compliment a woman without wanting to get into her pants fulfilled, he will be enriched and have a long and happy relationship with a woman who loves him because he is a kind, decent, observant respectful guy.
  • Theatres and studios realizing the merits of re-releasing movies for the big screen. And I don’t mean one of those ginormous monitors Best Buy sells. I mean in actual theatres. Dr. Strangelove is playing in a theatre. On a huge screen. If you don’t understand why this is a good thing, go see it on the big screen. If you still don’t understand why this is a good thing, there’s nothing I can say to make you understand. The theatre industry is slowly (very slowly, so slow you can hardly see it moving slow) realizing re-releasing classic and even not so classic movies for people to see on a big screen is a worth while effort. Their attempts at artistic enlightenment will (hopefully) lead to an industry wide realization and satisfaction of a job finally well done.
  • This year’s holiday new music releases actually include a few which are very good. The music industry will continue to lead a horrible, unfulfilling life, but some of the artists will be forever enriched by creating music with integrity.
  • Innovative and creative authors. After months of sitting in the “to read” stack, I finally read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time and yes, it did change my life. Mark Haddon, having changed my life, will continue to write creative literature which matters and will be fulfilled with a lifetime of rewarding creative process.
  • It’s boot season! The hap, happiest time of the year! Well. I mean I guess there’s not really anyone but me and other boot/shoe people getting any sort of pleasure but, you know, way to go shoe designers and retailers.
  • The clerk at the Megaenormous retailer trying to be a snooty posh boutique who happily offered to help me find the exact top in the exact color my niece wants for her Holiday Fling dance.
    “May I help you find anything?”
    “Well, actually yes. My niece saw a top here a few weeks ago and all I know is that it’s blue and it might have some type of sparkly bits on it and it’s X Brand and she needs a size small, but all I can find are pink X Brand tops with no sparkly bits in large.”
    “Oh, I bet I know the one. It’s adorable. We have a few in back. I’ll go get one to show you.”
    “Okay. Thanks. I’ll wait here.” (You ‘know’ the one? Really? Why do I find it hard to believe you are graced with a psychic ability to ‘know’ what my niece wants to wear to her Holiday Fling dance? Don’t try to sell me something on the auspices of ‘knowing’ what my niece, or any other 13 year old girl wants. If you ‘knew’ that information you would be bringing in heaps of money in a career in marketing. At the very least you’d have the top out here on prominent display so that 13 year old girls would beg and whine and pout until their parents plunked down their credit cards for the overpriced rag and you’d get a commission. And about “in back” come off it, do you honestly think I’m falling for THAT one? And have you never seen Seinfeld?)
    “Here we go. Does this look like it’s the one?”
    (shock. confusion. because yes, now that I see it, because I DO ‘know’ my niece, I’m sure it’s The One) “Ahh, yes, erm. yeah, I think that IS it.”
    “Great! And these are going on sale day after tomorrow.”
    (oh please don’t even try that crap on me, you’re not dealing with an amateur here, girly) “She needs it tomorrow.”
    “Oh, no, I meant I’ll give you the discount now.”
    (If that’s what you meant why didn’t you say it?) “Thank you, I appreciate that.” (the rag is insanely overpriced, the discount won’t even cover the sales tax)
    “This time of year is rough on the budget, every little bit helps.”
    (don’t patronize me, girly, just because I’ve got shoes older than you doesn’t mean I’m some pensioned granny) “Ha. Yeah.”
    “Okay then, the total is $16.93.”
    (no, sweetie, I want the adorable perfect shade of blue with the sparkly bits Brand X top we’ve been discussing, you know, the one you got from “in back?”) “$16.93? Really? Isn’t that like a 70% discount?”
    “80”
    “Right. Maths. Never my strong suit. It’s really marked down that much?”
    “Yeah, I know, it’s a great deal.”
    “Actually, yes, at that price it honestly is a good deal.”
    And, we’ve got a Brand X promotion going, you get one of these baby-ts free.”
    (niece is going to squeal with delight over that t, but don’t let on because there is no way she should be giving away a gift with purchase promotional item on a heavily discounted top that isn’t actually discounted until two days from now.) “Really? Wow. That’s cool. (trying to sound really blasé) She’ll like that.”
    “I snagged one of these, they’re so cool.”
    “Huh.Yeah. They are.”
    “Want one for yourself?”
    “Nah, my niece will love it.”
    “No, I mean do you want one, too? The promotion ends tomorrow, we’ve got more than we’ll give away. I’ll give you one if you want it.”
    “oh. Well. I mean. Sure. Why not?”
    “Yeah, they’re really cool. It would look great under a suit jacket.”
    (stop reading my mind, dammit, you’re freaking me out) “Yes, yeah, it will. Thanks”
    “Would you like it gift wrapped?”
    “No.”
    “It’s free.” (Points to a display of clever little Megaenormous retailer trying to be a snooty posh boutique gift packaging.)
    “That’s cute. Sure.”
    “Have a great holiday!” (hands over an enormous shopping bag full of stuff, 7 cents and a receipt for $16.93)
    “Okay, thanks. You too.” (Get the swut out of here fast before her manager finds out what she’s done. Wait. Maybe this is some sick, subversive plot to trick people into stealing merchandise. Maybe the alarm thing is going to start wailing when I leave the store and the loss prevention crew will throw me down and pull out the shirts and free gift wrapping and I’ll be doing a Winona Ryder except I won’t have done Johnny Depp so it won’t be worth it. Standing, hovering, frantically looking at the alarm sensor things. I have to go. Running late. Okay. Jump!


