Just to support Shannon, who sounded a little sheepish in her comment a few posts back: Not that there's anything wrong with liking old musicals, and not that the Monaghans don't do lots of other things besides watch old musicals. On recent visits, we've also played hearts and Trivial Pursuits until the wee hours of the morning, and just hung out and talked and goofed around, because the Monaghans are officially Way Cool.

(And by the way: men who marry Monaghans becomes Monaghans in my mind. Yes, I know Shannon and Colleen took their husbands' names, but Todd and Lee have basically been absorbed by the sheer Monaghanness of it all as far as I'm concerned. It's a good thing, I promise.)

I don't know how much I've written about the Monaghans in the past, and I'm too lazy to look it up right now. The Monaghans were one of the the vital things I identified as Cultural Attractions of Wilmington, DE when I was in college -- places I'd show visitors so they'd understand what life in Wilmington was really like for. (The other Cultural Attractions were Fucking Jeremy's house, the Concord Mall and the Charcoal Pit.) Were it not for the Shannon and La Famile Monaghan, I would never have experienced the joy that is Kevin Kline in thigh-high leather boots in Pirates of Penzance. Nor would I observed how to turn a carrot into a net for garnish. Nor would I have seen or done... god, half the things I've done in my life, it feels like. They're a big deal.

I met Shannon at a summer program before junior year of high school. She was (and is) this smart, gorgeous, funny-as-hell, take-charge woman who, for reasons unknown, seemed to like hanging out with me. The six days hanging out with Shannon and Liz Linderman at Governor's School made all the difference for me -- thank god. I was in the "Nobody loves me! No one understands me! I am alone!" stage of adolescence, this was a revelation. (And by the way, it's always amazing to me that I didn't end up a goth. Where there just no goths in suburban Wilmington? Was I too wimpy, too much a good girl? I can't figure it out.)

After Governor's School, I met Shannon's family. It started off a little bumpy. Kate, Shannon's mother, told me at one point that she, Joe (her husband) and Megan (Shannon's next-oldest sister) would occasionally discuss me -- why doesn't Sarah like us? She hangs out with Shannon, but she seems to spend as little time as possible talking with the rest of us. Why is that?

Why? Because these people were overwhelming, terrifying! Shannon's brother and four sisters were, like Shannon, smart, funny, good-looking, confident -- plus, they were loud! I don't remember whether they were really loud, but it was such a contrast to my house. It's not like we Jersilds didn't talk, but lets face it, we tend towards the Scandinavian. Yes, we'd debate things over dinner, and yes, mom is physically incapable of sitting still, but compared to the Monaghan household, Casa Jersild was a still life. The Monaghans all talked! and sang! and argued! and debated! and held court! and just existed on a much more vibrant plane than I had ever encountered before.

Eventually, I figured our that the chaos was a good thing, that the swirl of activity was joyous, and that I could maybe, just maybe, hold my own with these people. I feel like I half lived at Casa Monaghan for the last two years of high school, and spent much of the summers there when Shannon and I were in college. We watched musicals, and went to movies and shows, and we talked and laughed and read and sang and thought and grew up. And I wouldn't be the person I am today without them.

I don't get to see Shannon as often as I'd like -- usually just once a year. I was thrilled when she was in town when we had scheduled a Girls' Night Out movie, and, as I expected, she meshed fabulously with the crew here. She's probably one of the most important friends I will ever have. And the rest of the Monaghans, well, they're pretty far up there as well.

So don't mock the musicals we watched, or the Ren Faires we dressed up for, or the romance novels the Monaghan women tend to read, or the chaos that surrounds them. Respect the Monaghans, and all they're about, or you will answer to me.

If you're lucky, maybe someday you'll meet one of my Monaghans. If you're luckier still, you may find some Monaghans of your own. If you do, jump in and enjoy the ride. Trust me: it'll be one of the best things to ever happen to you.

Apparently Anchored Nomad and I are the same person, except I somehow missed out on the hot Portuguese guy. Evidence: The apartment pictures. The problem is, I've been living alone for years now, and I have much less impetus to tackle the squalor. Hence, monthly parties/houseguests.

Windows open, sun shining, breeze blowing, temps in the low 70s... bliss.

Apparently there is something called "fine motor control." Apparently I don't have it. Apparently this is my dad's fault. Thanks, Dad.

I painted my bathroom this weekend, and I'm finding new and unusual places for paint to migrate to on the human body. I mean, fingers, wrists and forearms, sure, but elbows? Balls of the feet? Behind the knee? How the hell did I get paint there? It's very odd. Apparently I need to paint in a full HazMat suit. And possibly drape the entire room (excepts the bits I'm painting, of course) in vacuum-sealed plastic.

Anyway, my bathroom is now a sunny apricot, which is brighter than I had anticipated. Now that he blue painter's tape has come down, though, I'm starting to like it. Which is good, because I really don't want to have to paint it again.

It also makes the prospect of painting my big front room a deep red (the room is quite large and has loads of natural light, so it can stand up to a deep color) somewhat daunting. I will not attempt to do that on my own. Hey everybody -- painting party at Sarah's! I'll provide the beer and liquor (after we've painted) and good Middle Eastern food. Come on, it'll be fun! Really!

Anyone?

Sigh.

In other news, LLCoolP has a hysterical post addressed to the internet stalkers that are doubtless out there, at least according to her mom. (Sorry, Mrs. CoolP, but it's funny as hell.) Strangely, my parents don't warn me against internet stalkers, and I even use my real name. I knew they liked my sisters best...

And in other other news, The Portadown News is shutting down, as Newton is being absorbed into the legit media world. Congrats to him, but bummer about the site. Now where am I going to get my barely comprehensible jokes about Northern Ireland's political establishment?

And in other other other news, I've got my tickets for Montana in late September (where I theoretically won't be snowed in, but you never know) and for Wilmington in late October, so I can meet the by then no-longer-incipient World's Most Adorable Niece and take TWMAN trick-or-treating. Wheee!