Church Organ Ladies

Uggghhhh. I went to mass with my dad tonight, it was lovely. The problem was the music. Icky, creepy, funereal (smashing word usage, no?) organ music. It was, of course, accompanied by the wavery voice of the requisite creepy old organ lady. Every church I've been to has had one. They're weird. What's their story? It seems suspiciously as though they've always been old and organ-ladyesque. I mean, were they ever young organ ladies? Maybe they just got into organ after retirement, as a hobbie. But let's face it, these chicks don't really seem the sort to have ever been out in the working force, you know? And who picks the music? Egads. It's like they purposefully choose the most difficult music to sing/play. To me, organs are like nehru jackets. In bad taste. The exception of course is the big massive scary ones they have in huge cathedrals and the like. St. Mary's Cathedral in San Francisco has a pretty darn big one. It's creepy too, organs are just way to funereal (there's that word again) for me. Ugh. That said, St. Mary's organ sounds beautiful and terribly civilized.

My father would say that it all sounds beautiful to God. I know he's right, but God I am not. The old ladies are obnoxious. And this brings me to my next gripe. It vexes me that I can't be catty and mean at church. I'm not complaining, really, it's just that I have to really actively stop myself from saying nasty things to people that irritate me. Namely, parents of ill mannered children who are allowed to climb the ceilings during mass. This evening I sat in front of a woman with approximately 18,000 children. Or 4, whatever. The two older ones were fine, but the two younger ones didn't stop talking the entire time. Part of the time the mom was talking with them, some of the time explaining what was going on, that kinda thing. I don't mind this, it's fine. But the rest of the time they were all just shmoozing. How uncivilized. I know what you're thinking...this is just another childless person without a clue. Maybe, but 'ya know what? I was a kid not too terribly long ago, and I remember that my brother and I would have been strung from the rafters if we behaved in such a manner. And we knew it. So we didn't. Imagine. Anywho, as the mass ended I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from turning 'round and saying in my best sweetly sarcastic way "hey next time, why don't you all speak a little louder through the service so the other side of the church can hear you too?" and smile brightly. I swear, anywhere else and I would have. Well, maybe not Oakland or Stockton. Okay, anywhere I wouldn't worry about violent injury. I know it's the right thing not to say anything, but damn I love to. The looks people give you are priceless. *sigh* I guess it just wasn't meant to be.

Hmmm. So I met a guy at the hardware store. Before anyone passes out, I was only there to return the steam cleaner thingie for the carpet at the old apartment. Yes, we can all rest easy tonight, I wasn't there by choice. Right, so I met this guy, his name is Marcel. He's awfully cute. And he's an EMT. Verrrrrrrry interesting. It's weird, he knows Danimal. Strange. So we're going to hang out tonight, not sure what we'll do. Maybe watch a movie...he told me where I could get Death and Taxes Ale. I was determined to get some, I've been fiending for it for approximately 4 years. It's wretchedly difficult to find. So after running my errands today and making it up to Healdsburg I remembered it. It's in Santa Rosa. Blah. Stupid commute.

I think I'm going to go email a friend that I think has given me the shaft...*raises an eyebrow*

current music: punk cover of "Every Breath You Take"