Category Archives: Sunday Morning Confessions

Sunday Morning Confessions # 16-18

Summer officially ended last week and so too did my hiatus from writing.  It’s always tough for me to get back into the groove of writing, but confessions basically write themselves.  So here are 3 confessions from my first week of school:

16.  I fell asleep in my classroom.

This was entirely intentional and I feel no shame because that first week back is straight up exhausting.  During my prep period, I turned off the lights, curled up in my papasan chair, set my alarm for 5 minutes before the bell rang, and knocked out.   Hopefully no one came looking for me.  I was well-rested for 6th period and the kids were none the wiser. (Unless they noticed my bed-head).

I know I am not alone in my first week exhaustion.  After months of sleeping in and peeing whenever our bladders’ desire, getting back “on-stage” all day is always a rough transition.  During break on the first day, the Bible teacher was sprawled out on the couch in the teacher’s lounge.  And the kids think THEY have a hard time coming back to school…

17.  I was late on the second day of school.

We have a new principal and my goal has been to make him think I am one of those “punctual” kinds of people who is responsible and professional and never falls asleep in staff meetings.  I’ve shown up on time to all our meetings and he hasn’t noticed my coworkers winking at me and congratulating me for being a real-life adult.  But alas, day two and I made it to campus 20 minutes late, just as the bell was about to ring.

In my defense, I would have been on time if my car had started, but a dead battery left me scrambling.  Ironically, this dead battery was an answer to prayer.  I was bone tired and had prayed that God would give me energy for the day.  Nothing wakes you up quite like the thought that you won’t be able to get to work.  So, thanks for that, God.  I may have been 20 minutes late but I was WIDE awake.

18. I spent more time making this poster than I did lesson-planning.IMG_3123

We were granted huge chunks of time to work in our classrooms before the first day of school, and I should have spent that time preparing lessons.  Instead, I killed spiders, arranged a gazillion nic nacs on my desk:IMG_3146

and made my annual “ugly faces from last year” poster.  I now have an entire wall covered in ugly faces.  It. Is. Awesome.  And super distracting for the ADD kids, but whatevs.

I tell my students that I keep all these old posters so they can laugh at their older siblings, so I can remember my past students, and just in case someone becomes wildly famous, I will have an incriminating photo to share with US Weekly.  Cha ching!

Now it’s your turn: Have you taken naps in unconventional places? Have you been late to places you really shouldn’t be late to?  If you’re a teacher, did you struggle like me during your first week back? I’d love to hear any and all of your me-too confessions!

Sunday Morning Confessions # 13-15

In an effort to force myself to blog regularly, I’ll be making 3 confessions on Sundays.  Seems like the right day for it.  Please don’t judge me, but do share your own confessions in the comments.  I need to know that I’m not alone on some of these.

13. I am a wedding crier.

This should come as no surprise since I am also a commercial crier, sad song crier, touching sermon crier, sympathy crier, book crier, little kids’ movie crier (Inside Out, anyone?!?), long day crier, beautiful sunset crier, powerful worship song crier, sad news story crier, high school graduations crier, national anthem crier…you get the idea.

But weddings?  Weddings are the worst.  I mean, they’re wonderful, but they’re guaranteed to make me lose it.

The tears typically start when the bride walks down the aisle. Sometimes they fall before I even see her but simply hear the music and see everyone stand.  People still tease me about how much I cried during my sister’s wedding 14 years ago.  I was standing up front BAWLING as Heidi and our dad walked down the aisle, since I realized for the first time that this meant my life was changing too.  Now, just as Pavlov’s dogs salivated at the sound of bells, it seems I have been conditioned to cry at the sight of a bride walking with her dad.

Naturally I lost it at my cousin Jenise’s wedding last week. She is the cousin who set up Paul and I, and as the final two female cousins to wed, we both had waited for our Mr. Rights to arrive for quite some time.  She looked incredible and so very very happy.  God had proved Himself faithful once again through the story of David and Jenise.  So as I watched Jenise lock eyes with David, I remembered God’s goodness and the floodgates opened.

