To send in your burning question just email me at Ask Sister Autumn

 
Exalted One Whose Trout Light Shineth the Golden Way to the Marathons:

Your guidance is sorely needed (lest Scullyworship slide into the apostasy of Jebuslug worship) --

Since you have been so disheartened as to discontinue the Holy Reviews, how do you counsel the Abbey to regard the coming of the 9th? If the EI herself would rather be elsewhere, should we be praying (in both English and Latin, pace Bartlett) that Saint Scully of Sunday Night be mercifully severed from the show, or that by some miraculous intervention Saint Scully be given scribes worthy of her wisdom?

Cyranetta, wandering in the wilderness, trying to find Buffy after Tuesday night.

Well, I'm not sure that our prayers will do anything in this case since it seems FOX is determined to make our Saint continue into the season in which Mulder becomes the Invisible Man. It does not even look like the actor's strike is going to come through for us at this point and derail the season. I will bravely soldier on as long as Her Pantsuitedness graces my screen. After all, some of the worst episodes have some of the best CHarc, and I watch for Scully and her poofy floofy hair when all else fails. Plus, Gillian Anderson is still a fine actress. And by God we still have each other. 

Actually, there is some good news in the cancellation on The Lone Gunmen in that hopefully Vince Gilligan will be back paying more attention to The X-Files. Maybe they'll make Mulder one of those invisible characters that we never quite see but everyone talks about. Like Norm's wife on Cheers. Who knows, we may actually hear more about him next season than we did this one now that they aren't spending all their time looking for him...

Dear Autumn,

Fest is coming up, and I'm a little scared about it. See, back in the day, when I was just a young kid many years ago (1998 I think) I posted fairly often and everyone knew who I was and so they were excited to meet me. "Oh!  You must be Meredith!  How exciting, I've always wanted to meet one of the Rogues," they would say.  Really.  And lately, well, I've become a big slacker.  Sure I'm doing well in school and holding two jobs and trying to become a folksinger, but these things just don't matter when compared to the OBSSE and especially your divine demureness, and I just haven't been posting.  I think I'm a lurker or something, and that title just doesn't imply anything attractive.  And because of this I keep having these dreams where everyone at Fest has forgotten who I am and no one talks to me and it's just like high school. It's very sad and pathetic.  So what should I do? Get over my neurosis?  Hope people remember who the hell I am?  Or just bite the bullet and actually post once in awhile?  Please help me, Autumn.

Yours in insecurity,
Meredith
(By the way, I'm the one with the red hair and the guitar, in case you forgot, I think I'm in some Fest pictures if you need help.)

Oh fer God's sake. Snap out of it. First of all, yes you should post more. And so should that insane mother of yours. But forgotten? Never. You, my dear, are a Fest Ho. And we are the few, the proud, the remembered. Don't worry, I can guarantee that even that entire huge lot of FEST newbies will know all the FEST Hos very very well. Oh, and bring your guitar will you. We kinda like it when you do.

Dearest Autumn, who could teach courses in deportment and gracious manners, please tell me what to do.

Last weekend, Sis. Beer all but begged me to help her repair some toasters down in the wine cellar. Naturally, I asked her, "What's in it for me." She told me that she'd treat me to dinner, but when the pizza guy arrived, Beer suddenly realized that she'd "forgotten" to bring her wallet. Of course, she had to order pizza from some gourmet place that uses snooty cheese from made from the milk of aristocratic French cows, so the damned thing ended up costing me $29.08. She has yet to pay me  back, so what I want to know is this: Would it be childish of me to steal her favorite pair of pink, kitten underpants and run them up the Abbey flagpole?

I hate to be petty, but she leaves me little choice.

Adrianne

AdrianneFF,

No, not at all. In fact I think it would be the right thing to do. But how will you be able to tell which of the pink kitten underpants is her favorite? Or has she embroidered "My very bestest pink kitten underpants" on them? And what have you girls been doing to those toasters that they need repairing? Wait. On second thought I don't want to know.

