Look…I See White Smoke! And Isn’t That Dennis Rodman Fanning It?

OK, so there is a new Pope…white smoke and the whole kit-n-kaboodle…my Mother the Parrot (I call her that due to her unique ability to imitate my GPS commands perfectly–and then overrule them!) is glued to the goings-ons via the television while they keep breaking in to regular broadcasting. My maternal unit’s eyes are a-sparklin’ with all the hope for the future and she is as giggly as a papal groupie.

I am sitting at the table writing (religiously) and just keep wondering…

When are they bringing on Beyonce? Home Girl can really get this party poppin’…she’s great with world leaders and the sports set…and everyone knows they love their sports in Argentina from where the new Pope hails. Certainly there is a song in there somewhere utilizing the word “Argentina”…hmmmmm…nope, too easy.

And now we have Dennis Rodman as some ludicrous “Where’s Waldo?” wannabe. Except he’s a-sportin’ tats and a white wedding dress…at least the church will be pleased as punch that he is able to wear white on his wedding day (unlike me) no matter if he is just “frontin”. As I was raised Catholic, I know of what I speak. Don’t get me wrong, I have loved me some nuns. I was a bit obsessed with ’em. And black is sooooo slimming, and face it…rosary beads can be a wonderful “wardrobe builder”. And make no mistake, being the fashionista that I am and not one to miss an opportunity, I actually presented the Sisters of St. Joseph with a redesign of their habits as some sort of  make over/intervention. I did this in the second grade– little pioneer for the religious set that I was. Oh, if I knew then what I know now about copyright law–for just a few years later, the Vatican plagiarized my concept and modified the habits…a coincidence? I think not! But I digress…

So, upon presentation, Sister smiled sweetly at my rendering for a modified habit and my piece of notebook paper disappeared into those billowing sleeves that she was always stuffing things into…or should I call her–Sister Mary MacGyver? She was a real cool nun…shot marbles with us when the Principal was out of the school for the day. Sister Mary MacGyver would cover the window of the classroom with brown paper (when priests do that, it’s for another reason entirely for sure) and we’d all push our desks back against the wall. Next she’d wield that chalk and draw a large circle on the floor (sans pentagram…duh!) and we’d all get out our stash of marbles and Dead Eye the Penguin would take us out! This nun was all about preparing us for the beat down we’d be receiving in the game of life. Forget readin’, writin’, and arithmetic…this sistah was down with the peeps and a-hustlin’…don’t hate the playah…hate the game. Feel me? “Word” to your mother…superior, that is.

I was the narc in Sister Mary MacGyver’s classroom. I learned to play guitar at the tender age of 8 and soon learned the fine art of sucking up to nuns by playing and singing in church. So I became “Room Monitor” and was drunk with power and very smug. Certainly my newly acquired position would lead to greater opportunities, not unlike the Amish Mafia (I love, love, love a jaunty chapeau!!!)? But contraire, believe it or not…and my underdeveloped mind didn’t see THIS one coming…my classmates didn’t particularly care for me and I received no respect…no kissing of my bubble gum machine ring (papal humor and a great “tie in” here).

One day during morning prayer, the boy behind me threw up on me. This was obviously satanic in nature and certainly a lead-in to the later “Exorcist” movie. Why didn’t I write this stuff down then?…crap! First the copyright infringement and now THIS!!! But, as all Catholics know, we look for “signs”. And this signaled that I was doomed and going to hell…and here’s why…

Sister Mary MacGyver told us that we are all born with only a certain amount of “grace”. I guess this was your SOUL <insert “Tubular Bells” here>. And, every time we SIN <Church Lady dream sequence> we lose some of this “grace”. Well this terrified me, for the clincher was, that if you didn’t confess your sins and you had a particularly bad day in the mortal and/or venial category and then, like, you were the victim of some horrifying playground accident, you would BURN, BABY! So at the tender age of 8, I knew I had to pace myself between confessional visits. I took a mental count of every time I thought bad things, talked back to my parents, tore the wings off of one of God’s creatures (no birds were harmed), or other such atrocities.

And, I would be remiss if I didn’t say that Sister Mary MacGyver was a born actress and possibly a martyr in a former life. That nun could really “find her light”, reminiscent of that scene in “Charlie Brown Christmas” where Linus steps up in the spotlight to tell the Bible story of the first Christmas. One morning, this penguin/thespian re enacted the nailing of Christ to the Cross with descriptive phrases like “you could hear the crunching of his bones and there was a gush of blood as the Roman soldiers pounded nails into Christ’s hands”…WE WERE EIGHT YEARS OLD, PEOPLE! Parents should have deducted therapy sessions from their tuition bill, for Christ’s sake! Oh wait, as if THAT wasn’t disturbing enough what followed was a scene worthy of “Silence of the Lambs”. OK…here goes…

She asked/told each of us to open our right hand up in front of us. At this point, our eyes were like pinwheels in a sort of religious fervor anyhoo. So sheep that we were, we did as told. Next we were instructed to take our left index finger and stab it into our right hand as hard as we could to see what it felt like to suffer…even a little bit…like Jesus. CHALLENGE!

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! Our little immature tear ducts were filling as we dug in…not to be outdone by the saint-in-training next to us. Healthy competition is always to be encouraged in our youth, but this was some sick shit.

And while this was happening, I saw Sister Mary MacGyver stretch out those billowing sleeves and assume the “T” position of that whole cross scene. I was reminded of this particular moment as it was burned in my mind, when I first viewed the movie “Carrie”. Remember when everything was going to hell in a handbasket after the prom and Carrie had killed all her friends (obviously, Carrie wasn’t pacing herself like I was)? And then she comes home to mama who is in a religious psychotic break and the house folds around them and they DIE? Well, there is a scene where Mommie Dearest (Piper Laurie) is DEAD and looks like God on the cross…yeah…THAT one. Well, I got flashbacks of Sister Mary MacGyver then.

So another of life’s lessons…write this shit down. I could have written “The Exorcist” or “Carrie” and be rolling in the benjamins now.

Hmmmm…I wonder who I could have gotten to play Carrie’s mom?

I just know someone is praying against me right now.


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