    Hey. I made it. No wailing alarm. No loss prevention crew. No Winona Ryder.) Having fulfilled her purpose of finding the top my niece wanted at a huge savings to me and actually being helpful and nice, sales clerk will be promoted and eventually become senior buyer.
  • The Salvation Army Band. Seriously. They’re always good and sometimes stellar. And they care about what they’re doing. And they go around earning money to give real help to people who really need help. Every time I hear a Salvation Army Band, big or small, good or stellar, it makes me happy. Makes me want to learn to play the euphonium or French horn. Makes me happy to know there are people who will gladly don a really ugly uniform (did you know they have to pay for their uniforms out of their own pockets?), play an awkward instrument in public and turn over every cent of donation to help people who really need it. This isn’t just giving by payroll deduction or dropping coins in a bucket, anyone can do that. This is true, selfless, shameless, giving of time and talent, the real charity deal. Their reward is simple but hugely fulfilling: They use their talents for good and help lots of people.
  • Holiday windows. I know. I hate the marketing, over commercializing and over mass producing of Christmas. But. Even Trillian the Grinch will admit, hand on heart, I love a really good holiday store window display. These little vignettes are where display artists do their best work. It’s their coup de gras of the year. It's what makes it all worth it for them. It’s why they suffer through the bikinied mannequins and the white sale season. I’ve seen some really good ones this year. The Gene Moore Award is going to be a nail biter this year. (Window Designer's web Mecca) Window designers, well. Like anyone in advertising, marketing or promotions, they don’t exactly lead idealistically fulfilling professional lives. But if they do it well, artistically and creatively, they have season after season of creating mini-universes with mini-lives and mini-stories and playing God is not without its satisfaction.
  • Amanda at MegaCorp Bank. There is at least one logical, reasonable, sane person at my credit card company who is helpful and understanding and settled the fraudulent charges on my stolen credit card with apologies and concern. And they call her: Amanda. Amanda’s days will be filled with the satisfying and rewarding job of being truly helpful and kind to customers who have had their financial lives stolen from them.
  • Postcards. I got a postcard from Morocco. Okay, sure, Kilgore has been home from Morocco for weeks, maybe months now that I think about it. But still. He sent me a postcard when he was there and it arrived yesterday and I love postcards and he took time out of his holiday to send me one and that’s really thoughtful and it’s one of life’s little things that we should all do for other people because it makes people happy so when you go on holiday or even when you’re just hanging around home send postcards to people you are thinking about just because you are thinking about them and it’s a nice thing to do. When they go to the box and pull out bills and missing children cards and carpet cleaning adverts they’ll be well cheered to see a postcard, especially when they find out it’s from you. They might even take it to their office and put it on their bulletin board in their office or pin it to their cube partition and people at work will ask them about it and they’ll get all proud and brag that they have a friend and that their friend went to Morocco or wherever and sent a postcard. Postcard senders spend their holidays secure in the knowledge the postcards they send will be brightening someone’s dull, bad or tiring day.

