If you didn't catch it on the news, check out this amazing (and life-affirming) story from Rochester, NY about a high school basketball team manager. NIKE needs to give this kid a shoe deal!!!!

(click the link then on the left click "CBS Evening News" and scroll down to the video feed for "Team Manager Catches Fire."

http://www.cbsnews.com/sections/i_video/main500251.shtml

You may need a Kleenex or two - it's really a touching story!!!

So...

In a few weeks I am going on a "retreat" for women at my Church. Yeah, yeah, I can hear y'all groaning now...but sh*t if nothing else, its a helluva lot cheaper than a weekend at Canyon Ranch!

Anyway...

At the end of day one there is "opportunity for the sacrament of reconciliation." That's what used to be the little booth-n-screen confessionals of yesteryear but now is kinda like an abbreviated therapist's appointment in a smaller room. You sit face- to-face and "confess" your sins or whatever. I'm really not sure because, uh, I think my last confession was in 8th grade. The priest running the weekend reassured me that "we don't make anyone go to confession" but I'm thinking that it'd be somewhat defeatist not to check it out and go for it. I'm that kind of person - give me a challenge and I'll take a shot at it.

Which brings me to the more "entertaining" portion of this entry. You see, I've been working over a few of my ideas of WHAT to confess and how to phrase it.

The lame one would be to say I've been taking communion without going to confesion first. *yawn*. Next.

"I get angry at people when I'm driving." Oh, boo-hoo, who doesn't?! Next.

"I listen to suggestive music." OK, the fact that T-Pain's mangling of the English language vis-a-vis I'm N Luv Wit A Stripperwas produced and is making him MONEY is a sin in and of itself. Although, dang, it has a catchy hook. Move on.

Another not-too-humiliating yet plausible fallback would be "I use foul and offensive language" which is a good one, because it relates directly to one of the 10 commandments - always a solid bet for "sin" classification purposes. Then if the priest dared to ask for an example, I could generate some really clever and simultaneously confusing verbiage. None of which would actually be part of the FCC's Not For Airplay censor list, but which still ring with a distinct air of tsk-tsk. "Holy twigs 'n berries!"; "Criminy Christmas!"; "Freaking freak!" (or alternatively, "Friggin frick!") and "Sugar Walls" (thanks, Sheena Easton!)

My husband dared me to imply an offense by phrasing my confession as a question: "Is taking it up the butt a sin?" just to gauge the priest's reaction. Well, this ain't no episode of Punk'd, so I think I'll pass on the ass.

I'm sure, gentle readers, that YOU have some fabulous ideas to amaze, delight and perhaps even amuse without arousing too much suspicion in the confessional - care to share???

As noted previously, now that my back is better I have been busy keeping my treadmill "smoking" (thanks, Abby!) putting a MINIMUM of 5k (3.1 miles) on it each day with a walk/run/hill combo. I have taken step to ENSURE cardio training by wearing my heart rate monitor again. I keep 75% of my workout between my MAX and "Burn" rate. And I am noticing that based on some readings I have taken, that my resting HR is starting to go down (an indicator of CV fitness improvement.)

With all of the sweat, come the pounds - I'm down about 6.5 lbs since the beginning of the month. I have about 15 more to go to get to my "tri-fitness" shape of SUmmer 2004. I think it will happen if I stay on schedule.

However, this time around I have noticed a marked loss of, um, "heft?", "mass?" or whatever through my bust. My pre-pregnancy bra size was "37-almost-B". I am thinking its even less-almost now. I barely fill out a t-shirt anymore. I still got plenty of junk in  the trunk (and hips, thighs) but I get a pang a sadness when I hear The Commodores on the radio and realize I am not remotely a Brickhouse kinda gal. :(

More like a pancake house!

Today during play practice, a fellow crew member and I were asked to go out to "the garage" to search for some garment racks. It turned out "the garage" was just that - a three-car storage center for the priests, attached to the rectory. With keys in hand we ambled up to the garage doors and realized that none of them had locks - that the only way in was through the back door of the rectory.

Barb and I looked at each other in a mild panic, and I uttered, in my best Paul Lynde-channeled-through-Roger-the-alien, "Un-comfortable!"

She noted, "Well lets knock or try to make noise. We don't want to wander in without someone knowing we are there."

She turned the lock and we entered the surprisingly dismal brown hallway and frantically searched for the garage door. I felt like Nancy Drew! I'm not sure how to explain it, but it smelled like Old Man in there: a brew of musty tweed overcoats, mothballs and oatmeal. Delicious! Hardly the glamourous conclave I expected.

