Congratulations to winning caption writer Olga C.!

"mmm...what was that url....catholicgirlzinuniform.com...."

Football? I never got it. Men with cages on their heads crashing into each other. Downs. First and ten. How can something be first and also tenth?

The game’s repetition irritated me. After just a few seconds of play, these guys [...]]]> I know my departed Catholic grandfather is watching out for me. How do I know? FOOTBALL!

Football? I never got it. Men with cages on their heads crashing into each other. Downs. First and ten. How can something be first and also tenth?

The game’s repetition irritated me. After just a few seconds of play, these guys always fell on each other in a big heap. Then the clock would stop. Just stop. The same thing happened over and over again: run a few yards, crash into each other, fall, stop. Kids’ playground stuff. Where was the skill?

Still, there was something comforting about heading to Grandma & Grandpa’s on Sundays during Niners Holy Season. The announcer’s roar welcomed me into the livingroom where Grandpa and Uncle Joe sat gripping the edges of the couch and shouting at the refs. “What the hell kind of a call was that! Stupid! It was plain as day, you idiot!”

During a commercial, I would sneak up on Grandma in the kitchen and then head back with a heaping tray of game fuel: leftover pasta, rootbeer, cookies, a handful of stale candy from last Halloween. Curling on my end of the couch, I stared at the TV and tried to make sense of it all.

The Niners were considered the classy team from the classier side of the Bay. They wore a kind of maroon like my Catholic school sweaters and gold like gilt. No wonder they struggled. My grandfather’s loyalty to them was as steadfast as his loyalty to his parish. We were born Niner fans as surely as we were born Catholic.

Except that I had been shamefully born an Oakland Raider. From the time I was a toddler and first saw that pirate face staring down at me from my uncle’s wall, I knew I was a Raider. Raiders were cool. They wore an eye patch like I sometimes had to and ruled my side of the Bay, the real side.

Raiders swag was instant cred. A girl didn’t need to get the game to wear it. On the other hand, if a girl wore Niners gear, her sincerity was tested. “What do you think about the new quarterback after yesterday’s game?”

Huh? “Oh, he’s gonna be great!”

“There is no new quarterback, stupid! Why are you even wearing that?”

Oops. Stick with the A’s cap. I’d actually met Angel Guerrero.

Grandpa and Uncle Joe roared in fury and I jumped. Then I roared too. What had just happened? The same guys in spandex were sprawled all over each other just like three minutes ago. How sexual and confusing. How could anyone tell which team had the points?

Flash forward an undisclosed number of years and something is bugging me like a bad mosquito bite as I run Sunday errands. I can’t put my finger on it but it feels important and a little freaky. The sun breaks apart the clouds and I grab my sunglasses, cursing the glare. A voice on NPR radio drones about Syria. “The protesters are playing the Ravens at 1pm Eastern,” the announcer says grimly.

Rolling my eyes, I pull over in the blinding sun to find a CD. Who are the Ravens and why are they butting in on my NPR penance?

“In 2010 the Ravens defeated the Steelers 17-14 in the final minute, but no one expects a replay this afternoon.”

The Steelers?

Raiders. Steelers. Old outlaws. New outlaws. The Steelers!

A sudden gust of wind rattles the car and the air around me fills with gold and silver light. A voice says, “What the hell kind of a call was that!”

I gasp. The announcer seems to be talking directly to me, describing my entire recreational life before this moment. The song “Killing Me Softly” runs through my mind. Suddenly I know what I must do, where I must go.

The Bean & Barrel serves the diverse needs of my neighborhood with wine, espresso, and draft beer. During football season it becomes a sports bar, five games on five huge HD screens. Sundays have discounts on mimosas to use up the brunch champagne and Mondays have $5 kick-your-butt margaritas. Did I mention the 49 kinds of microbrew on tap?

Normally I wouldn’t walk out of a brilliant sunny afternoon into a depressingly dim bar. Wait until dinner time at least! But the game was pulling me. I wanted nothing else. Five screens.

I watched the Steelers play the Ravens. It was a glorious rollercoaster and I hollered with the others and even got some of the timing right all on my own, and at the end roared like Uncle Joe at the final score.

My grandfather’s presence felt strong as I wandered back into the bright afternoon. It felt even stronger when I ended up at another sports bar later that evening, watching four screens. This was heaven! Where had this sweet addiction been all my life?

Grandpa the Niners patriarch had finally gotten through to the girl who only cared about the swag. It was a Sunday afternoon replay, only this time I got it. He had forgiven me for being born a Raider. He was even learning to love the Steelers just as I had on the road to…

Dumb ass cuss, the NFL! Where else would a recovering Catholic girl with the soul of a Raider fumble?