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2:05 PM

Tuesday, November 30, 2004  
Happy St. Andrew's Day

I know. Lame coming from me.

I have this nifty little banner graphic I have been trying to post since last night but apparently Blogger is anti Scotland or I've coded it badly or any number of variables which are conspiring against me.

So just Happy St. Andrew's Day.

Albainn Gu Brath

Prayer-a-Thoners, start your Novenas.

2:21 PM

 
It is the Little Things!
Even though I'm a big picture kind of person I know it's the little things in life which bring the most pleasure. And pain. Part of the Face of Evil's sinister master plan is to place many small irritations in my life in conjunction with all the big, enormous crisis' I'm managing. These are people and things put on the planet for the sole purpose of causing minor irritations in my life. Irksome to me, yes. Annoying, oh swut yes. On their own, not huge deals. But when they are used in tandom with bona fide big deals or as part of an army of small irritants they become Chinese Water Torture. (I'm not sure that's PC. I haven't heard anyone use that term for a long time. Suddenly it seems like it could be a phrase like Indian Summer (I'm not using the term Indian Summer, so if you are a First Nations or Indigenous Peron or, well, Summer, I mean no offense, I'm actually defending you by using the term Indian Summer as an example of an un-PC term.) If you're Chinese or H2O and you're offended by Chinese Water Torture, I apologize.) Right. These small irritations can add up to big stress and time wasters. But let's think about the people at the root of of the irritation. They are actually sad people living meaningless lives. Yes, really. Think about it. Once their mission, their life’s purpose has been completed, they are destined to live meaningless lives.

The middle aged business attired guy on the crowded rush hour train reading Penthouse. Page with a macro close up photo of a woman’s crotch splayed for all the world to see resting on my coat. Him making no attempt to hide what he was “reading” or to keep his “enthusiasm” hidden under his coat, briefcase or even the magazine. I’m no prude, hey, you know, whatever, live and let live. But when someone else’s porn and subsequent pinstripe trouser zipper busting erection is forced upon me on my daily commute, it’s encroaching on me, and it’s irritating. We pulled into my station as he turn the page to read the Letters column. His duty and life’s purpose of being a minor irritation in my life has now been fulfilled. The rest of his life will be nothing but a boring job requiring a pinstripe suit and commutes on the el “reading” Penthouse.

“Peggy” at (MegaBankConglamorateCorp) who was assigned to my check fraud case who leaves voice mail messages at my office at 10:00 PM. True, I have been known to work long and odd hours. However, after the first such call and my subsequent voice mail to her saying, “Hi Peggy, you can reach me in the office at (phone number) between 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM CST. Any other time you can reach me at home at (phone number),” I think it’s fair of me to assume “Peggy,” who is a fraudulent claims agent and therefore must have at least a few functioning brain cells, can tell time and understand that I am not usually in my office at 10:00 PM and therefore she needn’t bother calling me there at that time. But no. “Peggy’s” purpose in life to cause minor irritation in my life. So she continues to ring my office number between the hours of 9:00 PM and 11:00 PM. It’s very possible “Peggy” works in India and the time difference is causing confusion. But. After three voice mails from me, returning her calls and pleading with her to either ring me at home (phone number) or during the day, she had the nerve to leave me a voice mail, in my office, 9:30 on a Sunday night, no less, with a distinct edge and edge in her voice. “Ms. McMillian, I am trying to resolve your fraud claim. If you do not return my call within two days the case will be dropped from our office and records.” I’VE SWUTTING RETURNED EVERY ONE OF YOUR SWUTTING CLANDESTINE PHONE CALLS TO MY OFFICE AND PLEADED WITH YOU TO RING ME AT HOME OR DURING MY REGULAR OFFICE HOURS!!!! I called the fraud department and demanded to speak to “Peggy’s” manager. “Peggy’s” manager sounded suspiciously like “Peggy” but I finally got to speak to a live person and vent about “Peggy” and get my fraud claim moving forward. “Peggy’s” duty and life’s purpose of being a minor irritation in my life has now been fulfilled. The rest of her life will be nothing but phone calls to after hours voice mail systems.

