More Sins of Omission, Explaining One’s Offspring to Others, and More Awesome Tunes

Old-time Catholicism is a bit masochistic, but you gotta love the artwork.  I have nothing against Catholics- some of the best Christians I know adhere to Catholicism, and I’m not going to argue the small points- other than to say that by definition I cannot be considered a Catholic because I don’t agree 100% with the Catholic Church.  Agreeing with Church teachings 100% is part of the deal.  I’ve read the Catechism of the Catholic Church, and I agree with a good deal of it- but I do disagree with some key points of what the Catholic Church teaches, and I don’t agree 100% with their theology- especially what I consider to be the bizarre extra-biblical stuff like purgatory and indulgences and praying to saints.  It would be dishonest for me to claim to be Catholic when I don’t agree with everything the Church believes and teaches.  So those who claim to be Catholic but embrace some very un-Catholic and very un-Christian thought processes are effectively lying their pants off.  You either take the whole hog or not at all- that’s the way that Catholicism works.

Joe Biden: claims to be Catholic, but if my grandfather were still alive I think the descriptive would change to “Crazy as a Shithouse Rat.”  Though in the end he- and we- are accountable to God alone.

As a confessional Lutheran I don’t fall terribly far away from the core beliefs of Catholicism, and theologically I am well within the sphere of orthodox (small “o”) Christianity.   I’m not into weird stuff like God being a space alien (who knows, He might be, but I doubt it) and I don’t believe that I’m part of some elite nerd tribe whose destiny is to be spirited up to heaven in a space ship with Marshall Applewhite and company.  I’m definitely more conservative both socially and theologically than most of the people who go to my church, which does give me pause at times, and does cause me some cognitive dissonance, but there’s an important point to be made with that unease.  If I were to seek out a very literal, fundamentalist church (at one point I almost became a Southern Baptist) I wouldn’t hear any viewpoints remarkably different from my own. (I do differ with the SB’s on the subject of infant baptism, which is an important point of dissent- but otherwise I can pretty much get right on the bandwagon.)  I need to be challenged to see viewpoints that are different than mine, and I need to be challenged to be compassionate to those who are coming from a different perspective.  As a confessional Lutheran I have considerable freedom to ask theological questions and to hold differing opinions on non-essential issues without being considered heretical or completely outside the box of Christian orthodoxy.

I think we can agree: This dude was one crazy mo-fo.

I don’t like to argue theology with anyone.  I will gladly explain what I believe and more importantly in Whom I believe- and why, but I’m not going to pound anyone in the head.  It doesn’t work.  Some of my closest friends are atheists and agnostics, who likely view my faith as something archaic and quaint- but they still talk to me and there’s still a relationship there.  Jesus was all about building relationships with unlikely people in unlikely ways, so if it worked for Him, why not?  I learned long ago that the number one way to dissuade people from faith and a relationship with God is to act like Dana Carvey as the Church Lady.

Could it be….SATAN?????

I may differ even with some of my more orthodox cohorts in that I believe Satan is real and that there are real evil forces at work in this world.   But most of the ills of this world can be attributed to human beings doing what we do best- screwing up.  The sin of the Garden was not so much, “The devil made me do it,” as “I screwed up and did the opposite of what I was told.”  Is this not the underlying theme of human history?  I know it’s the definitely the story of my life.  I am an example, and a good amount of the time I am an example of What Not to Do.

A sin of omission is knowing what you’re supposed to do, but not doing it for whatever reason.  I know I should refrain from laughing at Jerry when he can’t find the beer in the fridge because it’s behind the milk, but I laugh anyway.  Technically that’s a sin of commission because I did laugh, though.  Sins of omission are more like knowing I should iron Jerry’s shirts, but not doing it because I hate ironing, and because I know it’s something his lazy ass can do for himself.  He should be happy I’m washing them and hanging them up for him, but if I were really good I would be doing the ironing thing too.  That’s the omission thing, sort of, anyway.   I should be a missionary in Africa giving out food and water to pitiful orphans, but my selfish ass is too satisfied with sleeping in the A/C and not having dysentery.  There’s always something I should be doing but for whatever reason I’m not.  Take it right on back to the old Catholic guilt trips perhaps, but there’s a grain of truth there.  I know full well I do things I shouldn’t and neglect to do things I should.  Which segues quite well into my hit-or-miss parenting.

This won’t be the last time he will be cajoled into sporting his daughter’s clothes- heh-heh!

As far as Steve-o goes I am delighted that he is remarkably normal in many ways.  He is gainfully employed, only has a couple of weeks until he graduates from college (YAY!) and is very close to Independence from the Parental Units, which in my mind is the ultimate goal of parenting to begin with.  As far as I’m concerned, I did not give birth and work myself into the ground to end up with a thirty five year old acne-ridden, obese couch jockey stinking up the basement with greasy Taco Bell wrappers whilst clogging up his brain cells with assorted online interactive video games 24/7 on my dime.   I do wish Steve-o would have listened to Mother a little more intently in regard to abstinence, chastity and so forth, but hindsight is 20/20.  I love my granddaughter and wouldn’t trade her for anything, but it would have been better if they would have waited a bit.  However, life is such that you wish in one hand, or shit in the other, and we all know which one fills up first.

The two most common elements in the universe are:  Shit and Stupidity.  Figure out how to convert either into energy, and screw foreign oil.