Dear Autumn, wielder of trout and keeper of spreadsheets,

I have this problem. I have so much of myself invested in a certain red-haired FBI agent whose life is about to be impacted in unprecedented ways. 

Many of my friends have decided that they are so over her, but I have not. Some of my other friends have other role models they hold dear much as I hold Scully dear, but I don't have it in my heart to replace her. 

What am I to do to stay strong as my support structure is seemingly coming undone, and the temptations around me are getting stronger?

Yours,

One confused Brother

What are we here in the Abbey, dude? Chopped liver? Last I heard she was still thought of rather fondly in these parts. I think you need to spend more time in the Chapel and less time hanging out with riff raff.

Dear Autumn, who is truly wise, clever, caring and demure, yet ever so swift to punish wrong doers with Sparky, the Wonder Trout.

I have a confession, but I don't want the other nuns to know because they will tease me, I figure if I email you privately, they won't have to know...so can we keep this between you and I?

Lately, I've been schmoopy.  I mean reeeeally schmoopy.  Now you're likely asking, "what does this have to do with me, I'm a busy Nun".  Well, here's the thing.  While reading certain a certain optimistic young man's post on the mailing list regarding the MSR, I found myself thinking...it wouldn't be soooooo bad if they ended up together.  I mean I seriously considered it for a minute or two. And then for a brief flash I imagined M and S rolling around together all.....unclothed, and giggling.   I felt all dirty.   Is there some kind of absolvement, perhaps giving some of my favourite leather goods to charity? Can I do some Hail Scullys?  Chew some proztacs?  What will the other Nuns think of me?

Signed,
ABSOLUTELY NOT A SHIPPER

Dear Captain's Little Helper Reade,

Who the hell are you kidding? Let me quote a few choice tidbits that I overheard you uttering in the Abbey Lounge to an expectant crowd: "I agree that M and S had sex." and "OK I ADMIT IT. I LIKED THE DAMN KISS. I WAS SCHMOOPY."

I have two words for you: Clang. Clang.

Dearest and most righteous Sister Autumn,

What gives? It seems these days I am surrounded by an armed camp of X-Files naysayers.  They pester me with cries of "Season 8 blows" and "I want my Ma Scully", while I, in my innocent haze of worship still find the show appealing and interesting.  It seems as though I am out of a proverbial limb dangling by my optimism (which can be quite painful let me tell you).  Now that Season 9 is confirmed, whatever shall I do to drown out the cacophonous backlash? <ouch I think I hurt my tongue on that sentence!>

Ahab the Unjaded

Ahab, I must commend you on your unjaded nature. It is really quite refreshing. Now would you mind sharing what you're drinking with the rest of us? I know I could use a big glass of it. Plus it is harder for us to backlash in a cacophonousical nature if we're busy slurping cocktails. Personally, I've found the more Scullyritas I have the less I mind Scully wearing a blouse unbuttoned to nearly her knees. Even Doggett looks cute to me if I squint and turn my head to the left like that guy in that episode you must have loved. What was it? SureSquint? TwinKill? Man, they don't make 'em like that any more. And hey, what's wrong with wanting Ma Scully to show up every once in a while? You'd think with your name you'd like that too.

Dear Autumn, in whose presence I am unworthy to even type the word "wisdom",

I have a burning question.

I don't know how I know this, but it seems to me that every month now people are getting more and more reluctant to asking you for help. There seem to be less and less burning questions to resolve for Abbey members in need of psychological protection. And that in spite of your valiant efforts to get into the minds of our oppressed sistren and brethren, putting your experienced finger each time exactly on the spot that makes them tick (it's almost eerie!), sharing their every pain and suffering and pang of insecurity, and giving good and strong advice helping them survive yet another dreary day, or week, or season. I wonder why that is. Can you please give me a hint?

Sincerely
- Glasses

You know, I have no idea. You'd think they were afraid of me or something. Because I know these people have problems. You'd think they'd want my experienced finger on that spot.

