Author: cmglife

Catholic Facebook

Published on by cmglife

I was looking through Facebook the other night. Bored with it, I decided to bring up my old catholic elementary school. Sensing any danger here?

I don’t know why I have to torture myself. The other day I took a picture of my stomach because I wanted to look at it every time I was debating whether to exercise or not. Now I’m sure you are saying to yourself, she doesn’t sound Catholic at all.

I describe myself as a “jaded ex-catholic”. I really have to take that hint of pride out of my voice when I say that. If you have been what I have been through at the hands of the nuns and students of my old school it’s easy to feel self-righteous.

Back to Facebook, I was amazed that the school actually had 99 likes if any at all. They must have forced the “out to pasture” old nuns to “like” them.

It took and is taking all my strength not to post “YOU RUINED MY LIFE, YOU BASTARDS!” Harsh you say? You have no idea the venomous hate I have for that sanctuary of God.

I went through their page and shuddered when I found photos of the playground/parking lot and the front of the school. I definitely have some PTSD. My upper lip broke out in a sweat when I clicked on the website to find the list of faculty members. I was expecting to see Sister Sean Joseph, Sister Rosemary or Sister John Vienna staring back at me. I wasn’t thinking rationally. The nuns were obviously dead after 30 years, remembering that made me feel better.

After a few more minutes of this, I had a revelation, as if a voice whispered to me saying “You don’t have to keep looking at this!” and I clicked out.

(thanks, God)

Counting Shoes – Follow Up

Published on by cmglife

My sister said I should do a follow up to the post a few weeks ago, “Counting Shoes”. She said my level of gullibility and naivete may have just been more than anyone, especially her, could stomach.

Without going into too much detail of why the rules have recently changed in our house, they have.

“All girlfriends must be gone from the residence by the time parents are in bed. “

After much thought I believe that should do it. So far so good, I have been doing “bed checks” every night, just like the old days. I used to tuck Tristan in and give him a good night kiss. No way will that happen anymore, but hopefully the new rule will keep him just as safe. At home in bed…alone!

Parknaphobia

Published on by cmglife

Among other things in my kaleidoscope brain is a parking phobia.  Parknaphopia I believe is the clinical term.

Downtown is the worst. I have always gone to great lengths to find a perfect spot or an open spot.  I have been known to walk 16 blocks to my destination because I pulled into the first spot I saw.

When I have to go somewhere new and I suspect there is sub par parking available, I’ll call ahead and casually ask.  I hate it when people just flippantly say, “Oh, yeah, there’s parking”.  What does that mean exactly? Parking in the rear, on the street, in a garage, where, what?  I’m starting to get worried again.  I’ll move on.

The strange thing is I do know how to parallel park, but I don’t always have the confidence at the time to try it.  If I’m feeling all rough and ready I’ll do it and I’ll do it well.  I really don’t have a parking problem as much as I have a self confidence problem you are probably observing.  Or, as I am reading back over what I wrote I pretty much have both and it’s when they both collide is when I have a serious problem.

Oh, yeah I also have a little claustrophobia.  It’s pretty much hell when I’ve got to park in a parking garage and I’m feeling a little down on myself.   One time I actually backed into a cement wall trying to park John’s new dodge truck on the top floor of a parking garage that was downtown on a one-way street.  I was trying to get to the top floor to get out from under the 10′ roof that seemed to be getting lower with every floor I went up.  I was so flustered by the time I got up there I didn’t see it (the cement wall that is).

Now I wonder if you are wondering how I even get out of bed in the morning with all this to deal with.  I’m used to it I guess.  It’s probably the reason I need 10 hours of sleep a night,  I’m exhausting.

Forehead Forward

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My father told us once that the reason people are photogenic is because they have faces with sharp angles and high cheek bones.  Well, thanks for your round-faced nonexistent cheek boned DNA, Dad! And thanks for the observation, was it even solicited advice?  No, it wasn’t.

After that I have taken it upon myself not to have my photo taken with anyone, anywhere at any time.  The only time I was “caught” was my wedding photos and some obligatory ones over the years to prove that my children had a mother and my husband did indeed have a wife.  I have luckily not passed down my round-faced nonexistent cheek bone DNA to my children; they have their father’s who is sickenly photogenic.