The guy on the train to Detroit who spent the entire trip either talking loudly on his mobile phone or complaining to entire car because we were riding through a no service area. Yes, it’s a long and boring train ride through a lot of unpopulated farm land and forests. Yes, the train is usually delayed due to freight train right of way. Yes, sometimes you have to or want to call family, friends or your office. And it is frustrating when you’re in a no service area. But. You’re on a train in the middle of Michigan. Did you honestly expect to be in service the entire trip? And if so, did you honestly plan to blab on your mobile for the entire trip? I understand and expect this behavior from a teenaged girl. But you sir, are no teenaged girl. Grow up and get over it. Accept and move on and be a courteous passenger and fellow citizen. Clearly you are in sales of some sort which automatically renders you annoying by nature. Do you have to sit in front of me? I can hear you through my headphones. Everyone in the business class car is beyond annoyed with you. Mobile phone guy’s duty and life’s purpose of being a minor irritation in my life has now been fulfilled. The rest of his life will be nothing but long boring train rides through farmland and forests with no mobile service.

The (MeganationalHealthInsuranceCorp) who cannot seem to get it through their multi-middle-managed layers of bureaucracy that I need replacement health insurance cards. They “recommend” handling personal account online. Okay. I’m down with that. I prefer to do stuff like this online. I’m tech savvy not techphobic. Quick, easy, at my convenience. Except that the MeganationalHealthInsuranceCorp’s online personal account management system is not quick, easy or convenient. The challenge is that I am merely trying to replace my health insurance cards. I am not closing, opening or changing an account. I am not adding a spouse or child to my insurance plan. I am not disputing a charge or rate. I do not have questions about or claim for Cobra. I am not changing doctors. Or (sadly) employers. I do not have an aggregate stop-loss coverage claim. I am not looking for a doctor or specialist. I am not having brain or open heart surgery. I do not need viagra or cialis. I do not have concerns about Vioxx. Or acid reflux. I do not need a flu shot. I have not been to Indonesia in the past 7 months. I am not buying prescriptions in Canada. I do not need glasses. I am not supplementing my insurance with Medicare. All of those (and more) are quickly, easily and conveniently managed via my online personal account management system. However, requesting a replacement health care card is outside the realm of MeganationalHealthInsuranceCorp’s online personal account management system’s capability. I have spent more time on the phone pressing my way though countless response prompt numbered command menus (one had 19 options. I’m not kidding.) just to get help using their quick, easy, convenient online account management system and a replacement health insurance card. So far I have received a dental coverage card. I didn’t even know I had dental coverage with MeganationalHealthInsuranceCorp. I use my company’s dental carrier plan. Never occurred to me that I might have dental coverage through my health insurance plan with MeganationalHealthInsuranceCorp. But now I’m a card carrying dentally covered member. Of course unless I happen to have an emergency which only requires dental care, I’m out of luck and out of pocket at hospital or doctors’ offices. So I need to be sure to only sustain injuries involving my mouth until I get this resolved. As long as I get punched in the mouth, play hockey, or be sure land on my teeth if I fall, I’m covered. I know. I’m the one who broke a tooth eating noodles. But that was due to a long extenuating circumstance. Too bad I didn’t know then that I had MeganationalHealthInsuranceCorp. dental coverage. Maybe it would have paid for more than my actual dental insurance plan covered. Now that MeganationalHealthInsuranceCorp. has fulfilled their duty of really irritating me with a small inconvenience they are doomed to a shallow, meaningless existence of not helping their paying members. Oh wait. Nevermind.