Barb nervously remarked, "Let's hurry and find this stuff and get the hell out of here before we cause some kind of scandal."

Scandal. That got me thinking. Yes, there have been way too many sickening tales of abuse involving the clergy in the past few decades. But all I could focus on was was a more amusing - and in the end, totally innocent - scandal-that-never-was.

Back in the day, my 8th grade classmates and I strived to gain the romantic attenion of a young priest who occasionaly visited our school. To his credit, he would not allow any of us to succeed.

Ours was an all-girls, 1st through 8th grade school, run by an order of nuns, and housed in their convent. I cannot imagine a parent being able to possibly sequester a daughter more than my classmates and I were sheltered from the world - not to mention from men. Except for dads and male siblings, very few of us had any contact with boys our own age or, for that matter, of ANY age. And unlike the girls in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, we didn't even have male teachers employed at the school. It was as hardcore virgin-keeping as you can get.

In our final year, a new nun came to the school. Its likely a good thing she wasn't sent to an all-boys school to teach: she was stunningly beautiful. Think Julie Andrews (she played the guitar and was the music teacher) mixed with a bit of Meg Ryan and Tea Leoni. Sister Maria was slender, freckle-faced, and always looked like she had on piles of eye makeup because she was blessed with long, thick, pitch-black eyelashes. She was also very kind and extraordinarily perky.

Some months into the school year, she conferred with our 8th grade teacher, Sister Angele, about an opportunity for her sibling to practice giving lectures on religion to us before being assigned to a permament classroom. Her sibling was a newly-ordained and outrageously handsome priest: "Father Pat."

The first time Father Pat visited our class, all 25 of us naive, 13-year old virgins were agog, staring at this celibate wonder in black clothing. If memory serves, an apt comparison would be a delicious combo of young Hugh Grant toughened up with just a hint of Jon Bon Jovi.

After his lecture, we convened to the cafeteria for lunch. And then the trouble started. All of us, even some of the 7th-graders, first giggled about him and then began plotting on how to get attention from our newest Teen Dream. A few of the bolder girls would pretend they couldn't open their thermoses and would ask the "man of the House" to take a crack at it. After years of dishing about the aribrushed boys (Matt Dillon, C. Thomas Howell, etc.) in Tiger Beat magazine, having a real, live cutie in da' house was too much for our young adolescent libidos to handle.

He made subsequent visits, helping out with First Friday Mass or other occasions for the entire school

Some weeks later, out of the blue, Sister Angele announced that we were doing something "different" for religion class: Father Pat was going to visit to talk to us about "vocations." 

[For those not in-the-know, a "vocation" in Catholic school meant an implied ranking of #1:priest/nun, #2:married with scads of kids, and a distant #3: single career person.]

Upon her announcement EVERY hand went up. "Sister? Can I be excused?"  The entire class of plaid-clad Lolitas filed into the bathroom to smear on gobs of purple lipgloss, and touch up their Love's Baby Soft cologne. I recall one gal had even undone the top botton of her peter-pan-collar uniform blouse which was outrageous beyond belief.

We filed back in just as Father Pat arrived, and too late for Sister Angele to make us scrub off our tacky makeup.

We listened intently, some girls being so bold (the sluts!) as to concoct questions about religous life to ask Father Pat.

After his talk, we were told by Sister Angele to remain in our seats for lunch. She went out in the hall to talk to Father Pat. When she returned alone, she scolded us, with blushed cheeks.

"Girls, I am so embarassed. I'm sorry, but I had to tell Father Pat not to come back because you are just too silly."

Then WE were embarrassed and genuinely crushed. "Silly?" We thought we were being sexy. Clearly, Sister Angele recognized our antics - did that mean Father Pat thought us silly and immature, too?

From what I understand, Father Pat went on to have a successful career in Catholic education, working his way up to principal of a high school. I wonder if he ever chuckles about the 25 Mrs. Robinson-wannabees who desperately endeavored to entice him into scandal?

Overheard in my daughter's kindergarden classroom:

Volunteer parent to 6 year old kindergardener: "So, Lucas, what are you into these days?"

Lucas, cute little blonde kid with glasses: "I am really into music."

Volunteer parent: "Really? What do you like?"

Lucas: "Oh you know, Green Day, Blink 182..."

Postscript: my point may have been missed as I left things vague. I was trying to indicate that I find it amusing that many so-called "alternative rock" bands these days have somehow morphed into (via marketing, overexposure)  bubblegum-pop (i.e. - for the kiddies) dressed up in torn clothes and wacky hairdos.