REMARKS BY PRESIDENT OBAMA AT THE NEW YORK CITY SEPTEMBER 11TH 10TH ANNIVERSARY COMMEMORATION CEREMONY

National September 11th Memorial New York City, New York THE PRESIDENT:

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help [...]]]> “The terrorists wanted Sept. 11 to be a day when innocents died. Instead it was a day when heroes were born.”
—Former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld

REMARKS BY PRESIDENT OBAMA AT THE NEW YORK CITY SEPTEMBER 11TH 10TH ANNIVERSARY COMMEMORATION CEREMONY

National September 11th Memorial
New York City, New York
THE PRESIDENT:

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore, we will not fear,
even though the earth be removed,
and though the mountains be carried
into the midst of the sea.
Though its waters roar and be troubled,
though the mountains shake
with its swelling,
there’s a river
whose streams shall make glad
the City of God,
the holy place of the Tabernacle
of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her.
She shall not be moved.
God shall help her
just at the break of dawn.
The nations raged,
the kingdoms were moved.
He uttered his voice.
The earth melted.
The Lord of Hosts is with us.
The God of Jacob is our refuge.
Come behold the works of the Lord
who has made desolations in the Earth.
He makes wars cease
to the ends of the Earth.
He breaks the bough
and cuts the spear in two.
He burns the chariot in fire.
Be still and know that I am God.
I will be exalted among the nations.
I will be exalted in the Earths.
The Lord of Hosts is with us.
The God of Jacob is our refuge.

END (from whitehouse.gov, 9/11/11))

Vice President Joe Biden speaking at the dedication ceremony for the first phase of the Flight 93 National Memorial:

“I hope you take comfort in knowing that a grateful nation understands that your loved ones gave their lives in pursuit of the noblest of earthly goals: defending their country, defending their families, sacrificing their lives so we can live ours,” he continued.

“Even as we struggle with this tragedy, even as we grapple with the profound loss and devastating grief, we can look up at the heavens and think of these heroes and know, know with certitude that there is not a single, solitary tragedy that America cannot overcome. There is not a single moment of hardship that cannot be transformed into one of national strength. The seeds of doubt, planted by those who wish to harm us, will instead grow into flowering meadows like this one where we stand in today, for they cannot defeat the American spirit. We know this with certainty. We know it with certainty, because it’s the history of the journey of this country at every stage of our history.”…

“As President Clinton knows, my mother used to say, ‘Courage lies in every heart.’ And she would go on to say, ‘And the expectation is that, Joey, one day it will be summoned.’ ‘Courage lies in every heart, and one day it will be summoned.’ On September 11, 2001, at 9:57 a.m., it was summoned and 40 incredible men and women answered the call. They gave their lives and, in doing so, gave this country a new life.”

“We owe them. We owe you a debt we can never repay.”

Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence. ~Erma Bombeck

Thanksgiving is America’s national chow-down feast, the one occasion each [...]]]> I love Thanksgiving turkey. It’s the only time in Los Angeles that you see natural breasts. ~Arnold Schwarzenegger

Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence. ~Erma Bombeck

Thanksgiving is America’s national chow-down feast, the one occasion each year when gluttony becomes a patriotic duty. ~Michael Dresser

The funny thing about Thanksgiving, or any huge meal, is that you spend 12 hours shopping for it and then chopping and cooking and braising and blanching. Then it takes 20 minutes to eat it and everybody sort of sits around in a food coma, and then it takes four hours to clean it up. ~Ted Allen

If you count all your assets, you always show a profit. ~Robert Quillen

There is the rottenness of the decomposing mouse left on your doorstep by the neighborhood cat.

Then there is the rottenness you were taught about in Catholic school. You know, [...]]]> Halloween is a day that all recovering Catholics should celebrate. Why? Halloween is the day when we embrace our inherent rottenness with abandon and silly costumes.

There is the rottenness of the decomposing mouse left on your doorstep by the neighborhood cat.

Then there is the rottenness you were taught about in Catholic school. You know, the rot in your soul that only a murdered dead guy can cure.

Is that the stuff of a good Halloween horror movie or what?

Hold on a minute. I got it wrong. The rot isn’t in your soul. It IS your soul! Remember? Your soul is like a free movie admission coupon only good on Sunday afternoons when everyone else is watching the game. It needs to be redeemed to have any value. Chances are you’re too involved in the game to bother.