Dearest Mother Who Hath Created all things FEST:

Is there any charity planned for the Less Fortunate? Those of us who find themselves unable to travel to the holy land in Winter Park, Colorado this summer for the FEST due to scheduling conflicts?  [Don't ask. It involves a family gathering of actual siblings, 14 nieces and nephews wearing mouse ears and a budget hotel with a giant "Woody" out front.]

I have poured over the FEST schedule and can't find any time or activities devoted to including or acknowledging those of us who are physically missing.  To keep from feeling like a conveniently dropped CC story line, would it be possible for Those Who Doth Run The Abbey to officially welcome us in spirit, as our bodies must be detained elsewhere--possibly strapped in extreme torture devises?  [Otherwise known as long Disney attraction lines.  And if that doesn't make you wince, just think Florida.  In late July.  I accept Your Pontiff's pity.] 

Anyway.

I bow to the One Whose Phone Could Be Pickethed Up To Makeith It Happen, and ask if it be possible to propose the following FEST schedule additions for your humble consideration?

"The Ma Scully Answering Machine Happy Hour."  Lucky FEST goers sit around and drink Scullyritas while listening to cheap tape recordings from OBSSE members unable to attend.  "Hi, this is BDodd. Sorry I was unable to make it to the Fest.  If this is Dana, please leave your exciting news after the beep.  I'll get back to you when it's convenient for the producers."

"The Pause To Take Stock Of Each Precious Moment Prayer"  (Sunday morning worship)  A giant Buddha statue is brought into the chapel, and Lucky FEST goers kneel in spiritual meditation and send happy thoughts to the Less Fortunate. [footnote: We request video tape of this statue in order to determine whether or not his lips are actually moving during this spiritual event.  I'd also beg that the brothers and sisters leave naked ex-lovers OUT of their flashback sequences if at all possible, as my eyes are still scarred from TBO's shocking mental images of Daniel what's his face.]

"The Plastic Incarnation Fashion Show For The Missing"  Might a special category be graciously added to the Action Figure fashion show to include submissions from OBSSE fashion designers who are unable to attend, but still have the financial means to fly their beautiful PI Models to Winter Park to enter the contest and walk (or waddle) down the runway with the other Lucky FEST goers' contestants?  Of course, my PI Model would need limousine service to and from the airport, first class hotel accommodations in a private room, but would not require food as that might add unnecessary ounces to her already bloated appearance.  According to my calculations, the Scully PI is approximately 9% of Agent Scully's actual height, therefore I think it not unreasonable to offer to pay 9% of standard registration FEST Fees, etc.  [Enclosed please find $1.80 for my Action Figure's FEST T-Shirt]

These are, of course, only trite suggestions from a lowly member of the Order and I realize that it may be too late to alter the FEST schedule of activities to graciously include and/or acknowledge those of us committed to non-FEST purgatory.  But as The Blessed One has taught us many, many times, miracles can happen.  So I can't give up hope.  I won't. 

Eternally kneeling to the You, The Uber-Heiress of the Abbey, who understandith the importance of story continuity with regardith to missing characters,

Sister BDodd

If you are staying at a hotel with a giant Woody, something tells me you really would have liked our Beaver Village accommodations two years ago.

Betsy, as much as I'd like to be able to include these suggestions we are unfortunately going to be way too busy having fun to do so. Feel free however to fly your action figure in yourself. We promise it will have a grand time.

Dear Autumn, who I can believe walks on this plane of existence because she has been touched (heh.) by the EI on several occasions,

Does Colin really exist?

Scratching her head and squinting muchly,
Newbie #101311214232A

Yes, yes he does. In fact, it is almost time for his annual BAD ELDER DECISION which we will call him from FEST to get. Read all about it here in the FEST edition coming late this summer.

Dear Sister Autumn,

Is this the best newsletter ever, OR WHAT?

You're the best thing since pushup bras,

Sincerely,
The Anonymous #1 Fan Of The Editor

PS  if the answer is no, you don't have to answer.  Really.

Dear Anonymous Princess,

I'm trying to figure out what would hurt to be smacked with your tiara or some pointy horns. Let me get back to you when I come to a conclusion.

