Tag: uncategorized

I whined, you listened.

Jessica Carney started things off nicely with the plainly stated Simcha Is the Worst. A good effort, but I couldn’t help but notice she spelled my last name “F-i-s-h-e-r,” which is how it is spelled. People who truly hate me never spell my name right. My current theories on this are that (a) they are so blinded by my outrageous claims that, for instance, Francis hasn’t definitively identified himself as the Demon Pazuzu, that they can’t see they keyboard properly, or (b) they have some vague awareness that I am one of them furriners, so all my names must have some extra letters in there somewhere.

Then Katrina Fernandez obligingly waded into to murkey waters of Change.org and launched a petition: Simcha Fisher Stop Wearing and Promoting Ugly Footwear.

It’s like she hates beautiful things. You know who likes beautiful things?

Baby Jesus, that’s who!

Persuasive! That is some rock solid crazy person reasoning, but I would have found it more compelling if, instead of “sincerely” as a valediction, the letter that demands an end to my wicknesness had ended with “in His name” or “currently being washed in the Precious Blood of the Most Holy Lamb; hope you are same” or something like that.  And now I have to go find out what the hell “kitten heel pumps” are.

So I was feeling pretty good about the levels of outrage my existence is generating.

But then this new planet swam into my ken: Your Wrong Simcha Fisher. There is actually nothing I can say that will prepare you for this . . . whatever it is. If you read one thing today, make it be this. And then go lie down for a while.

You guys know I love you. You know how much I appreciate it when you read and share my stuff, follow my links, enter my stupid contests, and leave your stupid comments in my stupid comment box. And I hope you know that I try, I really try hard, to provide content that will titillate your senses and set your brain pans vibrating.

So is it too much to expect my own hate site? Matt Walsh has one. Mark Shea gets a support group for people he’s banned on Facebook and a petition for his removal. Even that nutty lady from Florida who knows how to get around IP blockers has a hate site. The nutty lady from Florida! And yet here I am, tapping away, and I can’t even remember the last time someone complained to my editor.

Oh, except for last week, but that was just one guy, and all he did was write two stinking emails titled “your wrong.”  This is penny ante stuff.  Folks, I can’t do this on my own. As much as I loathe everything about my personality, my character, my history, my likely future, my grooming habits, my political views, real and implied, and my stupid stupid face, I simply cannot supply my own anti Simcha Fisher website. My plate is too full. I know you guys are generous. Look into your heart, can you not? And if you find some hatred there, even just the smallest, lukewarm hatred . . . won’t you give?

PIC angry heart

It’s true! I have the speaker’s page to prove it.  I’d love to come speak at your event, big or small. Contact me at simchafisher[at]gmail[dot]com, and let’s chat!

So we get to the First Communion preparation workshop, which is *sigh* somewhat earlier than I’m used to getting up on Sundays. But I did all the things, I went on my treadmill, I took a shower, I even put mascara on. The kid is wearing underwear under her dress and shoes that match (each other, I mean. Not the underwear). We are a little groggy, but definitely pulling this off.

We settle into our seats and wait patiently for our felt and our glue and our wheat templates. While I’m thinking wistfully about the second cup of coffee I never had, I notice there’s something wrong with my shirt cuff. One sleeve is much higher than the other, and I can’t figure out why. I try to fix it, and discover that I have put  my hand not through the end of the sleeve, but through a hole in the elbow.

I surreptitiously try to scoot my hand up out of the hole and where it belongs, and it makes a loud r-r-r-r-r-r-rip! Which probably nobody else noticed, but still I can’t help feeling like I’m wearing a huge sign that says “DURRRR, HOW DO I SHIRT?”

So I decide to fold it over and hope no one notices. At which point I realize that the buttonhole part is rapidly separating itself from the rest of the shirt.

Apparently I’m a hobo. And there is a dead dog on my kitchen floor, which is clean.  This is what it looks like when it’s clean.  As far as this morning goes, I only hope that the other parents had an edifying day as they beheld the generosity of the Church, who offers her sacraments to all peoples, be they black, or be they white, or be they whatever. And that includes people who do not know how to shirt.

