Arthur, probably.

Arthur told me he likes reading things I write about him & that I should write more about him, so here is a post entirely about Arthur.

Arthur (not his real name, but it’s close) is a guy who’s been going to our church for about a year. He seems innocuous at first, just a polite guy in a suit & tie, but soon you realize he is basically the personification of evil. 

Don’t let that alarm you, though. Arthur is pretty spectacular. He laughs at all my jokes. He also agrees with nearly everything I say. Already you can tell he is one of the best people ever, despite being the personification of evil.

He is the dark yin to my yang. He is Palpatine to my Yoda, Saruman to my Galadriel, YoSafBridge to my Inara. One time myself, Christopher, & Arthur were in the church kitchen eating ice cream Arthur made for us & I thought, “Here we are: Harry, Hermione, & Draco.”

Arthur is also my sham husband & as such, is very encouraging. He has yet to say a disparaging word to me, about me. He has said a number of disparaging words to me about nearly everything else ever. In that respect, he is maybe Edina to my Patsy?

I am fairly certain Arthur & my boyfriend are going to get along beautifully when they meet next week. They both hate the same stuff & revere the same concepts. The difference is that Arthur might use fascism to achieve his aims, where my boyfriend is more of an anarchist. 

We are going to open a religiously themed Snuggie business together. We also offer to plaster entertaining banter on your Facebook wall for a small fee. Our text conversations are legendary.

Arthur is a trained pastry chef and an accountant. I would not be surprised to learn he played the lute weekly at a retirement home. He works harder than any of us. Evil never sleeps.

I do, though, so I will have to write more on Arthur after Easter, maybe. Meanwhile, enjoy Arthur’s theme.

My Song is Love Unknown

What a weekend.

I’ll start from the start, with many details omitted as they are the gentle, cheerful secrets of others. I’ll give you my take on things & make it up to you with a neologism you simply must appropriate.

Saturday began after a week of daily trips to the gym after 2 years of not going. So let us preface this with the simple fact that I was very sore. Sore is quite different from fibro pain, as it has no neurological component, & is therefore mostly endurable. But it is handy to know for the rest of this narrative. Many of you will relate.

Saturday consisted of purchasing snacks for a church reception, church cleaning in preparation for Holy Week, a well-intentioned attempt to review a very long chapter of Greek, the purchase of cheekily named wine for the church reception, & then a mad dash back home to get ready to see New Order with my dear friends, who got my ticket as a birthday present (March 28 is the exact date).

But before I could go to New Order, there was Palm Sunday vigil, for which I had promised snacks, & could not skip.

Latin mass + LASchola = bliss. But I’d had to go back to Encino to get tarted up for the New Order show, which presented a Latin Mass appropriateness issue (rectified by a black cardigan, I hope, though the glitter eyeshadow & cat eyes were in full effect).

I had to skip the reception for which snacks & wine had been bought to make it to pre-show drinks with my benefactors, who then benefacted drinks. My friends make me laugh & sometimes also drunk, but we were at a campus bar, so there was probably ever the slightest hope & dream of gin in my glass of tonic. I was able to walk & dance & drive just fine.

The show began & was marvelous, not least of which because they performed 2 Joy Division songs, & because I was with my friends, who seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. I got home some time after midnight.

These are my Fitbit stats for the day: 

Fibromyalgia step goal recommendations are no more than 6k a day BUT I HAD TO DANCE DAMMIT


I rose at 7 & got going for rosary & Palm Sunday. Shockingly, I had never previously been to a Palm Sunday mass in my life, despite being a devoted parishioner of Saint Thomas for three years. It always seems to come when I am in bad flare or previously committed. 

Holy Week is intense. It is a week of pondering Christ’s sacrifice & it’s not unusual to shed a tear or two. Sometime during the offertory I began to lose it. I have no idea what snapped. I wasn’t in tremendous pain, we hadn’t started singing the communion hymn yet (more on that later), & I had held it together fine during the Passion gospel. But I looked up at the statue of Christ over our altar, covered in red fabric, & I lost containment.

By the time I got to the communion rail, I was fully weeping, but trying to be sly about it, which is hard when you’re snuffling. Father must have noticed, as he blessed me immediately after giving me the host & kissed my head & then I just full out sobbed like a small child pretty much forever.


On a good day, the first five notes of this make my eyes glisten. By the middle of the second verse, I couldn’t sing. Well, I already couldn’t sing because I lost my voice at New Order, but I could not sing because I legit could not go on. You know that video where Celine Dion breaks down on stage after her husband & brother died?

So here’s what might be shocking for many of you. I was never this person. Crying in public? No. Admitting I cried in public? Unfathomable. Committing this information to the public realm? WHAT STOP YOU’RE ON ALL THE DRUGS

But here we are.

Now I’m going to do what you expect: rationalize.

Keeping in mind that I was gym sore, & that I’d slept less than 5 hours, & now add that I had not eaten since lunch the day before, I have decided that I was sadmished.

Sadmished: adj. crying uncontrollably out of fatigue & hunger, like some kind of grown ass baby

Root: sad + famished

You’ve heard of hangry, yes? That, but sad.

It’s also possible that I was moved by the Passion of Christ. Whatever. Feelings. 

So anyhow I was feeling so awful that I just wanted to go home & sob, but the parishioner who sponsored coffee hour kindly picked up a gluten free snack for me, so I had to stay, & then miraculously there was Hawaiian Punch, & Ray came over & asked me about New Order, & we met a super enthusiastic Latvian, & before I knew it I was going to brunch.

And that was magnificent. We went to Bossa Nova on Sunset & had a grand old time, plus Christopher picked out my bridal march, which is this. 

Now I am going to die until tomorrow. After this load of laundry.