Only the Good Die Young

Being Catholic is a very funny thing. And by funny I mean both comical and odd. Out of all of the Christian denominations, we probably have the best sense of humor our ourselves. Which comes in handy as we are the butt of plenty of jokes --half of which we make ourselves.

But being Catholic is also funny -- less in the ha-ha way and more in the 'that's-strange' way -- because it can make very little sense to those who are outside looking in. While not an intimidating faith (of course, what do I know? I've always been a part of it), our many rules and rites (and loopholes and justifications) form a complicated web that's hard for non-Catholics to comprehend. Sometimes I'm convinced that Catholics themselves don't even understand the ins and outs and whys and whats of what we do all of the time. How, then, is anyone else supposed to get it?

The other funny thing about being Catholic is that although most of us claim that our faith never wavers, I'll admit that we don't always act like it. We may do some things that require major repenting, but we never say we've stopped being Catholic. This is, of course, where the comedic aspect comes back in, since Catholics are (in)famous for our heavy guilt that one sometimes keeps us from committing the 'fun' sins (I may be headed to hell now for calling any sin 'fun'). We're known for our drinking (hello, St. Patrick's Day), and as a product of 13 years of Catholic school, I've been able to observe that chastity is not the best practiced lesson in our faith.

The thing is, we know all of this. We know we aren't perfect and we laugh at ourselves. A LOT. My senior year --at my Catholic high school, mind you -- I played the gospel nun in a show called "Nunsense." I got lots of jokes after this, but whatev, I got to sing all soulful for once, and we wore hilarious habits, and... well, and that's not the point. The point is, the whole play was full of sexual innuendos and references to the hilarities of Catholic school, rulers and all. And we performed it at my Catholic high school and at half of the other Catholic schools in the area because the administration thought it was that damn funny. They actually thought that dirty jokes referencing St. Peter (without the pearly gates) and a crucifix whistle were knee slappers.

Anyway, you're probably wondering what prompted me to suddenly discuss my faith, since it's not something I normally do. Well, today was Ash Wednesday and I was reminded of it on every street downtown. Sometimes I forget how Catholic the city of Chicago is -- that is, until the beginning of Lent when I see black smudges on every other forehead and until St. Patrick's Day when all you hear about is the South Side parade and all of the crazy Irish Catholics running amok.

Today my roommate said that the line for getting ashes was around the block on her lunch break. I went after work and there wasn't much of one, but I thought it was semi-hilarious that we could just walk in, kneel down, get the ashes rubbed on our foreheads, and then proceed to the nearest exit sign. It was like drive-through Catholicism today. No mass or anything. Things like this are another reason I think a lot of people laugh at us. Certain rituals are ridiculously outdated (women not being allowed to be priests; priests not being allowed to marry, although there are exceptions to that), but then we also try to be really progressive and adaptable in other areas. My parish in college supported the LGBTQ community pretty openly and my Catholic high school didn't banish the four girls from my class who graduated pregnant. And then we also make sacraments and rituals fit into our daily lives, like today with the blessing on the go. Don't get me wrong, I love being Catholic, I really, truly, honestly do. But I have to chuckle at some of our ideas. And, really, I just couldn't help but think about all of that today and how Catholicism as a whole gets a bad name, when we're just the fun-loving rascals of the Christian family. We might mess up every now and then, but for the most part, we're not really going to hurt anyone. Either way, we probably make you look good -- and hey, at least we're entertaining, right?

BTW, while we're on the topic, for Lent I decided to give up chocolate and also to make it a point to pray everyday. It's a habit I got out of, and would like to start up again, because sadly, even though my faith is always there, sometimes I forget about it :-/. Is anyone else who celebrates Easter giving anything up/doing something for Lent?

Material Girl

A while back, I mentioned that I just had one of those faces that made random people want to talk to me. And I know that when I wrote about it, I sounded more than slightly annoyed with the fact that SO. MANY. PEOPLE were trying to talk to me in one day when I was just NOT in the mood. Now though, I'm thinking that having one of those faces might not be such a bad thing.

Sunday night, I was on the train headed downtown to have dinner with a human being of the male persuasion. (I'll pause here and let you all soak that in. Still pausing. Gathered all that information? OK, good.) Needless to say, I had actually put a little more effort into my appearance that normal (i.e. I had actually dried my hair), and I was looking pretty damn good if I do say so myself. But still. I was not prepared for this trip on the el.

