Put on your Sunday best!

That's right, I am going to Church this Sunday.

I'll give you time to get back into your chair and have your breathing return to normal.

Now, I am not a religious person -- I'm sure many of you can attest to that. And I took a religious studies course in college, I know what this Catholicism is all about...But to be perfectly frank, it's bullshit. At least to me it is. I'm sorry if I'm offending anyone who's completely "Gung-Ho!" about Jesus. And this is far more offensive than my blog about Crocs, yet someone still felt the need to comment about how much they hate me because of my views on those hideous things. So I'm sure someone will post about how I'm going to burn in Hell and God will spit on my carcass, and all that jazz. Boo fucking hoo, cry me a river, build me a bridge and get over it.

Believe it or not, I'm going for my Grammy. My little 84-year-old, speaks-with-an-English-accent-even-though-she-grew-up-in-Danvers-Massachusetts, Grammy. She goes to Mass god only knows how many times during the week. I remember when I was a kid, whenever we spent the weekend at my Grammy's house, she would make us go to church. At the time, I had no idea what was going on, I was just grateful for the fact that she kept candy in her purse which she would continuously feed to me throughout the Mass so I would shut up. Clearly, none of what was actually going on during Mass sunk into my brain, but it was a nice effort. Also, I ended up going to the local Unitarian church in my hometown with my former friend, where they would make us sit in a circle and have us pass a little candle and "share our feelings". Excuse me? This was like another planet to me. Even at the age of 12, I wasn't falling for that shit. Take your little candle, and your crunchy granola, and your "I love the world" attitude and get the fuck out of my face.

To be perfectly honest, I can't remember the last time I've set foot in an actual church. The last time I was around anything spiritual was at my Uncle Danny's burial, and even then, the Priest who was giving the reading looked at me and knew that I didn't belong there. Part of that was because of all the visible tattoos...the other, the fact that while everyone was reciting "Our Father", I was staring at the group of geese who happened to be much more interesting at the time. Suppressing the urge to honk during that solemn time was one of the best challenges I've ever had.

But anyways, the reason I'm going to church for my Grammy, is that she's winning an award. The first of it's kind apparently, for doing good deeds and being awesome in general. But the best part about all this, is the fact that it's being presented to her by...the fucking Cardinal. Yup. Cardinal Sean P. O' Malley will be presenting my Grammy this award. And it's not it's own ceremony...it is during the Sunday Mass. I don't know exactly why I find this so humorous...but I totally do. It just seems ironic that I've loathed the Catholic church for YEARS, and now the one fucking time I'm going...the damn Cardinal will be there. I keep having this feeling that I'm going to set one foot in this church in South Boston and burn right there on site. I also have to think about what I'm going to wear. At first, I wanted to wear a cute little black dress, with fishnets and my high heels. If I'm going to go to church and not fit in, why not go all the way with it! But after some careful consideration...and my father's other worldly advice, I've decided I should probably cover up the tattoos and wear something...more tasteful. Gross.

So if you hear about some crazy, ranting, lunatic here in Boston this Sunday, it's only me -- starting a riot at church. No big deal. LONG LIVE THE GAYS!

Good. Morning.

My father's house is old. Not like "That's awesome that you have an olive green fridge from the 70s" old. I'm talking like 1700-1800's old. The kind of old where a lot of the house's insulation is still in the form of horse-hair. Well, this is an open invitation to some of the wonderful wildlife that inhabits North Andover. Mainly, the North American Grey Squirrel.

Now, my father has tried numerous way of ousting these annoying little beasts, but nothing seems to work.

Led Zeppelin at warp 10 volume in the attic from our old 50lb 80s boom box? Nothing. Guess they aren't really into taking that Stairway to Heaven.

That machine that emits a high-pitch frequency that pets and humans can't hear, but little critters will and vacate the premises shortly after? Not so much. They figured out that if you chew through the wires, it will shut off.

I won't even get into the "mothball" stage. Gross.

So, now that the weather is getting colder, the small family of squirrels have decided to pack it on in, into our house. And it seems, that their favorite thing to do, is to create little tunnels through the walls...creating what I can only assume, is a mini-rendition of the movie The Labyrinth. I bet there's even one squirrel with spandex pants, a flowing white shirt and hair to die for. Now all of this would be ok...if it weren't for the fact that they're next step in the "Big Dig" was in my room.

I can usually sleep through most things. I will soon be sleeping next to a man who could wake the dead with his snoring...and if I get a head start on him, I can sleep through it. So I didn't wake up to the sound of a squirrel scratching its way through my walls. I did however, wake up to the sound of things being knocked off my bureau. Thankfully, my cat Chainsaw felt the need to protect me (or so I thought), so she had taken the liberty of vaulting off the day bed, onto my bureau in the corner. What she didn't realize, is that the surface of my bureau is slippery. So after sliding into a few items and knocking them off, she stabled herself and continued to stare in the direction of the faint scratching.

I assumed that she would hang out there for a while, so I just laid back down. After about a minute or so, I heard some scratching behind my head. So there was not only 1 annoying rat...but 2 in my fucking walls. Chainsaw, with the awesome hearing she possesses, realized this and proceeded to jump off the bureau, run across the room, jump on my bed and then (add insult to injury) decided to use my chest/rib cage as a human trampoline to get to the next scratching sound.

So thanks, Chainsaw. Thanks for half knocking the wind out of me and waking me up to such a glorious Veteran's Day. It was like I got my own parade of idiocy. I don't know exactly what in your tiny brain made you think you could actually GET to the squirrels, but it was a nice effort regardless.

Oy.

Check The Date.

It's November 6th, assholes.

Who the fuck said it was ok to start playing Christmas music on 2 of my favorite radio stations?! I don't even understand how it's possible. I was just driving to work, minding my own business, when I turn to WROR, 105.7 and I hear Burl Ives' rendition of "Holly Jolly Christmas". Go fuck yourselves 105.7. So then, I switch the channel to WODS 103.3 (Oldies, for those of you who would like to mock) and I hear Elvis' "Blue Christmas". I literally almost drove my car into the ditch in the median of 93. I would rather have gotten into a horrible disfiguring car wreck than come to terms with the fact that Christmas music was already being played 24 hours a day on 2 radio stations. And the scarier thing? More stations will follow suit pretty soon. Soon, all I'll have to listen to is the pathetic thing I call a "cd collection" (consisting of a few Disney cds and 3 cds Deck-Her has made for me in the past 3 years. Because nothing quiet says class as driving 90mph singing "Hakuna Matata" or Usher's "Yeah").

Now, I've come to accept the fact that Christmas candy and decorations are displayed at malls and convenience stores around the country in about mid-September. And I'm somewhat ok with that. I just walk on by pretending like it's not happening. Denial may just be a river in Egypt for me. But just because these stores are insane, shouldn't mean that I should have to be forced into listening to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and all that bullshit 2 FUCKING MONTHS before the actual holiday. It's just plain torture.

So I'll apologize to the Christmas lovers out there (ahem cough cough Miss Mary Smack wheeze cough) because I know some people are excited to listen to these songs and get in the spirit of the holidays and all that shit. But for me, I plan on finishing my fucking Halloween candy, congratulating my father for finding a gravy boat to use at Thanksgiving that keeps the gravy warm with a tea light that sits underneath it and listening to Emerson's 88.9 independent radio on my way to work, so I don't go postal this year. Or at least...not too early.