I mean, the Giants are going to the World Series!!

Now, I have nothing against dead guys who try to better humanity. There is a long line of them throughout human history and maybe they’ve done some good. However, I am convinced that a certain someone would be absolutely scandalized at what has been done in his name.

So scandalized that he would have thrown the biggest Halloween party in town, spreading the good news and downing tequila shots. Dressed as the Holy Ghost, of course.

So, my fellow recovering Catholics, put on your Freddy masks! Halloween is the one day when we can turn our rottenness inside out and wear it guilt free, remembering that it can be a hell of a lot of fun. We can be anyone we want to be: witches and vamps and pirates, oh my! The fun crowd.

Personally I like to dress as a sorceress in a red strappy dress, brandishing a wand that burns the skin of anyone it touches. Yowsa! I love to watch my enemies running around and screaming and pouring tequila on themselves. Where’s the match?

The models and cosmetics company magnates die especially horribly. Sorry, Coco. I was always more of a faux Gucci girl.

Then there is the hot young Johnny Depp knock-off who thinks of me as his older sister. Abracadabra! We’re alone by the witch’s cauldron and he has no siblings.

Damn this is fun. No guilt here. So what if I come back as sow bug?

Oh yeah, the kids. This is their holiday too, I suppose. Don’t worry; I stock up on Wal-Mart bagged mini candy bars just like everyone else. The little goblins and princesses and tigers are so adorable! Their innocent faces sparkle as they grab the candy and complain that they got the same kind next door. The tiger growls and claws at my sleeve. The princess shoves him. The little goblin throws his candy on the ground.

“I don’t like this kind!”

Clearly none of these kids goes to Catholic school. Hallelujah!

For those of you who know me, you know that my theories often emerge after a good, long hit on the crack pipe. For those of you who don’t know me, well, let’s just say that you should find this entertaining and hopefully thought provoking.

When deciding to blog [...]]]> I have a new theory.

For those of you who know me, you know that my theories often emerge after a good, long hit on the crack pipe. For those of you who don’t know me, well, let’s just say that you should find this entertaining and hopefully thought provoking.

When deciding to blog on recoveringcatholicgirls.com, I try to come up with a timely subject. For example, back in April, I blogged about Easter and late early 2010, I blogged about Christmas and Lent
I think you get the idea.

So, what could I possible come up with during these early days of autumn?

Well, there is always the “Back to School” angle, but even though I am no longer in school, I still find the whole “going back to school” very depressing for all of those kids. Remember how much it sucked to be torn away from a fun-loving, laizzez-faire summer, only to be forced to sit quietly at a desk for most of the day? Just thinking about it makes me feel sad.

So what else is there this time of year?

Oh yes!!!! Football!!! The second most wonderful time of the year (Halloween being the first.)

But how can I tie in Catholicism and football?

Oh, by the way, when I say “football,” I always mean the NFL. While I respect the institution of college football (not really), I didn’t go to a college with a remarkable football team. Therefore, college football really doesn’t interest me.

Back to my question: How to blog about the NFL and Catholics. Well, it took me a whole five minutes and a little “Googling” to get the background information. And now I have this new theory:
Catholics and football are irrevocably linked.

Whether or not you love football, or hate or have no opinion about it, if you are Catholic, football is in your blood. There is no escaping it…..EVER!

For those of you who are reading this and saying “this girl is crazy,” remember what I said about the crack pipe at the beginning of this blog?

But before you rush to judgment, let’s analyze this, okay?

I base my conclusion on these facts:
• There are 4 quarters in a football game, which clearly correlates to the 4 Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
• Each quarter is 15 minutes long. The Assumption of Mary into Heaven is celebrated on August 15th.
• Each team is allowed 3 time outs per half. What is significant about the number 3 in Catholicism? Say it with me kids: “Father, Son, Holy Spirit” Ring a bell or two?
• Halftime is 12 minutes. Well, this is too easy. Obviously that represents the 12 disciples of Jesus.

Still skeptical? How about these facts:
• On a football, you will see 8 laces holding the ball together. Coincidentally (or not), Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount gave us Catholics the 8 Beatitudes.
• What about those omnipresent people up in “the box” looking down at the game and keeping track of everyone’s performance – especially if the player(s) screws up? Picture Al Davis, a.k.a Nosferatu, looking down from Heaven above and watching every single movement of every single Raider during the game. He’s up there judging all the players and practically chomping at the bit to send a player to Purgatory (the bench) or to Hell (being trade to an even crappier team). Isn’t he just like those nuns in school who watched us like hawks so they would catch us screwing up and then punish us accordingly? They live for that crap. They = the nuns and Al Davis.