My oldest daughter is a photographer and just recently showed me a way to make my face look not so round, etc. in photographs.  As you are smiling, slightly move your forehead forward.  It works! No kidding!  So, look out I’m going to be hamming it up whenever there’s a camera around from now on.

So, last month I went to the DMV with a new confidence.  My last license had expired after 10 years.  Back then I had lied about my weight and subtracted 3 lbs. That’s how delusional (and vain) I was back then. My weight still matters to me, so this time I’ve decided to subtract 20 lbs! Don’t think I’ll get away with it?

After getting there at 8am and waiting two hours it was finally my turn.  I knew I looked good.  Full makeup, hair straightened and a flattering top.

“My picture will look great with my new protruding forehead move,” I thought to myself.

The DMV lady said, “Stand in front of the blue screen and look directly at the red light. Push your bangs away from your eyes and put your hair behind your back.”

Well, okay, I did as I was told, thinking, “This isn’t going to do much for my photo.”  Undaunted, I moved my bangs, my hair, put my forehead forward and gave a pleasant smile.  She snapped the photo and I felt confident.

“You closed your eyes, let’s take another one” This happened two more times.

At the last retake I was so strung out trying to keep my hair out of my eyes, hair behind my back, eyes open and forehead forward I didn’t care what happened anymore.

Well, that devil may care attitude got me what I deserved.  The license came in the mail two weeks later and the only one to see it has been my husband, Allison and the guy at the liquor store (I did apologize to him).

When Allison saw it she said sadly, “Oh, were you hot? It looks like you were sweating.”

In the end it was the same round-cheeked, boneless faced, deer caught in headlights look that I have come to love.

Counting Shoes

Published on by cmglife

When your family is young it is quite easy to place where all of your children are in the morning .  They should be in bed.  Well, I usually didn’t get that opportunity to see them in their beds in the morning, they were in my bedroom waking me up, but you understand what I mean.  They were where they were supposed to be.

Nowadays it is a different story. When I want to see where everyone is I get up in the morning and count the pairs of shoes at the front door.   Usually there is a pair of my teenager’s size 9.5 (small feet like his dad) and a pair of girls flip flops belonging to Allison (she’s not the one I’m concerned about).

Now it worries me when I see a foreign pair of shoes.  If they are obviously boy’s shoes I ponder this for a moment and wonder which of Tristan’s friends spent the night.  If there are a pair of girls flip flops that are not Allison’s I fly down the stairs and knock on Tristan’s door.  He opens it after five minutes of knocking and I return just in time after looking for that can opener thing that picks locks.  I look around the room and then make up something like,” I just wanted to make sure you made it home last night”.

I’ve found all sorts of interesting articles of clothing left by Tristan’s girlfriend in the last few months since they have been dating.  A skirt in the guest room, “She had to change for work.”  A purse in the entry way by the front door, “She forgot it.” I haven’t quite figured out the significance of that one, but what female forgets her purse for two days?  Shoes, socks and once a pair of jeans in the dryer.

I keep a pretty good eye on them and I’ve had the “talk” many times to groans and eye rolling.  I’m trying not to be one of those mothers that parents on either end of the spectrum.  My only solace is my oldest daughter made it to adulthood pretty much unscathed by my parenting and I am crossing my fingers it is working on Tristan as well.

I Never Would Have Recognized You

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Yesterday John and I were downtown at a festival when we ran into a couple of old friends.  Ann saw John first and gave him a hug.  Then she looked around for me who was standing a couple of feet behind him.  Granted the sidewalk was a little crowded and I am a little short, but I thought it seemed strange she didn’t see me right away.

I said, “Hi Ann!”

Her eyes finally locked on mine and she exclaimed,” Oh! I never would have recognized you!”  

We exchanged the usual niceties: how are you, how is life, etc. Then each couple moved on down the street.

I started to wonder what she had meant by “I never would have recognized you!” She never said why, my imagination began to run away.

I asked John what he thought that meant and he just said, “I knew you would latch on to that one”.