Today’s playlist is just as awesome as Friday’s:

“Urban Angel” from Neal Schon’s I On You

“Double Vision” – Foreigner

“Evil Woman”- ELO

“After the Fall” – Journey from Greatest Hits Live

“Somebody to Love”- Queen

“Smells Like Teen Spirit”-Nirvana

Smells Like a Man Cave, Return of the Prodigal Fanny, and Feral Cats

I don’t have much of a sense of smell.  Even as a child I had really bad sinuses and constant upper respiratory infections.  After years of working in and around noxious chemicals, smoking two packs a day and then some for years, and the fire extinguisher incident, I was told not to be surprised if I was never able to smell anything.

What sense of smell I regained after having sinus surgery a few years ago is vestigial at best and not terribly reliable.  The only odors I can detect are strong- I have to be really careful with perfume, for instance,  and the scents I can detect fairly well are usually offensive.  I seldom can smell the peonies in May for instance, but I can always smell cigarettes, man-funk,  puke or shit.  Go figure.  Sometimes I smell things that I know aren’t there, which is really bizarre.  I guess one could call that phenomenon “olfactory hallucinations,”  if there is such a thing. 

I didn’t realize why non-smokers are so militant about people smoking in their airspace until I had not smoked for a few years.  After I had sinus surgery I especially noticed how noxious cig smoke is.  I might not be able to smell Chanel No.5 unless I take a bath in it, but I can smell cig smoke just getting close to a smoker.  Go figure that if I can smell anything, it’s almost always going to be nasty.

I have to be really careful with my use of perfume.  I love the stuff, but in order for me to smell it I pretty much have to marinate in it, and others around me might not appreciate that so much. 

If I go with the “poison toad” mentality(bright colors, bold patterns being nature’s warning signal) regarding personal odor, then maybe I should marinate in Chanel No.5.  I would if I could afford it.  The dollar store knock off stuff is not the same, and I want to smell good to me.  I’ve always liked bold, brassy fragrances- I’m one of the few people who really likes Estee Lauder’s Youth Dew- probably because they’re the only ones I can truly smell.  Jerry hates just about every kind of fragrance (odd because he’s a hard core smoker) so I am lucky to get away with Sand and Sable or Inner Realm (which is hard to find but lovely.)  Chanel No.5 or Liz Taylor’s Passion (another wonderfully strong, bold perfume) completely gross him out.  He thinks the body lotions from Bath and Body Works are too strong.  Puh-leeze!

Mom always hated Youth Dew, and if I wore it around her it would give her migraines.  I have encountered not a few people who have had the same reaction, so I don’t wear Youth Dew any more.  Pity.  I like it.  Grandma (Mom’s  Mom) liked it too, (she wore it often, and presumably, by the gallon) and anytime I smell Youth Dew it reminds me of her.  The irony in that is if she were still alive, she’d be 95.

I just don’t want to smell offensive to others as in smelling like bad breath, skanky hair, pit funk,  nasty feet, or butt crusty.  I’d rather smell too fresh and flowery than not enough.

Fanny is the big silver and white tabby cat in the foreground.  Those who are familiar with the song “Fat Bottom Girls” by Queen will get the “Big Fat Fanny” reference.  Fanny is a large cat by any standard, and there’s some big meat on those big bones.  She’s about 15#. 

Sunday night Fanny got out which terrified me as she is an indoor cat, she’s declawed, and she’s slow.  Yesterday morning I think she finally got hungry enough and realized that I would be doling out wet food to Fluffy Butt (the normal sized, long haired cat in the background) and Isabel (the 5# all black cat not pictured here.)   So as I went to the back door yesterday (Tuesday) morning, I heard the pitiful cries of a very large cat who likely hadn’t eaten much in the past 36 hours.  Though she didn’t look any worse for wear and certainly didn’t appear to have lost any weight, she snarfed most of the can of wet food (Isabel didn’t get much) and crashed out on the bathroom floor most of the rest of the day. 

All three of the cats like to watch the ferals that live out in the back yard and on the body shop lot, but Fanny is the only one who takes any sort of interest in wanting to socialize with them.   She’s three times the size of the males- and the ferals want absolutely nothing to do with her lard ass.  I am sure she probably was greeted with a cold shoulder when she decided to sneak out the back door.  When she made her way back she seemed to be quite delighted to be back in the house sucking up 9Lives and spreading out to sleep on the bath mat.

I am thankful she came back and is safe.  Even though she is a lard ass, and she likes to chew on my fingers and ears when the cat food bowl is empty, I have to love Big Fat Fanny Cat. 

I am one of those strange people who likes cats equally as well as dogs.  For a long time I only had cats, because I will only have dogs if I can have big dogs.  Our household is a bit unusual also in that the cats and dogs get along very well together.  Sheena can be mildly annoying to the cats at times but they know how to get away from her when she gets too rough.  Isabel likes to sleep on the dogs and clean out their ears.

I made the mistake of picking up one of the feral kittens out back.  They are about 12 weeks old now and are delightfully cute.  Unfortunately for me, even though grabbing him was easy (the kittens were all munching on some food we left out back) keeping hold of him was not.  This adorable grey and white kitten turned into a raging razorball of teeth and claws.  I guess these little ones are too old to be socialized now.  On the bright side, my puncture wounds are already starting to heal.