I was just sitting, minding my own business, staring out the window, checking myself out in the window. Wow, I'm so vain, I probably think this song is about me. Juuuust kidding, I was really just checking to make sure that my hair hadn't started springing out in huge frizzy waves since I had flat-ironed the hell out of it before I left. Anyway, point is, I was keeping to myself. This, however, did not stop anyone from chatting me up. First a nice (read: creepy) gentleman with many gold teeth came up to me and told me I looked very nice that evening. That wouldn't have been skeezy in and of itself. But this 50-year-old man then asked for my number and told me I looked sexy from head to toe. Um. And he proceeded to ask me what the shade of my nail polish was. Luckily, I'm quick on my feet (no, not at all, I panicked for about 30 seconds before I did anything other than smile tight-lipped), and I told him I had a boyfriend.

Big sigh of relief. Until about 47.3 seconds later when another fella decided to test out his game on me. This time it was an upstanding young man by the name of Vinny (you should be feeling the waves of sarcasm washing over you right now). He told me he worked for the city. I think he maybe was a garbage collector. Or you know, he was in 'waste management,' to sound fancy. Anyway, I thought the combination of telling him I was headed to dinner and the fact that I was wearing a nice black dress would tip him off that I was going on a date (go ahead and commit that to memory. it's a rare occurrence, like a meteor shower or something), but he was persistent. He told me about 5 times how nice I looked and handed me a slip of paper with his digits. Thanks.

I walked off the train kind of chuckling to myself (and feeling a little more confident, I'm not going to lie. Even compliments from creepers can be flattering.) When I met up with my date I told him I had made some new friends on the train. He laughed and told me that was why he always had his iPod on hand -- that way he didn't have to worry about an crazies from the train striking up a conversation. All of that made sense of course, but that wasn't exactly feasible for me that night. Dress with no pockets and holding a clutch equals nowhere for me to carry any defense against unwanted socialization.

Later, I was actually thinking about it though. Do I really want to ward people off? I mean, YES, those two guys on the train were creepers. Big ones. And, sorry Vin, but I won't be ringing you up, like ever. But honestly, I love having experiences like that because they make amazing, hilarious, interesting, crazy stories. And if you can't tell, I adore sharing stories. I love hearing other people's and I love telling my own. How someone tells a story gives you immediate insight into what kind of person they are. And with me being an aspiring writer, these experiences that appall me and make me feel uncomfortable in the moment are just great opportunities for new pieces. Seriously, I could write a book. Actually, maybe I will.... hmmm...

Anyway, that night, I do remember mentioning to this guy how I actually like awkward encounters (of course, I do like non-awkward ones too). What if I had been listening to my music or reading the Red Eye so intently I could have burned a whole through the paper? Then I would have missed the chance for a fantastic conversation piece. And I said so: "Nah, I love when weird things happen to me. Really, it's the perfect material."

Well We're Moving On Up....

But not to the East side. In fact, we'll probably stay on the North side if anything. And, really, it's just me that's leaving this apartment. So maybe that song doesn't apply at all. But I AM moving! Well, in September. I'm still excited about it right now.

Let me back up a little. The apartment I live in now is what the French would call "a piece of crap." Or at least the French people I know. It is a tiny little room in a building I found on craigslist back in December. For a girl eager to get the heck out of Michigan, the close quarters and random roommates mattered not. Especially for the low, low price of $450 per month. Well folks, let me tell ya, you get what you pay for.

For one, my twin bed takes up most of the little space I have. I don't even have room for a desk so I place my laptop on my trunk and sit on the floor cross-legged and hunched over to stare at the computer screen. And the reason I have a trunk and multiple plastic storage containers under my bed is because I do not have a closet. NO CLOSET, people. We bought a random wardrobe things from IKEA but that only takes up more of the space that I really don't have.

I also get to trek to the laundromat every time I want anything washed, which is like, constantly because gym clothes can't be reworn as well as some items (ewwww). But this is no easy process, this getting to the coin laundry business. No, no, no. I have to stuff everything into my bag and hop on a bus for 15 minutes during which time, the stranger next to me gets to see all of my unmentionables. Then I have to drag it across this huge strip mall parking lot and head into the world's least effective laundromat. Where half the dryers don't work. And your clothes always smell sort of weird after. And where I have to watch cute sweaters like a hawk or else they mysteriously disappear. So I've got that going for me.