My own 6-year old has, on her favorite CD mix: Pink, The Ramones, Outkast, and Johnathan Richman. She also used to dig Nelly but I had a hard time finding the "Radio Disney" edits of his singles for her!

Once all the hub-bub of my family's winter/spring schedule dies down, I am gonna check THIS out, especially since I have been having roller disco fantasies for YEARS! I was overjoyed to learn of these lessons since the rink is literally 5 minutes from my house.

Not to mention, I  have my own old-school white-boot & purple wheel skates in my attic.

Roll-Bounce, Boyyyyyeeeeeee!

My husband decided to go "legit" (somewhat) with his MP3 collecting and subscribed to Yahoo!Music. I was on there this morning gathering tunes for treadmill time and was shocked to find only ONE  version ("special disco version!" - duh!) of Heatwave's "The Grooveline" and zero, I tell ya', ZERO copies of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack nor any of the booty-shakin classics from it that may have been reissued elsewhere. WTF?!?

I did snag one of my fave (albeit corny) synth classics:"(Keep Feeling)Fascination" by Human League. In case you need to know - it's an excellent paced jam to accompany hill running or stairmaster torture.

Each day that I glance outside to view my backyard, I get antsy. Its still not much more than a scarred mudpit after last fall's "surgery" to install water and sewer lines.

Granted, I don't believe in sod. Sod is just the laziest concept I can imagine. But its not just a matter of getting the grass to grow. The ground desperately needs to be leveled. And some kind of layout needs to be assigned to the various portions of the outdoor living space.

I think I have convinced hubby to install a small pond in the yard - its already torn up so why not cover one of the divots in vinyl, rocks, water and plants?? I've gathered info in magazines, books, and online relating to pond installation and maintenance. One nice thing is that we already have a nice supply of rocks/small boulders left after the construction. I gathered them into a large pile last fall, hoping to somehow incorporate them back into the garden. I'm also looking forward to the water garden being not just plants and water but a HABITAT for frogs, birds, snails, and small fish. We do have Herons in our area in the summer so I have to ensure that the setup includes hiding spaces for aquatic creatures to give them a fair chance. Naturally we'll be doing this project on a budget but from the research I've done so far it appears do-able in our price range.

In order to reasonably (i.e. without injury) undertake the landscaping that needs to be initiated in a few short weeks, I realized I need to step-up my fitness routine. Since I have barely shed any pounds, despite working out vigorously (cardio, weigh training, yoga and pilates) at least 5 days a week fo the past 5 weeks, I had been concerned about where my cardio-vascular fitness level was - and per my monitor findings, its wasn't too great. I started working out w. my heart rate monitor again and I think that will be the key to training in the zone I need to be in to affect change.

Yesterday, I got on the treadmill with my electronics in tow: mp3 player to pump up the jams and heart rate monitor to pump up my blood. I guess I was enjoying the digitized tunage because before I knew it, I completed 5 miles of walking/running/and hill-climbing. I kinda wanna go for that again today! I won't be able to swim for a few days because my kiddo is home sick with a cold, and of course, I have those feminie issues to deal with, making swimming a less-than-ideal option right now.

I always wondered who wore the kooky, semi-kitschy and moderately pricey duds from Urban Outiftters...

...and then I caught a bit of #1 Single on E! and realized that it must be Lisa Loeb who is single-handedly keeping that chain of overpriced juniorwear afloat.

And what is UP with her flashing her thong'd lil' heine to Isaac Mizrahi? Speaking of whom... can I just note that, though I appreciate his sense of style and humor, he has got to be the worst talk show host on the planet. Although one interview I'd adore: Isaac Mizrahi talks candidly to resident Alien, Roger, from Fox's American Dad. 

I was having a terrible weekend: after my initial elation/exhaustion from my swimming workout on Thursday, I awoke on Friday to discover that I got my period AGAIN. Yes a full week early - thus giving me TWO ,count 'em, TWO menses within one month's time thus far in 2006.

The resulting skin breakouts, mood swings and weight flux put me in foul spirits which resonated until this evening.

Upon the suggestion of the Hubby, I picked up Chinese food for dinner. After inhaling copious amounts of Kung-pao chicken, I opened my fortune cookie:

"Remember: After a rainstorm there is always sunshine."

So in a few days, I guess I can expect butterflies and daisies to come fluttering out from betwixt my thighs?!?! Whatever...as long as its not that bouncing yellow Wal-Mart smile face, whistling dixie as he emerges from my nether region, I think I'll be fine with it. (insert smart-a** grin here.)