I still cannot shake it this morning.  Did it mean, “My God your hair is so much longer and luxurious I never would have recognized you”?  Did it mean, “Wow, you’ve finally started coloring your hair and I never would have recognized you” or did it mean, “You are at least 20 lbs. heavier and you look more like a pudgy version of your former self”?

Of course, the last one is the one I am going with.

Selective Dixlexia

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Anyone have those words that all your life you cannot spell?  Here is my partial list:

Phyciatriy

Lisence

Counceler

Excersise

Definetly

Dyxlexia

Is it selective dyslexia or am I just a terrible speller? Is it yet another syndrome I am going to be diagnosed with?  Only if they can catch me!

Getting Music Shy

Published on by cmglife

You know how the media is always interested in famous people’s iPod lists?  I’m not, but if you looked at mine you might be impressed, embarrassed or disgusted depending on your taste in music.  Sometimes I am embarrassed and disgusted by some of my downloads.  John thinks all I listen to is U2, and maybe it is better that he continues thinking that.

I think I have some pretty cool music.  I also have some questionable purchases, Bruno Mars, Justin Bieber (only one, I know now I’m rationalizing) and Family Force Five.  I can’t help it.  I like what I like at the moment and then I purchase it from iTunes.  It’s just too easy to receive that immediate satisfaction for a $1.29.

When I find some new music, I always pass them along to Emily and Tristan and sometimes to an old friend of mine, Mark.  All three of them told me last time that they didn’t like any of them.  Mark got the most philosophical by saying he liked the “back story” of the bands but not their music.  What?  Oh, aren’t we above it all?

Well, they can forget it; I’m not going to help them out anymore finding new music. That didn’t last long, I just sent off a new batch.  I am waiting for Emily and Mark to respond.  Tristan has already by telling me that the band just comes on too strong out of the box.

“This music is too fast for you?”, I ask with hurt disdain, “And how old are you?”  I always take it as a personal affront when my new music is rejected.

At Christmas I had Josh Groben playing in the back ground.  I’ve always loved back ground music when I have more than three people over.  It used to be Talk Talk back in the 80’s/90’s but for Christmas it should be Christmassy, don’t you agree?

Everyone got sick of that (feelings hurt again) so I tried Johnny Mathis.  My parents only had four albums growing up, Roger Whitaker, The Beatles (Magical Mystery Tour), Johnny Mathis and John Denver (can’t make this stuff up). I had a love hate relationship with them all, but the Johnny Mathis Christmas Album is a classic and had to be bought as a cd and played during the holidays.

Then there is my sister who is the ultimate snob when it comes to her musical tastes, even worse than me!  We headed into the kitchen to prepare the Christmas treats, appetizers etc.  I brought in the trusty old iHome and began to play my music list.

I say to Helen, “If there is anything you hate, let me know and I’ll go on to the next one.”

I am very considerate to certain people because I know my tolerance is non-existent for bad music (country).

The Fray’s remake of Kanye West’s “Heartless” came on.  I think Ellen’s interest was peaked a little, but then he started to sing things like:

“Why would she be so mad at me for?
Homie I don’t know she’s hot and cold
I won’t stop won’t mess my groove up “

Ellen said,”Okay, I can’t handle that anymore, please turn it off.”

I did immediately, I was afraid she was going to swear at me.

Warning! Texting and Walking

Published on by cmglife

DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

photo

Nitrous Oxide

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“Now, you want the nitrous oxide, right?”, asked the dental hygienist.

Hell, yeah!

“Yes, please”, I responded.  My hands were already balled into fists.

Wikipedia: dentophobia or individuals with post-traumatic stress disorder, caused by previous traumatic dental experiences.

The latter is the category I feel I fall into.  I’m not going to bore you with horrific old stories of needles hitting a nerve or anything like that, just suffice it to say, I have “dentophobia”.

I like to think there is an upside to everything.  This particular silver lining is called nitrous oxide. It’s not exactly a high, just a nothing feeling.  So much so that the 45 shots I got in my gums and cheek  for a recent root canal didn’t even faze me.  Even when I think the dentist did hit a nerve and a jolt of electricity went through my tongue, I didn’t flinch.  Amazing stuff.   I would enjoy my life so much more if I could wheel a canister of it around during the day the way oxygen patients do.