The (#@cking Springs) bottled water twist and slurp cap which doesn’t fully close. I discovered this flaw in the mechanics after pulling out an empty water bottle from my tote bag, wondering how a 32 ounce bottle of water I jus bought 1/2 hour prior could be empty. And wondering why, with the absence of 32 ounces of water, my tote bag was still heavy. The answer was given to me when I reached into my tote bag for the papers for my new apartment. And got a soggy handful of ink smeared pulp. Gotta hand it to my Red Tango tote, though, it held water tight, not a leak anywhere, that 32 ounces of water sloshed around securely inside the bag through a 6 block walk and a bus ride. That will come in handy next time I want to tote around liquid in something other than a bottle. Mission of really messing up my afternoon accomplished, the (#@cking Springs) bottled water twist and slurp cap engineer will spend the rest of their life settling water damage claims from customers with ruined items because of water spilling out of a bottle which is supposed to be closed.

People who cannot understand or don't care about the difference between "reply" and "reply all." I get enough spam, thank you, I don't need anymore email in my in box. I'm not feeling lonely or left out. And I truly do not care that you want to participate in the "Budget Management" seminar next week. Perhaps you should sign up for the "Using Email" training session while you're at it. I know, I know, we all make mistakes, it's easy to do, it only takes a second to delete the email...Nope. I'm not budging on this one. I've crossed over and I'm staying here. I used to be very forgiving about it, even felt sorry for the people who replied all, made the same excuses you're making for them. No more. It's almost 2005. Email's been around a long time. It's basic business communication. Replying all sends an email to the entire original list. So people are now being bombarded with two emails: The original email sent to the entire company (or group or committee or department) and the "reply all" sent by the lazy or apathetic person who replied all. The first might have been informative. Maybe even interesting. Possibly useful. But the second rarely are. You have to open them because they are from someone on the list. Someone you probably know. At least someone whose name you recognize. And occasionally, yes, there are rare occasions, where someone means to reply all because they have more useful, pertinent information for the entire company/group/committee/department regarding the original email. So you can't just automatically hit delete. You have to open it, ascertain the reply aller is an inconsiderate moron before you can delete it. Reply allers, having fulfilled their purpose of irritating me, will now spend their lives sending email responses to people who do not care about the contents and will hit delete as soon as they see their name in the in box.

My bathroom. Which has been a bane of my morning existence since I moved into that apartment. I will not miss my bathroom when I move. Oh, it’s charming and authentic vintage, all right. On a good day, with sun streaming in from the full length window over the bathtub/shower, it photographs well. Darling intricately designed and patterned floor tiles. (Which leave an intricately designed and patterned imprint on your face when you spend the night passed out on them.) Pretty pedestal sink. Sperate faucets for hot and cold water. (Which makes teeth brushing, hand and face washing and general watering a huge pain in the arse because there’s no mixing the water from the two faucets, 13.25 inches apart (yes, I’ve measured) as it leaves the taps to create an appropriate or pleasing temperature. It’s either really hot water or really cold water and that’s that.) No vanity, no cupboards, no place to set so much as a bar of soap. Things fall behind it and are never seen again. When I move, someone, somewhere, in an alternate dimension, is going to be really angry because they will have to buy their own cosmetics, jewelry, soap and the occasional cat toy. The Trillian Gravy Train of Stuff Which Falls Behind the Sink will no longer be making its daily runs to their Universe. The latest thing sucked into the Behind the Sink Dimension, The Other Realm, as it is known to Furry Creature and I, is a hand mirror I have had for years, a gift from an aunt long dead, which was plucked from my hand by someone (or something) in The Other Realm and pulled behind the sink. I heard it crash on those intricately designed and patterned floor tiles. A shard of of the mirror flew out at my ankle from behind the pretty authentic vintage pedestal. So I know it broke. I got down on my hands and knees, as I sometimes do when I am feeling particularly brave or angry (typically the latter) to investigate behind the sink. The Other Realm spit the pieces of my broken mirror at me as I gingerly, blindly, reached behind the pedestal. So much for that mirror. Or that finger until the flesh wound heals. At least the hemmorhagging has stopped. My landlord, who has been annoying me for a lot of years, has finally accomplished his life’s function: I am moving. He will now be forced to either finally renovate the apartment or continue to try to rent it to desperate people like me who will take any apartment they can find and deal with it because they are too busy and too poor to move somewhere else. My landlord is a special kind of Man without a Cause because even though he has achieved one level of enlightenment he has many more levels to conquer. In this case, it’s not so much me who satisfies his life’s purpose, but the amalgam tenant.