Okay, okay. That one is a bit of a reach that perhaps sheds light on my feelings about the Raiders, but you cannot deny these:
• The “Hail Mary” Pass: Originally coined after the miraculous, game winning throw from Cowboys Quarterback Roger Staubach in 1975 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQfyJBJoLQs&feature=related ), the term was forever cemented in American vernacular in 1984 with Quarterback Doug Flutie’s amazing throw Damn, I remember that play like it happened yesterday.

Do really need to explain the Catholic influence here?

• Finally, being the HUGE Steelers fan that I am, I cannot exclude this: THE IMMACULATE RECEPTION. Instead of describing this event, let’s take a moment to view it on youtube :
That brings tears to my eyes every single time.

I think the Catholic influence is fairly obvious in the term “Immaculate reception.”

So, you see my fellow Catholics, we are forever linked with the NFL. Instead of resisting it, just embrace it. If nothing else, you can have your fill of eye candy by watching tight young butts being displayed in tight pants; or if that’s not your taste, you can check out the luscious cheerleaders on the sidelines. Or you can check out both….hey, who am I to judge?

At the very least, and depending on what time zone you live in, you have a perfect excuse to miss Sunday Mass or an excuse to dash home right after the Host to catch the first play of the game. What’s not to like?

Go Steelers!

Guest Blogger and Winner of the RCG Tagline Contest http://injaynesworld.blogspot.com

I’m very excited and honored that my tagline “… serving guilt with a twist of lime” won the RCG contest and thanks so much to all those who voted for it.

As a Catholic, I cannot remember a time in my life [...]]]> By Jayne Martin

Guest Blogger and Winner of the RCG Tagline Contest
http://injaynesworld.blogspot.com

I’m very excited and honored that my tagline “… serving guilt with a twist of lime” won the RCG contest and thanks so much to all those who voted for it.

As a Catholic, I cannot remember a time in my life when I didn’t feel guilty about something. Oh, sure, I say I’m a “recovering Catholic,” but anyone who knows anything about Catholicism knows what a contradiction in terms that is. One never actually recovers. The sight of a nun can still cause me a nasty case of hives.

When it comes to the bestowing of guilt and who gets the championship ring, there is a fine line between Catholics and Jews. I can only speak from my experience with the former when I say that sticking a symbol of a brutally murdered dead guy over an impressionable young child’s bed and telling her “He died for your sins” kind of messes with a kid for life.

Then there’s that confession thing. It was hard to come up with new material every single week. I mean, what kind of really bad stuff could a little kid do? Still, I knew I was a sinner so the pressure was on and I’d often just make stuff up. Father Timothy eventually became suspicious and gave me 40 Hail Marys for lying to a priest.

There were so many sins to keep track of. Mortal sins, the big guys, which assured you were going to hell and then a whole host of “venial” sins, which pretty much covered everything else anyone could possibly do. All this was meant to keep one on the straight and narrow path in a world where Satan was waiting around every corner with a cocktail and his recruitment pitch.

A little guilt is not such a bad thing though. Without a sense of guilt one has no conscience and without a conscience one becomes a sociopath like Dick Cheney and the members of Congress who have sold their souls to Wall Street. We might have a much better world, we’d certainly have a better government, had every one of them had their little prepubescent asses enrolled in Catholic school with nuns who could reduce you to a shivering puddle of bodily fluids with one stern look.

While I still talk to God, I no longer go to church or confession. I guess you could say I’ve cut out the middle man. But I do have a strong sense of right and wrong, and firmly believe that karma will kick my ass when that line is crossed. I have empathy for those less fortunate, those challenged with difficulties and struggling in ways that I, who have been so blessed, cannot begin to truly understand. I believe we are all created equal, neither sinners nor saints, and that we are our brother’s keeper.

I also believe that Jesus was a socialist and that if he came back today preaching feeding the poor and healing the sick he’d be ripped to shreds by the same fear machines who are doing their very best to pit us against each other every single day.

So no. A little guilt is not such a bad thing. It provides us with a moral compass. And because we have been given free will, we have the choice of whether or not to follow its direction.

On my death bed, I will ask for a priest to provide Last Rites, the act of absolution or forgiveness for all my sins. What the hell? It couldn’t hurt. And I think Father Timothy would be proud.
“

I’m even [...]]]> After a horrible weekend of allergy suffering back in early March of this year, I found myself going to an allergist for the first time in about 20 years.  Apparently, I’m allergic to everything that grows in my neck the woods — beginning in March and lasting through a good portion of the summer.