Happy Easter Tuesday! I’m apologizing in advance for this post being more-than-usually disjointed. I spent all yesterday cleaning my sons’ unspeakably foul room, and I woke up to discover that my spine had fused into a white hot solid. So I’m just tapping stuff out and whimpering for jelly beans. Here we go:

If John Singer Sargent came to our house, instead of this

PIC John Singer Sargent four sisters

he’d get this

Pretty sure old J.S.S. would be up for it, too. Yes, we did take a more traditional Easter portrait of all nine kids. This is the best one:

She actually loved Passover, loved Easter Mass, loved making eggs, loved eating candy, but no no no, she did not want to have her picture taken.
We are on vacation this week, my husband has my car because his is in the shop, my back went out and I can barely move but HE IS RISEN, the sun is shining, and I can hobble over to the coffee machine. We’re still basking in the glow and leftover chopped liver of Passover

(yeah, I bask in chopped liver. It’s full of iron, great for skin, hair and nails). Here are a couple of shots of my parents:

The power went out and we had to roast the leg of lamb on the grill over wood gathered from the side of the road. And now my kids are keeping busy by inventing a new universe of superheros

including Fledgling, who mercilessly fires poisoned Peeps at stoopid gies. Well, the stoopid gie had it coming!

Time for an update! Robin is thrilled and grateful for the wild success of her GoFundMe campaign. She is working on assembling supplies and starting an Etsy shop. In the mean time, I would be so grateful if you could follow up your material generosity with some prayers for peace and encouragement as she launches this new venture!

I will keep you updated — and again, thank you so much for all of your help.

****

We’re looking at mid-June and the soaps I plan on having are in the list below.  Yes, some did change, based on new formulations of fragrances from my fragrance supplier, Bramble Berry, and because of what I understand people preferring now.  I have yet to name a few of my soaps, and you can be assured that, yes, one will have a German named.  Ha!  Of course!

1.) Baby Yourself soap, with yummy oils that are SO GOOD for the skin.  I will be INFUSING calendula into my olive oil for this one – read for yourself why it is amazing. http://personalcaretruth.com/2011/02/calendula-in-skin-care/ I am guessing mothers of babies and people who just want a yummy for your skin soap will be buying this one.
2.) Sunshine soap with yuzu and calendula, my only soap that will have added color because it absolutely is the sunshiniest, cheeriest soap I have ever seen.  I can not wait to make this one.  Added color and fragrance oil.
3.) Super Gardener’s soap, loaded with good stuff.  Natural clays and essential oils, calendula, coffee grounds, kelp, a SUPER amazing soap that I am excited to make.  This will be a favorite, I am sure.  no fragrance oils or colors.
4.)  Lavender soap, a combination of lavender essential oil AND lavender fragrance oil (needed to anchor the lavender and lavender essential oil would run me about $40.00, plus shipping per 24 bar batch if I used it alone.  Essential oils are expensive.  I had to consider prices, even with the funds to start, for future batches.  I have to be able to afford the ingredients in the future, so no point in making something super expensive now that I can not continue. 5.)
5.) 100% goat milk unscented soap, no added color or fragrance
6.)  An ocean-y type soap, scented with fragrance oil, no added color. (is described on the site as “
Salty marine notes and fresh rain mingle with lily of the valley, jasmine, leafy greens, pine and musk.  Experience the beautifully mastered essence of the thunder of waves crashing against the shore, the salty air in your face and the soft crunch of seashells beneath your feet. Imagine yourself at sea, with your face being lightly sprinkled with ocean spray.”
7.) Whipped shea butter that is whipped with jojoba and vitamin e and lavender essential oil.  This was *extremely* popular last time I made it at the old house.  I will only have a LIMITED number of these, as I am using cobalt blue glass containers that I bought several years ago from Sweetcakes, an online distributor, and they are not cheap!  I believe I will have 20.  Very scrumptious stuff, to be sure.

BAM.

In case the vapidly hysterical tone and nakedly heretical content weren’t persuasive enough …

PIC two comets will collide prophecy meme

 

the semi-literate and painfully obviously phony visionary known as Maria Divine Mercy has been condemned by the Archdiocese of Dublin:

Archbishop Diarmuid Martin wishes to state that these messages and alleged visions have no ecclesiastical approval and many of the texts are in contradiction with Catholic theology.

These messages should not be promoted or made use of within Catholic Church associations.

Good. Not that anyone dumb enough to be duped will be smart enough to listen to the archdiocese.

