Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Rocky Recounting

I share pretty much anything that pops into my brain. This sharing can be my thoughts on today's top news stories, my opinions on the relative lack of merits of popular culture, or a funny or neat thing I learned.

Usually my dog is the lucky recipient of my stories. The other evening, it was my parents who were sitting, riveted, (immobile?) by my newfound knowledge of Catholicism.

"So I'm reading this murder mystery," I began. "It's about this crazy guy who kills catholic school girls based on the Rosary. So, I asked Annette (resident Catholic in my life) about the Rosary."

"And what did you learn," mom asked in between bites of dinner. She knows if she just asks, my story will get over quicker, thus with less pain.

"The beads each stand for a 'decade.'"

"What's a decade?" My dad asked.

Great. He's always got to poke holes in my newfound knowledge.

"I don't know," I said. "I thought it represented each decade of Jesus's life, but he apparently died at the age of 36, according to Annette. And she's old enough that she would probably know. Anyway, there are five decades, and some of the beads are bigger than other beads, and on the bigger beads you pray one thing, and you pray something different on the smaller beads. On certain days, like Mondays and Wednesdays you say one prayer on the small beads, then on Tuesdays and Thursdays you say a different prayer."

"Wow," my mom said. "That's really..."

"Confusing," I supplied. "Then, you get down to the wooden cross, and you say The Apollo Creed."

My parents' silverware stopped. They looked at me. I looked at them.

"That sounds wrong. Apollo Creed," I said to myself. I brightened. "Wait, that's 'Rocky'!"

I learned yesterday that the thing you say when you get to the cross of the Rosary is the Apostle's Creed. The creed probably has nothing to do with eyes of tigers, but beyond that, you'll need to look it up for yourself.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Baby 1, Cat 0

Dearest (friend who shall remain nameless due to the embarrassment that 1)I am actually a friend of hers and 2) I actually sent this card to her on the occasion of her baby shower):

I am so terribly sorry I cannot be there today to share in the joy of
your impending loss of all independence, peace, and quiet. You should
take solace in the fact that the baby will not make her appearance
through your sternum as in "Alien." And while you will be busy soon
cleaning up bodily functions that will make you think you are,
actually, in "Alien," rest assured knowing that you now have an
insurance policy against ending up in an old folks' home. There are
some people such as myself who have all the independence, peace, and
quiet in the world, but a child is a much better way to go. Teaching a
cat to empty a bedside commode is going to be difficult.

You are going to make an excellent mother. Your baby is lucky to have
you. Take a good look around this room - you are looking at a support
system that will be available for advice, support, and free babysitting.

I, on the other hand, am in no way, shape, or form offering to babysit
as these selfless people have. I will babysit your dogs, however. If
you need any advice on babies, don't hesistate to ask! I was one
myself not 28 years ago.

I miss you, and have FUN! I am far more excited about the idea of you
and Brett multiplying rather than a 15 year-old crack whore and her
baby daddy bringing more people into the world.

Katie

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Say it with Assuredness

I love the movie "Catch me if you Can." The book is even better (isn't it always?) Frank Abagnale Jr details his exploits as a pilot, pediatrician, and lawyer, all professions usually requiring a licence, none of which he had. The key to his success was good old-fashioned panache.

I usually speak in such a way that I sound like I know what I'm talking about.

This is a ruse.

(For the record, I make a mental note to look up my assertions later.) Once, my family and I were driving through flat acreage of farm land known locally as "the Palouse." My grandfather asked me what the word meant. Without missing a beat, I said, "It's a Native American word for 'rolling hills.'"

My father almost drove off the road. "You are so full of bullshit. It's a French word!" he said, laughing.

"Wow. She really sounded like she knew what she was talking about, too," my grandpa said. I couldn't tell if it was reverance or disgust I heard in his voice. (For the record, I was sort of correct: "Palouse" is an offshoot of the French "pelouse": land with short, thick grasses.)

I'm not much of a salesperson, which is unfortunate. I could harness my evil for good. Or more evil, depending on your position on acquiring filthy wealth.

The other day, a coworker approached me at the copier. "Hey, Katie, catch!" she said, miming like she was about to toss a foodstuff toward my mouth.

"Oh my gosh, don't!" I said, slapping my hands protectively over my mouth.

"What's the matter? It's only an M&M," she said, confusion clouding her face.

"Do you have any idea how many people die each year from choking to death on M&M's?" I said. "Seventeen. Google it."

Her eyes grew wide, having fallen awestruck under my spell. "Wow. How do you know all this stuff?"

(For the record: M&M's lawyers seem to have gotten to Google, as I am unable to double-check my educated-guess statistic. HOwever, it seems that thirty people die in elevators each year. So while you might choke to death on an M&M, you're more likely to die in an elevator. So take the stairs.)