I’m even allergic to my precious black lab-chow mix dog, Abigail Rose (Abbie for short).  Since I refuse to part with Abbie under ANY circumstance, I just jack myself up on Zyrtec and Flonase every evening and hope for the best.  A very small sacrifice for a woman’s best friend!

At least I’m not allergic to cats, which is a good thing, since I have 4 of them. <Insert “crazy cat lady” joke here>.  The cats were delighted with the news, or maybe they were just more annoyed.  One can never tell with cats.

So, in addition to Zyrtec and Flonase…….WAIT!  I did a spell check on “Flonase” and the first word it came up with is “felonies.”  Hahahaha!

I digress…

Anyway, I decided to give the allergies shots a…um….”shot” this year.

After determining that I am allergic to everything under the Northern California sun, the allergist came up with the magic concoction to inject into my arm from now until the end of time.  Needless to say, I arrived at their offices feeling annoyed and VERY congested.

And caffeine-deprived.

As I entered the lobby of the medical facility, I looked up, trying to remember where that coffee cart vendor was…

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear???   Better than a sleigh and eight tiny reindeers!

A small craft fair!!  Oh Sweet God and Baby Jesus!  A craft fair!  Exactly what the doctor ordered.  The allergist and my shot would just have to wait.

Now, being the good Catholic my mother would like me to be, the first thing I thought was, “Okay, what holiday is coming up that would warrant a gift?”  Ding ding ding!! Mother’s Day!!  Perfect!  It was March and Mother’s Day was sort of around the corner.  (Note how I totally spaced on Easter..heehee).

So off to the craft fair I go, in search of the perfect Mother’s Day gift and perhaps a trinket or two for myself.

My mom wears the same gold crucifix necklace every day.  It’s nice in an “I wear a dead guy around my neck” kind of way, but I thought she could use a fancier one to wear on those special occasions.  I rummaged through all the necklaces with crosses and finally found a beautiful one with the crucifix.

NOTE TO ANY NON CATHOLIC READING THIS:  There is a vast difference between a cross and a crucifix (crap…should “crucifix” be capitalized???).  I can’t really explain in writing what the difference is, but perhaps it has something to do with the our pathological need to depict suffering and death; to remind ourselves how truly worthless we really are; and/ or that whatever problem we have, it can’t compare to being nailed to a cross?  Take your pick. I’ve never understood it, but what I do know is that you will NEVER and I mean NEVER see a good Catholic wearing a cross.  NEVER!  It’s always a crucifix.

I was so very pleased with my mom’s gift that I celebrated by buying myself a cute pair of earrings and  matching watch.

I came home after the shot appointment (and haven’t been back since, btw) and stashed the necklace away.

When Mother’s Day finally approached, I gave my mom the gift.  As she opened it, I thought of all the great outfits that the necklace would be perfect with, and I was scanning my brain to think of any future “special occasions” to which my mom could wear it.

My mom gushed over the gift.  And not just “oh, I really love this lame gift from my child and I need to show her how much I love it” but truly gushed over it.  I think I even saw a tear in her eye.  I explained where I bought it and how I knew she had an everyday crucifix but thought she would like a fancier one to wear on special occasions.  I even pointed out the pretty colors of the beads on the necklace and started to tell her what outfits would look great with this necklace…when I caught a very perplexed look in her eye.  Very, very perplexed.

I stopping my ranting and gave her that inquisitive “what’s wrong” look and she told me something I never saw coming.   For a brief moment, I thought she would say something very martyrish like “Oh honey…this looks expensive.  You should save your money.”

But she didn’t say that.

She said, “Um, I think only the Pope can wear a Rosary around his neck.”

A WHAT!?!?!?!?

Yup – a Rosary.

This carefully thought out crucifix necklace for my mom was nothing more than a Rosary.  I really couldn’t believe it, so I snatched from my mom and looked at it more closely

1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9..10..  Ten beads and then a separate bead.  Rinse and repeat 4 times.  Voila!  You have yourself a Rosary!

Oh sweet Mother of God!  I unknowingly bought my mother a set of Rosary beads for Mother’s Day. ACK!!!!

I started to giggle and then I just belly laughed for about 5 minutes.  Even my mom laughed a bit.  I finally said “Well, I guess the pretty beads should have been the first clue.”

Afterwards I suggested that she wear it as a necklace and channel your mid 80’s Madonna.

Mom didn’t find that as funny.

Go figure.