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Giving the love to: St. Patrick's Center. I'm not Catholic. I'm barely even Christian. I'm all heathen, baby, but that didn't stop me from spending my day at St. Pat's in their Hurricane Katrina Assistance Center. Wow. Just ... wow. It's quite an operation they've got. Basically, they're helping people from the gulf coast who've decided to relocate to St. Louis. And they still need lots of volunteers and donations, so if you live here, get off your ass and help them!!!

I've done volunteer work here and there, and I can say that this is the best-run operation I've seen. Considering this is a unit that has been whipped up fast during a crisis, even more impresive.

What did I do? I worked at the phone bank, answering and making calls. Most of the calls I got were from people wanting to help, including a beauty school that's offering free services to hurricane survivors, and an elementary school that wants to "adopt" some kids and get them set up with clothes.

The calls I made were to people who have contacted Catholic Charities with housing opportunities, which brings me to ...

I shit on: stupid greedy dumbasses who contact Catholic Charities to "offer" apartments and houses at full rent to people who have lost everything. We're looking to help hurricane survivors, not give you free advertising, so don't fucking act aghast when I ask you if you'll be offering free rent, Bitch. And don't give me this, "I don't want no one who's gonna not pay the rent" shit, either. This especially goes to the owner of the shithole motel who so graciously "offered" to rent Trashy rooms to survivors for $60 + tax per night. Unless you're going to actually give people something, DON'T FUCKING WASTE THE TIME OF PEOPLE WHO ARE TRYING TO DO SOME GOOD!

More love to: St. Patrick. I'm not sure what he's the patron saint of, other than Ireland. But I guess that makes him lucky because let me tell you, I coasted in there on fumes (because I'm a poor planner). And I kid you not, while I was in the building someone deposited a gas station next to where I parked, which I swear wasn't there when I arrived. And my parking? Illegal. But didn't get ticketed. Thanks Pat. You rock. Tell Bono I said hi.

And a big pantload to: Sally Mae student loans. B. contacted them awhile back to rework how much he pays them every month. They offered him a forebearance. He explained that he was pretty sure he didn't have any forebearances left. They insisted he did. He even yelled at them that he didn't have any forbearances. They threatened to break his jaw with brass knuckles if he didn't apply for one. So he did. Several other conversations have transpired with Sally Mae. And he has repeatedly told them, "I'm sure I don't have any forebearances." And they have said, "Shove you payment up your ass, Bitch, and take the fucking forbearance."

This evening, he got a phone call from Sally Mae and she's all, "Where my money, Bitch?" And B.'s like, "It's up my ass, where you told me to put it for the past month." And they're like, "No, Ho. You ain't got forbearance. We didn't tell you shit. Pay us."

But a great big snuggle to: Clara "Fragile" Jane's day care teachers. They know she's a bit delicate, so they had a "Teletubbies" video all cued up for her arrival because they know the love and comfort she finds in Laa-Laa.

And a stinky diaper to toss at: KETC, our local PBS affiliate. They don't answer their hate mail. Why am I sending them hate mail? Because every three months during pledge time, they pre-empt Sesame Street with shit like Michael Flatley: Celtic Tiger. I mean, holy fuck, PBS! Not only is my child furious because she's not getting her post-nap Elmo fix, but now she requires post-traumatic stress disorder therapy because she's far to young to be exposed to horrors like this.

My daughter's innocence is gone, my friends, and KETC owes her big-time. And they better pray to God that I don't develop my mother's spastic colon because oh boy, if I do, they're gonna pay.