Oh, and my window? I get to see and hear everything that happens on one of the busiest streets in the neighborhood, which is awesome during the day, but not so much when I'm trying to get some shuteye. I hear every siren (and that's a lot because I live by THREE hospitals) and every post-bar fight and drunken conversation since I am lucky enough to live practically on top of a bar. And above a mecca for the lushes spilling out of previously mentioned bar-- a greasy pizza joint . And that, my friends, is my favorite part. I live RIGHT above the sign for this awful pizza slice place that ONLY gets business when people are so inebriated that they will eat anything. (I've had friends who tempted fate by eating it describe it as tomato sauce and questionable cheese on cardboard. At least they got the tomato part right.) And because I live right above this sign, I have a constant, blindingly bright night light. Til about 4AM. Every single night. Sometimes I don't know if it's time to get up or if the sign is just glowing a bit brighter.

I also share a teeny bathroom with two girls that I randomly decided to live with, so that's always fun. In college, I shared a bathroom with two girls in a house senior year, and with about 20 other girls when I lived in the sorority house. But that was different. I knew them well so I could yell at them to get their asses moving or to let me in to pee while they showered (TMI? Well, too bad). Sharing was not an issue. Now it is a problem because these are girls I am not friends with, and because I am moving out, I probably won't get to know them much better at this point. Which is fine (absolutely great actually), but I won't get into roommate complaints right now (maybe a later post though, like when I have A LOT of time or once I've moved out and it can't potentially come back to haunt me).

But moving on and moving out right? I am pumped because I'm getting a place with one of my best friends with college. I've lived with her already so I know it can be done. Plus when I lived with her in our house senior year, I actually had to walk through her room to get to mine, which won't be the case here. If we could survive that without her strangling me, I'm pretty sure we can share a living space. Anyway, I am so excited for September to get here so that I can live with an awesome friend and actually have an apartment that feels like home. Yay!

I have a composed a list of requirements for the new place:

Must haves: AC, closet, laundry in the building (not 5 miles away), closet, room for a double bed, closet, plenty of outlets, CLOSET (wasn't sure if I mentioned that yet)

Would be nice: Dishwasher, garbage disposal, laundry in apartment, hot neighbors

NO WAY IN HELL: on the main street, above gigantic neon pizza sign

That's all I can think of for now. Can anyone else think of something we should add to the list? Or do you have any horrible (and by that I mean awesomely awful) apartment/moving/roommate stories?

I've Just Got One of Those Faces...

Apparently I've got that look about me that says, "Hey, you! Yeah, you stranger who I didn't even make eye contact with, come talk to me!" After work today, I got on the Red Line to head to Trader Joe's on my way home. I was tired and sticky from the humidity, and all I wanted to do was read my book and tune out. Guess my face didn't express that clearly enough.

"Hey is that one good?" I looked up and saw a girl pointing to the new David Sedaris book I was holding. After awkwardly popping theTootsie Roll Pop out of my mouth with the one hand that was not gripping the subway pole for dear life, I answered, "Oh, um, yeah, so far... so good..." I don't know what to say to that! I wasn't planning on discussing my literary choices just then! I was far too busy worrying about what would happen if I suddenly pitched forward with said candy in my mouth...would the results be tragic? Would I jab someone with the stick? Would I swallow it whole? Either way, I was caught off guard. Then, once I had pulled the sucker out of my mouth to answer, I was worrying about getting it stuck on someone else on the packed train. And not because I didn't want to offend someone. Nope, because I was concerned that if I did that, they would contaminate it and I wouldn't be able to eat it. Apparently that makes me selfish.

So far this story is kind of a snooze right? Well I'm about to make it... longer. (You thought I was going to say "more exciting," didn't you? Sorry, kid, life's a disappointment sometimes.) Anyway, after I proved to several strangers around me how socially awkward I was by attempting to rearrange my book, my sucker, and my bag as well as carrying on a half-assed conversation with random train chick, another guy stepped forward to join this stimulating discussion. Some kid in a Columbia College t-shirt chimes in with, "Oh, ummm, yeah how is it?" like he's heard of it. Again, I tell them both it's great and he says, "It's a novel, right?"

WHAT?!?! NO, fool! Sorry, but I'm a huge fan of David Sedaris. It's totally fine if you aren't knowledgable about an author, but don't act like you are because you want to join a conversation. Ask an intelligent question like, "Oh, that looks interesting ... what type of writer is he?" I will be far more impressed. After that, we all started talking (with noticeable awkward pauses every minute or so) and the conversation went from David Sedaris (go get When You Are Engulfed in Flames.... so good! Or really any of his stuff, just go, quick, read some of his work!) to his family to all families being dysfunctional to his actress sister Amy Sedaris to Sex and the City to Kim Cattrall being one hot cougar. Um...what? None of those transitions were mine. I don't think I even really contributed but both people kept talking to me like I was the one carrying the conversation.