I know I’m not alone in my nuptial tears.  The ring bearer broke down during the sermon because he thought the pastor was saying he would never get see his now married auntie.  And after David and Jenise took the bread and the wine, my sister had mascara streaming down her cheeks as she whispered, “Communion gets me every time.”

What?!  Now that’s weird.

This is also the sister who did not get the floral-print memo for the wedding:


I suppose it should also be a confession that I look like a mannequin seconds before a picture is taken.

14. I jumped on the Birkenstocks bandwagon.

I’ve been copying my big sister all my life and my closet is half-full of  her hand-me-downs.  (Can I get a AMEN, little sisters?)  Heidi is one of those girls who always knows what’s trendy and pulls it off, no matter how ridiculous the trend.  In 1999, she convinced me to buy “pedal pushers” before anyone else was wearing capri pants.  A few years ago, she bought me lacy shorts from Wet Seal before any of the other stores were carrying them.

Two weeks ago, I made fun of her for wearing Birkenstocks because they seem soooo out of style.  But she assured me they had made the full circle and were now back in style.  Naturally I copied my cool big sister and went and bought some of my own.  (Well, the imitation-brand. The real deal are expensive!) Turns out the sandals of our youth are really quite comfortable.

15. I talk to myself.

Based on the number of people I catching conversing with themselves, I’m guessing you do too.  It’s really not so weird.  Sometimes you just gotta talk it out.

But I had no idea just how much I was talking to myself until I got married.  Before Paul, chats with Katie were a normal thing but only my cat would overhear.  Now that I share a room and a bed with another human, I’ve had to curb some of the solo-Katie convos.

However, the other day Paul was at work and I was home packing a suitcase.  Prime time to talk to oneself.  “How many bathing suits will I need? Well, we’ll be there 3 days so I should probably bring 4.  No, 5.  Maybe 6? Yeah, definitely 6.  Should I bring a sweatshirt?  Duh, I always get cold.  But which one?  Let’s see here…. Alaska hoodie, you are the winner.”  

And so forth and so on.  Don’t tell me you don’t have similar self-talks.

But in the middle of the great underwear debate (you never want to have too few undies), Paul arrived home an hour early.  I had left the front door open for a breeze to come through, but this made for an ideal scaring environment.  Paul tip-toed to our room and yelled the classic, “Boo!”

You know the whole “fight or flight” saying?  I think it should be, “fight or flight or scream and fall into the fetal position.”  You can guess which one I did.

Now it’s your turn. Do you scream and fall when startled?  Do others catch you shooting the breeze with your lonesome?  Do you wear ugly shoes simply because they are comfortable or in style?  Do you copy your sibling because they’ve always been cooler than you?  Do you lose it at weddings or cry at weird moments?  I’d love to hear any and all of your me-too confessions.

Sunday Morning Confessions # 10-12 (Alaska Version)

In an effort to force myself to blog regularly, I’ll be making 3 confessions on Sundays.  Seems like the right day for it.  Please don’t judge me, but do share your own confessions in the comments.  I need to know that I’m not alone on some of these.

10. I peed on my shoes.

Somehow when I go to Alaska, I always end up with excrement on my shoes.  This time it wasn’t from the RV sewage so it was thankfully just my own pee that was splattered all over my shoes.

I am a city girl, so there aren’t many occasions that call for me to do my business in the woods.  But since we camped for two nights in areas only inhabited by animals, we did quite a lot of squatting.  I prefer this 10 thousand times more than using porta-potties.  Hovering over piles of poo belonging to strangers is one of my least favorite things in life.

And I can’t imagine a much more scenic place to do our business than here:IMG_2355

I mean sure, there was a strong fear that a bear would appear at the exact moment I dropped my pants, but I strongly prefer the fear of mauling to the stench found in porta-potties.

However, since I lack experience, I have not quite perfected the pop-a-squat technique.  This is why my shoes always ended up sprinkled with urine.  And why I left my shoes in Alaska.

