And before that...

My birthday was birthdayriffic; i had brunch with my bitches, and heidi lent me the pink fuzzy "circus pony" tiara, which led to much singing of fugazi's "Birthday Pony".. which then led to the discovery of a Ford Escort parked right outside the restaurant that had the word "PONY" and a magic silver pony medallion on both sides, on the front fenders. We took some birthday pony pictures, and then the owner of the pony car came by and I was like "did this just come this way?" and he said yes, and i was like "sign me up for a ford escort!"

but don't really.

I got really, really drunk at the Friday party, and I paid for it pretty much all day Saturday. But Saturday night was that Most Secret Method show, and it was so wonderful on many levels, cause a) they played all the fast shit, all in a row, since that's the stuff they have to avoid over the next year and b) it was all poignant and sad and katy otto cried but it wasn't so sad that it sucked, since they're not breaking up or nuffin.

Oh yeah: Marc Nelson gave me this box for my birthday, this box he's had since he was a wee wee marc nelson, and inside the lid in chalk it says MARC NELSON. Guess what I'm gonna cherish always?

Oh, and can we discuss Trocar for a second?

TROCAR! Yeah.

Thanks.

Did you know it's virtually impossible to buy a ripe avocado? These grocery stores are under the impression i sit around and plan to make guacamole like three days in advance. Shah.

Oh oh oh! I had the most beautiful realization this weekend! Now you can have it to!:

I am 2 degrees of separation from the Pope.

Well, you can't have that thought, but you can think "I am three degrees of separation from the Pope" if you know me, which i guess it's possible you don't. But why not pretend? Really, what's stopping you?

I should probably back that up with a little factage, right? Ok: My godfather (Tom Melady) was the ambassador to the Vatican under the Bush administration. No lie. The illustrious J. Danforth Quayle inaugurated him. We went to visit and everything.. he had a maid, and I had this really fucked up dream when I slept in that house about a little Italian girl in a laundry basket full of wet laundry and her older brother. There was a portrait of Nancy Reagan in the house. We got to go on this highly restricted tour of the catacombs underneath the Basilica.

And the best part is that the appointment is supposed to just be this cush job the president gives to his nicest most catholic friend, but while my Uncle Tom was "in office," Noriega sought asylum in the vatican. Uncle Tom got pulled out of midnight christmas mass and everything. He wrote a book. Perhaps you read it?

Ahahahahaha.

Funny, amazon doesn't seem to carry it. But they do carry Three Men and a Little Lady, VHS-only.

So anyway, how catholic can you get? My spiritual advisor had multiple audiences with the Holy See. His wife has the dress to prove it.