Tom, I have now and I have to say I love it!!

Also just learned that "quaint" and "cunt" come from the same root.

Ooh! SH, you've been to St. Gregory of Nyssa?

Yes - my ex, Huw (referred to as "Churchy Huw" by the bears of San Francisco) was a deacon there, in the midst of professing his ministry. (Before he went a little funny in the head, converted to Eastern Orthodoxy of the *most* conservative bent (so conservative, he went back into the closet, denying his faggotry), moved to South Carolina, became a pagan, then moved to Buffalo to date an infamous Web-gossip who lives in Toronto. I know how to pick 'em, eh?) - anyway, Huw went there, so I went there, and even deeply pagan like I am, I was so delighted by the Nyssans that I seriously considered joining.

They had an ordained priest who was also a lesbian and a rabbi. The altar was in the center of a "round" room, and there were vine-dances and singing, and birthdays were the BEST.

I loved it there.

(tangent)

NOT elaborating on hooks. I'm rarely squicked by anything - dad's a mortician, grew up in the mortuary, reads books like "Stiff" while eating - but yeah. Hooks bad.

dad a mortician, grew up in the mortuary

I'm gonna go ahead and assume that your love of the macabre was not a surprise to your family.

(BTW - nice to meet you StuntHusband. I am Aims, aka The Empress.)

Heh. Some friendly perv who has asshooks in his kit bag talks about how nobody wants to include them in play:

*********

Thing is, everyone I play with has flat out refused to even discuss playing with it. “Hell no” is their usual response. So complete is their disapproval that it has become a sort of joke. I offer them a choice between two toys, one I want to play with and the hook, knowing that they will choose the former over the hook.
Me: “Ok so I’ll give you a choice, tonight we can play with the lawn gnome or the hook, what will it be?”
Them: “fuck...Not the...oh ok, the gnome... You know you will have to sleep sometime, then, then I’m going to smother you with a pillow!”

Note to neighbor: When I tell you I am concerned your cat escaped, please do not lie to me and tell me you are just cat sitting this week. We can hear the cat there, and that is not why I asked you about it.

Dear William Carlos Williams: the plums are not yours.

I'm gonna go ahead and assume that your love of the macabre was not a surprise to your family.

Not at all. Mom's a psych nurse - there are all sorts of not-for-polite-company remarks that spring to *my* mind in that unfortunate intersection of vocations. Mom just rolls her eyes; my sister punches me in the shoulder.

They (the fam) was delighted that I was staying with them for the PDX Vampire Ball, though - I may be a freak, but I'm *their* freak.

(BTW - nice to meet you StuntHusband. I am Aims, aka The Empress.)

Felicitations, Majesty! :) Good to meet you too.

NOT elaborating on hooks. I'm rarely squicked by anything - dad's a mortician, grew up in the mortuary, reads books like "Stiff" while eating - but yeah. Hooks bad.

If this turns out to be like cow tipping I am going to be so pissed off.

If this turns out to be like cow tipping I am going to be so pissed off.

Not remotely the case.

Tantalizing, ain't it?

I'm relieved the asshooks are not for hanging, but also now am thinking "but then what??"