11. I am not quite as strong as I’d like to think I am.

When I felt a tug on the fishing line and proceeded to reel that sucker in, I thought the fish was going to be huge.  Like big as a human huge.  My face will show you just how hard I was working:IMG_2661

I required Paul’s help to pull the pole up while I reeled like mad and was a little shocked when I pulled up this guy:IMG_2285Not exactly the 5 foot beast I had been envisioning, but he was still delicious.

12. I looked HORRIBLE when I finished the marathon.

Like REALLY horrible.

Like, “should we call a doctor for her?” horrible.

You’re probably thinking, “Oh I’m sure everybody looks bad when they finish a marathon.”  But it’s not true.  Most people look perfectly normal.  But me?  Well I’ve been in races where people point and laugh at me as I finish.  No joke.

I’ll show you the picture from this years race in a moment, but first let me explain myself.  At mile 24 I was hurting.  I had a cramp in my quad and was on the verge of tears.  But then Paul called and told me I wasn’t too far behind the next girl in my age category and if I passed her, I would be in 5th place for my range.  That was all competitive Katie needed to hear.

My cramp went away as I hunted down my opponent.  I still hadn’t caught her when we reached the final stretch of the race.  A giant uphill.

I figured nobody would ever witness what came next.

I gritted my teeth and went into what kids these days call “beast mode.”  I grunted.  Loudly.  And I pumped my arms violently.  I knew I looked insane, but I didn’t care.  I was going to catch that girl.

I paid no attention to the people looking at me like I had rabies, and I caught her in the end, beating her by 3 seconds.  I assumed a handful of Alaskans would know I was nuts, but I’d never see them again so what did it matter.  However, then I got home and was telling this story to my parents and my dad started cracking up.

Apparently his coworker ran the half-marathon and showed my dad the website where you can look up pictures.  He and my dad had a good laugh at my face as I finished.  I figure if they enjoyed laughing at my look of distress, you will too.  So here is my gift to you this Sunday morning: my photo-finish.IMG_2662

You’re welcome.

Now it’s your turn.  Have you ever peed on your shoes?  Have you ever realized you’re not quite as strong as you thought you were? Do you look like you’re going to die when you exercise? I’d love to hear any of your “me too” confessions.

Sunday Morning Confessions # 7-9

In an effort to force myself to blog regularly, I’ll be making 3 confessions on Sundays.  Seems like the right day for it.  Please don’t judge me, but do share your own confessions in the comments.  I need to know that I’m not alone on some of these.

7) I am OCD about the dishwasher.

I didn’t know this about myself until I got married.  For some reason when I became a wife, I also became a Nazi when it comes to dish placement in the dishwasher.

I consider myself a pretty laid-back kind of lady, but when Paul does this:IMG_2156

something inside me explodes.


Really, Paul?  One little bowl is now taking the place of 4 potential plates!  Surely you can’t be okay with this.

At this point, when he doesn’t rinse his dish thoroughly or he, heaven forbid, puts a cup on the bottom rack, I honestly think he must be messing with me.  He can’t ACTUALLY think the cup belongs there.  Surely, he’s just joking.


Doesn’t he realize the cups belong up top with the bowls?  Doesn’t he see that there is clearly a place designed just for them and putting them anywhere else disrupts the entire system?!?

Why does he insist on bringing chaos to my order?

I don’t know where this OCD side came from.  I’m certainly not this way when it comes to vacuuming or cleaning mirrors or dusting.  (Because do real-life people actually dust on a consistent basis?)

But for whatever reason, I am a crazy person when it comes to the dishwasher.  Perhaps this is karma since I used to laugh at my brother-in-law for being so weird about the placement of dishes in the dishwasher.  Heidi always told me not to put my dishes in the dishwasher because Dan would just rearrange them later, anyways.  Dan, I apologize.  I understand you completely, now.

8) I have pregnancy brain.  But I’m not pregnant.

My level of forgetfulness is beginning to worry me.  It’s gone past your typical, “Why did I come into this room?” routine, and progressed into a whole other mess of scatter-braininess.