Rental car companies. All of them. Everywhere. In any other industry, charging more for a product or service than the quoted price is called fraud, price gouging and/or false advertising. And those practices are illegal. And yet, without fail, the price charged upon return is always at least $100 more than the agreed rental price. Daily fees. Taxes. Insurance. Wait. You quoted me with insurance included when I picked up the car...Oh. A usage fee? So, um, I mean, so the price you quoted me, here, on this rental agreement, is not actually the price I’m paying, so it’s not actually an agreement at all, then, is it? City tax? Oh, see, I didn’t actually drive the car in the city. I rented the car so I could get out of the city. So we can just eliminate that 18.5%/day charge. Whew, I thought you guys were doing something illegal there for a minute. What’s that? I have to pay that tax? But I didn’t drive the car in the city. I left town. I didn’t use the car in the car in the city. I’m not a tourist. I pay taxes to The Mayor every day because I live and work here. You can’t charge me tax on a rental car I used to leave town because that would a) be taxation without representation (I left town in the car, the city did not represent me while I was out of town) and b) be double taxing and that’s illegal and see? Here’s my license and work ID. See? I live and work in the city. I already pay taxes here. You can’t tax me again. That tax is for tourists who come here and use our roads but don’t pay taxes here. See? I shouldn’t be charged this tax. I’m not a tourist. No. I am not going to take it up with The Mayor. I’m taking it up with you. You’re the one charging me what is a tourist tax when I am clearly not a tourist. I am not paying this tax. As of this minute I am disputing the bill. What do you mean you have my credit card number and wipe that smirk off your face. His purpose of being a really annoying and smarmy irritant in my life now over, he is doomed to spend the rest of his days wearing a cheap suit and overgelled hair and a name badge and explaining the $100 - $1,000 over the agreement price policy to irate customers.

Every inconsiderate moron on the planet who shows no respect for handicapped people. One incident, just one impolite or unthoughtful action or word or look will land them in a very dissatisfying state of spending their lives with handicapped people “getting in their way.” So you better think about how fulfilled or satisfied you are when you repeatedly honk your horn at, push in front of, flip the finger at, remain seated (or take the handicapped seat or last seat), park in the only handicapped spot, not hold the door for or show any form of annoyance at a handicapped person. It better be swutting fulfilling for you because you will be spending the rest of your life having to “deal with” the nuisance of physically and mentally challenged people getting in your way. I know, this is more karma than fulfilling a life’s purpose. But. Honestly. You wouldn’t believe how horrible people are to physically and mentally challenged people. Seriously. You have no idea. I didn’t until I did time on crutches and lately trying to get my mum around to her appointments. As a species, people are inconsiderate, rude and selfish.

9:31 AM

Monday, November 29, 2004  
I was all ready to write about how crappy the latest A Christmas Carol offering is, in A Christmas Carols, as in life, I am not fond of singy dancey productions. I have extreme fear of anything with the phrase "The Musical" in its title. It's Dickens, dammit. No matter that it's holiday themed, relatively short, Dickens Light, it's still Dickens and there ain't no business for show business in Dickens. (The notable exception being A Muppet Christmas Carol which is one of the best versions. Ever. Click here for Trillian's Guide to A Christmas Carol adaptations.)

But.

