Cinco de Mayo

I’ve had some interesting May 5ths– like the one where my idiot grade-school Spanish teacher hired Latin dancers of the not-safe-for-grade-school variety to teach us the tango, instead of anything remotely Mexican. Or remotely NOT SEXUAL.

I made my first Communion on May 5th, too, so that was massively exciting. Even if I was deathly ill and too vain to wear my new glasses, so I was blind and spewing mucus with a bright red chapped nose. The pictures? So pretty.

That was the last year they shoved all the kids together, and then just had us go up to Communion with our families, so I actually received my first Communion from some random woman who was totally not ordained, and I’m still a little bit bitter about that. I didn’t get confirmed by a bishop, either. At this rate, I’ll probably get married in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator.

Anyway, it was twelve years ago. Twelve years. My God. That’s a long time. I feel old.

Not as old as this afternoon when I realized that within ten years I could have a mortgage.

This was countered by the self-assurance I felt when I realized that I knew that the universal health care offered in many European countries? Is only for citizens and residents and not my stupid American ass. Even if I tell people it’s a Canadian ass. Yes. Someone I know was under that impression. True story.

Then I flipped out a little bit because while I do understand this basic tenant, I can’t tell you everything about the British welfare state! And I’m going to have to! On Thursday! And a blues final! And oh God I’m going to have like sixteen free minutes this weekend! Can’t breathe!


Registration tomorrow. So the crazy’s not going anywhere.

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