For instance, I helped plan a potluck for our staff last week.  E-mailed about it the day beforehand.  Texted with a friend about it the afternoon before.  And yet somehow, at 9:30 PM, Paul mentioned something about it being Wednesday and I said, “Wait!  It’s Wednesday?!?  So that means tomorrow is Thursday?!? I have to make beans!!!”

A confused Paul watched as I threw on sweats and ran out the door to the grocery store.

And then when I got to school, I plugged in my crockpot of beans and then FORGOT TO TURN THEM ON!!!  What is happening to my brain?  Is this what aging feels like?

Despite all my calendars and post-it reminders, it feels as if the older I get, the more things seem to “slip” from my brain.  I think I’ll call it slippery brain syndrome.  Anyone else experiencing this?

9) When I got married, my net worth was $15.


I had been working for 10 years and all I had to show for it was a closet full of clothes, a fancy education, and albums full of pictures from far away lands.  When Paul recently mentioned the 15 dollar thing, I was actually a little excited.

Me: Wait, I’m not in debt?  Even with all those student loans and my car payments? This is fantastic!

Paul: Yeah, but you were one new shirt away from being in the red.

I suppose it should also be a confession that my husband knows much more about my financial situation than I do.  Apparently when we bought our house, a bunch of the documents said how much money I had after my car payments and student loans would be paid off.  I supposedly signed these documents about my net worth being $15, but I have no recollection of this statistic.  (Perhaps due to my slippery brain.)

At least I know Paul didn’t marry me for my money!

Now it’s your turn.  Do you go a little crazy when people mess up your order?   Are you a little nutty about the dishwasher like I am?  If not, is there another area you are a bit OCD about?  Does your brain seem to be malfunctioning like mine does?  Is there something you’re supposed to be remembering today, but you just can’t seem to remember what it is?  Did you have to tell your future spouse that you were brining college loans and a cat into the marriage? I’d love to hear any of your “me too” confessions.

Sunday Morning Confessions # 4-6

In an effort to force myself to blog regularly, I’ll be making 3 confessions on Sundays.  Seems like the right day for it.  Please don’t judge me, but do share your own confessions in the comments.  I need to know that I’m not alone on some of these.

4) I am turning into my mother. 

People always say this happens.  Apparently it’s a  thing.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom to pieces.  There is so much kindness and joy and generosity in her that I hope is somewhere in me too.  But she has some quirks that I used to mercilessly tease her about.  That is, until I discovered those same quirks may have rubbed off on me.

For instance, without a doubt, she will ALWAYS fall asleep while watching TV at night.  It could be 9:30 and after 10 minutes of watching a show, she’ll have her head back and be sawing logs.  This used to be really funny.  Until it started happening to me.  Some nights I don’t even make it past 9.

When we were younger, she used to turn off the car radio and say, “I just need some silence” all the time.  I used to think this was so bizarre.  And  then last week, I turned off the radio and said those same exact words to Paul.  He replied, “Soooo, am I allowed to talk to you?” He was.  But apparently when you turn 33, music just starts to get kind of annoying after awhile.

Also, my mom gets super dramatic when she’s carsick.  She flips off the radio, rolls down the window, and takes deep, over-exaggerated breathes.  This used to always make me giggle.  But one of the down-sides of growing older that no one told me about is that you might get much more motion-sickness than you used to.  Even the regular ol’ swings at the park, get me queasy now.  So when we were driving back from Big Bear, I became my mother and turned off all the music, put my head out the window, and began a lamaze routine.

I wonder if this is God’s way of teaching us not to make fun of people.  Karma, man.  It sucks.

5) In middle school, my favorite shirt was an oversized maroon shirt that said “MESSIAH.”IMG_5740

Talk about a real-life Jesus freak.

I loved the Bible-book store more than your average 13-year-old.

And I realize you can’t read the shirt since this little girl is copping a feel, but you get the idea.   This shirt was huge.  It had a Bible verse.  And paired with a classic turtle neck?  It really is a small wonder that I wasn’t more popular in middle school.

6) I gain weight when I train for marathons. 

All this running makes me hungry.  The other night I couldn’t decide between spaghetti or pasta with chicken and bacon.  So I had both.  I have a race in two weeks, but it seems I’ve gone a bit overboard with the whole “carbo-loading” thing.  I love pasta a little too much.