Swut Kelsey Grammer seems to be able to do no wrong. First of all, when did Kelsey Grammer get old enough to portray Scrooge? I wanted to start off by saying he's just not old enough to be Scrooge and it's all wrong. Seems like just yesterday he was sitting on a bar stool in Cheers and now here he is playing Scrooge. Aww, Kelsey, where have the years gone? I love the guy but let's face it, he's no George C. Scott, the indisputable champion of Scrooge. But. Given that it's a singy dancy production, Kelsey works in the role. Just when he gets a little too sweet and tender for my taste he curls a churlish lip and unleashes Side Show Bob. And am I the only one who will now compare all other ghosts of Christmas past/Jacob Marley to Jason Alexander? I was scared of this casting choice, too. But, as I now realize, who better to personify (apparitionify?) a loathsome, regretful, miserable soul than George Costanza? Oh sure, Jennifer Love Hewitt is scary all on her own, and her name and the mention of Dickens should never, ever be uttered in the same sentence. Under any circumstances. But I can even excuse that. Let's be brutal: Emily is not exactly the strongest or best written Woman of Dickens. Weak character befits a weak actress. Makes the weak character look weaker. Brilliant subversive casting or shameless attempt to draw that difficult 27-year-old internet porn hacker demograph as well as the pre-teen girls? I'm hoping for the former but suspect the latter. Still. She was fun to mock. I know. Listen to me cutting Jennifer Love Hewitt slack. Must be the stress and chaos in my life. You'd think I'd be short on patience for musicals, musical Dickens and most of all talentless young "actresses." Huh. Maybe it's the holiday spirit working its magic on me. Bah. Don't worry. This warm hearted slack cutting will not be long lived.

Because I am back in the office after a slightly extended holiday.

Trillian: The Musical

I hate my job, I hate my job,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
The sight of my boss makes me sob
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Toil over insane deadlines
Fa la la la la, la la la la
High blood pressure, ignore the signs
Fa la la la la, la la la la

My job is killing me each day
Fa la la la la, la la la la
There's got to be a better way
Fa la la la la, la la la la
To pay the rent and feed the cat
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Without having sex with a prat
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Maybe I should play lottery
Fa la la la la, la la la la
But they’re such a waste of money
Fa la la la la, la la la la
I’m not rich enough to gamble
Fa la la la la, la la la la
To the checkbook now I amble
Fa la la la la, la la la la

How did my balance get so low?
Fa la la la la, la la la la
ID stolen, check fraud, you know.
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Mum needs care, I can’t just leave her
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Travel expenses are a blur
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Stress and pain and grief and sorrow
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Want my mum to get well, like now
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Not because of money or stress
Fa la la la la, la la la la
It’s not about me, well, more or less
Fa la la la la, la la la la

So unfair she has to suffer
Fa la la la la, la la la la
She’s the hale one, dad’s the duffer
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Need to get expert counseling
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Work out issues co-occurring
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Landlord is the supreme wanker
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Every call fills me with rancor
Fa la la la la, la la la la
All these challenges, furrowed brow
Fa la la la la, la la la la
I think it’s Apocalypse now.
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Shouldn’t lean on my ex fiancé
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Not even with my sex dossier
Fa la la la la, la la la la
He’s the one I love, want and need
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Your good advice I fail to heed
Fa la la la la, la la la la


Ahem. Erm. Yeah.

That. Well. I haven't. I don't think I will. Unless he proves himself to be anything other than the Bad Humor Guy. As much as I'd like to be some guy's sex object I just can't envision us actually doing it.

I know.

Barriers to Intimacy for $500, Alex.

Besides I'm waaaaayyyyyyyy too busy and preoccupied with my mum and family issues and friends' issues and being mugged and beaten up and moving and blah blah blah to care or give any thought to him or sex or sex with him.

The telling tale?

While at my parents' I found myself daydreaming and night dreaming about HWNMNBS and a guy I dated like a million years ago. I didn't think about Bad Humor Guy once in the six days I was out of town. Not once. Not until I was stuck in a traffic jam on the Dan Ryan and checked my voice mail and heard his voice did I think about him.