Sometimes you come across bogus visionaries who appear sincere but genuinely insane. I block ‘em all the time on the Register.  This Maria Divine Mercy person, though, whoever she is, always came across as very cynical and calculating. Exploiting people’s fears is always awful, but doing it in the name of Our Lady is so incredibly odious and offensive.  Man, you do not want to mess around with God’s Mama. I suppose we should pray for the hoaxster, along with all the people she’s duped.

I also suppose we’re back to spotting Betty Grable Our Lady on grilled cheese sammiches.

PIC OL of Grilled Cheese

 

Somehow this seems preferable. There is something touching in the witness of a person who knows she is going to be mocked, but goes ahead and insists that Mary kinda came to her anyway, right on her plate. (Of course this particular sandwich sold on eBay for $28,000.)

My favorite detail about this relic is that it has a bite out of it! Ha. We need a Catholic version of McGruff the Crime Dog, who can go around sniffing out deviant mysticism, and biting it.  In fact, I volunteer, because I am hungry. Stupid diet.

 

–1–

As I may have mentioned, last night I sang everybody’s favorite song in the world that is easy to sing and that no one is at all tired of hearing, because Robin met (and beat!) the $4,000 mark for her soap-making enterprise.  I did practice, kind of a lot.  I’m telling you this now, because you definitely will not be able to tell.

 

–2–

Yesterday, I told the kids that if they did their evening chores really quickly, we would be able to watchFrozen, which they hadn’t seen yet. Note: my eight-year-old daughter was on kitchen duty last night. So this morning, I open the cabinet, and find this shoved in the back:

If you can’t tell, that is chili and sour cream.  A pot full of it, plus four bowls full of it.  And it smelled great at 6:15 a.m. after sitting out all night, oh yes it did.

 

–3–

I really liked the movie! I don’t think there was any homophiliac undertones — or if there were, they were the right ones:  hey, maybe you’re born with something that makes it really difficult to interact with other people; but the solution isn’t to just cut yourself off from life.  You’re lovable and valuable, and your job is to control and channel the thing that makes you different so that you become stronger.

Anyway, it could just as easily have been about being autistic, or artistic, or having a weird sense of humor, or whatever.  Things clearly went bad (for herself and everyone she cared about) when she just let her unbridled interior self go on a rampage, so I honestly don’t see what’s to argue with, here.

My only other commentary on this movie is: what did she eat when she was in her frozen castle? She can make ice skates and whatnot with her mind ice, but can she make hamburgers? What was the long-term plan there?

 

–4–

Despite what you will hear me warble, almost nothing bothers me more than being cold. I was blue and oxygen deprived when I was born, and my thyroid is stupid, and I am cold cold cold all the time. When I open the windows to catch a little bit of that sweet springtime breeze, I turn the heat on, because I do no to want to be cold, not even for one second. Well, now they know.

 

–5–

Benny was big-eyed throughout the whole movie, and periodically cried out, “Poor Elfa!  Poor Elfa!” and occasionally, “Poor mottster!” (What the heck was that snow monster for, anyway? They totally didn’t need him.) I thought it was funny that she couldn’t pronounce “Elsa,” which isn’t really hard to say. Then I remembered that I was teaching her the Greek alphabet for a parlor trick the other day.  Alpha! See, she is listening to me! Just not when I say, “Please stop punching Mama’s head, Benny.”

 

–6–

Now I’m just stalling.

 

–7–

And now I’m not.  Just remember, this hurts me more than it does you.

Well, if you think we’ve all suffered enough, why not drop a few bucks in Robin’s goatmilk soap fundraiser?  If we hit the $5,000 mark, I solemnly swear, with the internet as my witness, that I will never again record a video of me singing a power ballad for the purpose of raising money for a goatmilk soap fundraiser. What more could you possibly want?

Time for this big mouth to Google “Let It Go karaoke lower pitch.” And find out if we still have any Percocet in the house.

Stay tuned. And hey, Robin is still hoping to hit the $5,000 mark! Every penny will go to something good and worthwhile, I promise you. It’s much easier to make wonderful soap when you’re not worried about paying for rent and groceries until that first batch sells.  Thank you, so much, to everyone who’s donated so far. Except for Brandon Vogt, and Brandon Vogt knows why.