Then I got to my stop and had to elbow my way off the train. After which, I breathed a sigh of relief. It's not that I don't like people or talking to strangers. I love both really. But I just wasn't in the mood today and felt like I was forced into chatting because I just so happened to share five square feet of public transportation space with two other people. So you can maybe see how I was happy to get off that train and go back to being anti-social. Of course, though, I didn't get off that easily. Going up the escalator, a man turned around to me and commented, "Man! That was tough getting off of the train, huh?" Maybe I seemed bored or maybe he was in a hurry, but lucky for me, he didn't really pursue it. Still, everyone thought I was Miss Friendly today.

Just when I thought that the last person I would have to talk to for the day would be the checkout guy at Trader Joe's... I passed a Columbia College shirt. Who promptly whipped around and said, "Heyyyyyy....wait a minute! I know you from the train. So tell me more about this book." Nooooooo. No, random college boy, I do not want to tell you about a fabulous book that you have no intention of actually reading. That's what I wanted to say, but I was too tired to come up with an excuse not to stand in the natural dog food/Larabar aisle talking to him. And, I've been told, I'm not really mean enough to snap at people like that. (At least not in person. But oh man, hand me a pen and I will give it to you good. Alas, I didn't have a pen and he might have thought me crazier than average by writing out my responses instead of, you know, verbalizing them.)

So he asked me if this book will give him a different perspective. What? Yeah, sure. My answers were apparently not good enough so he went on, "Like, I'm a film major, so I want to see things differently." Well I'm a writer, would you like to hear about how I'm seeing you? Or about how this encounter is pretty torturous and how I would really like to go back to checking out the nutrition labels of all of the weird health bars rather than chat it up with you? Or how I'm getting slightly annoyed that you are taking up the entire aisle and disrupting the flow of traffic and aggravating your fellow shoppers? And aggravating ME since I am now that annoying girl in grocery store by association because people think we actually know one another?! [Deep breath]

I let him go on while I mentally ran down my grocery list: Yogurt? check. Apples? check. Wine? No, silly, you still have some in the fridge. But would another bottle really hurt? If you are planning on drinking it all tonight, then yes it would. "...and like Stephen King... his stuff, it's like..." Strawberries? No, those didn't look very good. Oatmeal? check. Oh! He's done talking! Run while you can!

After a few (long, painful, agonizing) minutes, mister self-involved film major decided he should go. I'm not sure why he didn't notice my glazed-over eyes before, but I was thanking my lucky stars he finally got the hint that I would like to skedaddle. Also, why was he talking to me for so long anyway? Is he lacking in the friends department and was just SO excited that someone would finally listen to him? Or was he trying to hit on me? If he was then a) homeboy needs to work on his game and b) ew, I was all sweaty and humidified. Oh, right. And c) I'm a little too old for him. I don't go for the younger boys. At least not anymore. (What? It was just a silly little three-year phase in college!)

Finally, my day of unexpected socializing was over. I did have a close call though. I went to grab some hummus and saw that same t-shirt boy in the cold foods section. So, in the spirit of awkwardness that governs many of my choices, I decided I could go without and rough it for a few days. And with that, I headed for the checkout, trying to look as unfriendly as possible.

Growing up with a side of nostalgia

OK...so I'm trying to actually blog more than once in a great while but I'm feeling lazy today so I am simply posting something I wrote a while back. I also went to an alumni meet and greet tonight so I was recalling the ole alma mater pretty fondly. The letter in the body of this work was adapted from one I originally gave to my friends right before I graduated. It was sappy, which is something I don't normally do, but it was clear and I was proud of what I had written. My parents also stumbled upon it when I wasn't living at home, but I had carelessly left it in a box of old junk they thought I was planning on tossing. Anyway, my dad convinced me to turn it into an article to send to the alumni magazine or some other UMich publication (guess I just gave away where I went to school), but it's kind of been a work in progress for a while. Like I said, I really worry about sending my stuff out for fear of rejection (even though NOT sending it really isn't doing me any good either). Well finally, I at least sent it to a couple of friends who were (or at least pretended to be) impressed. Whether it actually gets published or not is to be determined still, but at least, in some way, I'm starting to get my writing out there. So almost a full year after graduation, here is a little advice to the class of 2008 --at any school-- and a new alum's point of view:

"I am now convinced that what they say is true, that we do not appreciate the things we have when we actually have them. Most significantly, our youth. Now, I am undeniably not what I would call old, or even a “grown up,” having graduated not even a full year ago. However, I do feel that I did mature slightly in my four years at the University of Michigan – and even more so after moving to Chicago on my own. And maybe –just maybe – that gives me the right to impart a bit of wisdom here. I, for one, know that I did not savor every moment I spent learning in Ann Arbor, both in and out of the classroom. So often, I simply bided my time waiting for the semester to be over. I stared at my watch during rehearsals and meetings. I calculated the hours until the next weekend or break. In my rush (I was never on time), I waved and hurried past even the closest of friends, assuming we could catch up later. I cannot begin to count the weeks through which I simply floated – or, rather, flew. My four years were a blur, and I now wish I hadn’t wished them all away.
However, after graduation, I realized something else. That rushing through our youth, in our impatience to grow up, is a part of growing up itself. If we lived in the moment for our entire lives, we would have no need to look back on a time when everything felt confusing yet anything seemed possible. We wouldn’t need that nostalgia that already washes over me when I hear “Yellow and Blue,” our alma mater. If we fully appreciated what we had – these four (or five, or six, or nine) years – when we had it, we might not miss it so much or recall it so fondly. If we did everything we wanted to and said everything we meant to say during this short period of time, we would not yearn – or wish with all our hearts – that we could go back.
Now that I have left the protection of the Umich bubble, I want to go back, to stop and talk on street corners, to soak up (almost) everything my professors had to say, and to people-watch for hours on the Diag, on those extraordinary eighty-degree March days, knowing that the next day I would be wearing a scarf and mittens again. But I know that I can’t, and that even if I tried, it wouldn’t be the same, because I am not the same, and, year to year, day to day, neither is anyone else. The once-frightened freshman are now the scary seniors, and the formerly intimidating seniors are the rookies in the real world or working in Ann Arbor, still digging around for a little bit of that maize and blue magic.
I am not writing this to encourage you to stop and take in every bit of Ann Arbor possible before it’s gone. Do leave a little something to wish upon, to miss, to regret. Like I said, it’s all a part of growing up and out of the protective shell to which we all grew so accustomed. Nevertheless, I encourage you to slow down and breathe if only for a moment, now, just before you graduate. Listen to your award-winning professors, stand in awe of history on the Union steps, stop in the Diag, and say hello to the friends to whom you will soon bid farewell. And most of all, let the people this great University placed into your life know that they’ve earned a page in your memoir. (We’re all destined to be great, are we not?)

If I had slowed down before graduation and expressed my appreciation for all the people in those four years of my life, I think I would have said something like this:

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the goodness in people. Totally, completely, and utterly overwhelmed. I have no other way to explain myself. Rarely do I find myself choked up and unable to speak – it’s truly a cold day in hell when I stop talking – but lately, I’ve been speechless quite a bit. Each time I’m forced to say goodbye to someone or something, to a face or a place, I have to stop and collect myself. My last paper, I’ll say, my last class at the University of Michigan, my last time on stage, my last walk down State Street, my last game in the Big House. What really kills me about all these lasts, though, is that there are such incredible people tied to each one. Amazing, inspiring professors, peers that always drove me nuts but that I secretly admired, and most importantly, the best friends that I know I will have a hard time living without. Even more intimidating is the prospect of all the firsts that I’m about to encounter. I have to find my first real job, my first place completely on my own, and my first friends who might only know the “adult” me. And I’m not entirely sure I like that idea. In fact, I hate that idea.
I am a firm believer that awkwardness and adversity build character and mold a better, stronger you. Learning how to handle everything thrown your way, you figure out that everything that embarrassed you, upset you, or even destroyed you at the time taught you a lesson. We’ve all heard the clichés – “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger,” “It’s not a mistake if you learn from it.” I completely agree, but I think these adages leave out something vital. And that is that there are people who are with you every step of the way, who see you stumble and even fall, and are still there to yank you back to your feet even when, to you, standing seems impossible. There are those who have seen us at every high and low, have seen tears and giddy excitement. These are the ones who sometimes know us better than we wish they did, and who we honor by calling friends. In my four years in Ann Arbor, I have met so many of these people who completely overwhelm me because of their innate qualities, because of the people they simply cannot help but be. And those that make this kind of impact, whether they know it or not, are the ones that make me wish I could stay forever.


Before college, I was told that in those four short years I would make some of the best friends I would ever have. Now that my time at U of M has come to a close, I actually believe it. Don’t stop moving, but slow it down to a walk in the last months you have. And speak up, or next year you’ll be the one begging the graduating class to say all the things you forgot to."

It's still a work in progress, but then again, so am I.