Oh, and get this: Tattoo Love Boy left 12 voice mails at home, I fast forwarded through them so they made a funny tacky little sound gag: "Yo. Yohhhh. Yo. Ya...Yo. Yohhhhhhh. Yoyo. Yo. Yoya...Yo. Yo. Yohhhhhh." Really, really, really annoying. (The 12 stupid yo messages, not my fast forward sound bite) Not yo, you idiot, "hello." If I ever speak to that guy again I am going Henry Higgins on him. Yo? I mean come on, who says that? Oh yeah. Tattoo Love Boy.

"Yo, dude, she's not answering her phone when you call which means she's either out of town for the holiday or screening her calls because she doesn't want to talk to you. Either way, two unreturned messages over a six day period, tops, is the max amount you can leave without looking like a sad pathetic loser or a psychopathic stalker."

But I don't care because HWNMNBS and I talk and he cares about what I'm going through and he's worried about me and he cares, and did I mention he's worried about me and cares about me? Okay, so it's not the kind of worry and care I want and need from him but the warm glowing nice feeling is the same on my end and that's all I want and need right now. That little smidgen of emotion sent my way makes me feel better than any sex with anyone other than HWNMNBS could make me feel about myself or life in general.

I told you, go tut tut in the other room because I know all the implications, much better than you do, so run along and sort out someone else’s stupid mistake and leave me alone. I know he’s bad and dangerous for me in the big picture because he won’t/can’t give me what I ultimately want and need from him. I know that, okay? I know. But because of everything going on with me right now I am trying to concentrate on the here and now, the small picture. I am trying not to be so big picture focused for once in my life. And in my current small picture HWNMNBS is exactly who I need giving me exactly what I need: Support, encouragement, objective view, sincere and caring shoulder to cry on (albeit a thousands of miles away shoulder), laughs and understanding. So just back off, okay?

Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so defensive. I mean. I am so defensive. Because I know I’m doing a bad, bad thing. I know I’ll regret it and I know I will deserve a lot of I told you sos. I’m an HWNMNBS junkie and I need my fix and right now I’m getting it and I’m stoned and trying to not care about tomorrow or next week or a year from now. I’m desperate and scared of my addiction. Like most addicts, I’d like to quit. I will quit. One day. Some day. Another day. That’s not today.

Don’t forget! St. Andrew’s Day is tomorrow! Make your holiday preparations now!

Anyone wanting to get in on this year's St. Andrew Prayer-a-Thon Experiment(or the St. Andrew’s Prayer Experience, aka the Festival of 15 a Day), gear up and get your prayer space ready, because the month long ritual must begin tomorrow, November 30.

If you didn't suffer through, I mean delight in last year's experiment, you missed out on some good times. Conclusions were drawn, the consensus being that it works. Sort of. I'm not Catholic but I am a Scot so it's possible my results were mixed because of that combo. (ie: Prayer granted because I'm a Scot, taken away because I'm not Catholic.) A few people who are neither Catholic or Scottish wrote with success stories, so my results could just be typical Trillian Confusion. if you're so inclined to give it a go this year, you need to begin tomorrow, November 30.

(St. Andrew Novena (Feast Day 11/30-Begin Novena) St. Andrew Novena Prayer to Obtain Favors: Hail and blessed be the hour and moment in which the Son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary, at midnight, in Bethlehem, in piercing cold. In that hour, vouchsafe, O my God! to hear my prayer and grant my desires, through the merits of Our Saviour Jesus Christ, and of His Blessed Mother. Amen. (It is piously believed that whoever recites the above prayer fifteen times a day from the feast of St. Andrew (30th November) until Christmas (Dec. 25) will obtain what is asked. The key word here is whoever, which should actually be whomever, whatever, if you want to get into symantics with God and Jesus and The Church in general, good luck with that. My take on that is anyone, regardless of their faith or lack thereof, should be able to partake and reap the benefits of the St. Andrew Novena.))

9:42 AM

 
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