Because we here at the Abbey look for any excuse to throw a party, be it a season premiere or the birth of a possibly human, possibly green-skinned baby of indeterminate paternity, we banded together to throw She Who Wears Heels Even In The Ninth Month Of Pregnancy And Doesn't Topple Over a baby shower.  And what shower would be complete without gifts?  Not any that I'd be caught dead at, that's for sure.  So, in between games of Pin The Tail on The Baby, we took some time to open gifts and see what the shower guests brought for our dear Scully Jr.:

Ellen Jones:  An eeensy weensy little plam.  Ha, ha, just kidding.  One of those suction-y things to help get the green slime out of its little throat.

Spooky:  A homing device like they tag endangered animals with so when the little sucker is abducted (and you just know it will be) Scully can immediately launch a real search rather than chasing Manbats and Butt genies for three to ten months.

Adrianne:  A Diaper Butt Genie. Yes, this ingenious new invention eliminates the need for diapers altogether. You see, once the baby has had his/her delicious meal of strained sunflower seeds and yogurt with bee pollen, you just send the Diaper Butt Genie on up there to intercept any potential baby stinky pants. It's a gift no busy mom should be without.

Rhonda:  a Fisher Price "My First Alien Ice Pick" with real retractable pick action.  Grandma lamp holder sold separately.

Kim:  Eight, maybe nine, years of therapy.

Nancy FF, the Mother of All Evil:  A Consortium baby formula starter kit, consisting of a dozen live mice, a bucket of chum . . . and a cheap little brown plastic teddy bear.

BDodd:   Thank goodness Scully's pregnancy has taken so long, because the baby food and jars are still in production. But fortunately the labels have just come off the presses.  Her shower gift can be viewed at this link: Shower Gift

Aspen:  ... a lovely musical mobile, playing Mozart.  Such a gift is designed not only to stimulate math skills (after all, everybody LOVES a math geek), but the cute dancing alien & cloud theme will comfort any baby, even if it bleats when it cries.

Sister Autumn the Demure:  ...a father.  Unlike Chris "I'm sooooo Clever" Carter, I am happy to provide the little hamster with a normal, human if rather PUNKish Dad. You see, since Scully is actually a medical doctor and I refuse to believe that every OB/GYN in the greater Washington D.C. area is in on some lizard baby conspiracy, I know Her Soon to Be Equipped With Expanding Elastic Pantsuitedness would have long ago checked out what she has been carrying these long 14 months. And then with a quick glance at the Spotnizian calendar she must have come to the conclusion that she had at least one viable egg rattling around inside of her as the date matches that time Mulder came back from England and Buddha told her to boink him senseless.

Sick!Chickie:  Baby Kevlar, the whole line of products: christening gown, booties, bonnet, bibs, etc.

Karen:  A bottle. With three suckers for its three alien heads.  BUAHAHAHAHA.

Rae:  a fisher-price autopsy set, complete with a teeny-tiny autopsy tray, plastic scalpels, and neat goggles.

Sister Margot:  A baby alien-sized coffin.  With a doll.  With a doll-sized coffin.  And, for $19.95 extra, a CC-sized one, too.  He will need it. 

Sister Leah is in agreement:  Obviously a little pine box because that poor little bastard is so marked for death.

Phledge:  ...a onesie with a tail.

June (apparently shopping at Tails R Us too):  Yellow (in case it's a boy or a girl) onesie pajamas  with a lap in the back (in case it's a a lizard alien).

Joanne and Jobob:  Since there's two of us, we're giving two gifts with Little Sculder's future in mind:  A scholarship to the FBI Academy and a junior membership in MUFON.

Cara S.:  A mini mag-light.  Yes, now he/she/it carries one...

Angel:  A ticket to the Ricki Lake show so it can have that DNA  test to find out who his daddy is since Scully isn't going to do it.

Lucyskull (in case Ricki Lake doesn't work out):  A lab coat and set of pipets. Because it is never too early to learn how to run a Southern blot in 5 hours.