Friday was National donut day.  So naturally had three.  I figured I’d run off the calories later.  I love donuts a little too much.

What’s the point of running all those crazy miles if you can’t eat whatever you want?  Right?  Truthfully, that is a big motivation for my running.  That logic might have worked when I was 17, but this 33-year-old body isn’t playing by the same rules.

A few weeks ago my legs felt heavy on a 10 mile run.  When I complained about it to my friend Christina, and told her I thought I needed new shoes, she replied, “Do you think it could have anything to do with the fact that you had three bowls of ice cream yesterday?”


And she was right.  I love ice cream a little too much too.

Now it’s your turn.  Are you turning into your mother?  Do you fall asleep watching TV, need silence in the car, or get carsick now that you’re older? What was your favorite outfit in middle school?  Do you struggle saying no to pasta, donuts, and ice cream?  I’d love to hear any of your “me too” confessions.

Sunday Morning Confessions #1-3

In an effort to force myself to blog regularly, I’ll be making 3 confessions on Sundays.  Seems like the right day for it.  Please don’t judge me, but do share your own confessions in the comments.  I need to know that I’m not alone on some of these.

1) I have hoarder tendencies.

I say this because my dad packed up the last of my boxes from their garage and inside were piles and piles of my old essays and notes from high school and college.  I’m not sure why I thought I would one day want to read my essay on French immigration policies or my blue books from my Colonial America class, but I did.  And I still can’t bring myself to throw them away.

The only work in the box that is actually worth keeping is this story I wrote in 6th grade:IMG_1944

No, the pegasus is not peeing.  It’s his tail, okay?

Paul got a kick out of my drawings of “Scorf” and the fairies:IMG_1951

I can still see 11-year old Katie sitting at the kitchen counter, drawing these pictures, sprinkling the fairies with glitter, and thinking, “This looks awesome.”  It would be awhile before I realized I have ZERO artistic abilities.

If I would have found this book a few days earlier, I could have saved myself some time and simply used the back for my “About the author” post:IMG_1945

Those bangs.  That scrunchy.  Ahhh, the good ol’ days.

2) I pretended to be a teenager in order to sneak into a track meet.

We didn’t have enough tickets for all the track coaches but had extra athlete tickets, so I was nominated to pretend to be an athlete.  I asked the kids for tips on how to act like a teenager and they instructed me to put on my hood, slouch, avoid eye contact, and mumble if spoken to.IMG_1917

You can only imagine how ecstatic I was when they waved me through the gates without a second glance.  I passed for a teenager!!!

Don’t worry, I realize that my laugh lines are deep and plentiful, and I don’t actually look like a student.  They probably didn’t even look at my face.  That stupid “guess your age” App told me I look 41 and that seems much more accurate than 17.  But for a moment, for a day, I passed for teenager.  I’ll take it!

3) Spiders and snakes don’t scare me, but flying bugs freak me out.

Sure, I might be 1000 times their size, but their wings give them an unfair advantage.  Spiders might have a few extra legs but I can always stomp on them with a shoe or squish them with a tissue.  Snakes are pretty gross too, but they don’t have any legs, so I’m pretty certain I can outrun them.

In fact, just yesterday as I was running, a long snake slithered across my path.  I jumped and screamed but that was simply because it startled me.  My scream then startled some other hikers who looked back in concern, so I explained, “Sorry, it’s just a snake.” Then I leaned closer to get this picture:IMG_1934

I tried whispering to it so it would turn and show it’s face for the picture, but alas, I am not a parseltongue.

If snakes could fly, however, now THAT creature would make me pee my pants.  Thanks for not doing that, God.

See, it’s the winged creatures that terrify me and make me duck for cover- even the “nice” and “helpful” ones like the mosquito hawk.

A few months into our marriage I discovered that Paul and I have different definitions of “taking care” of bugs.  When I ask him to take care of a mosquito hawk, I mean kill it.  It’s circling me like an actual hawk, mocking me with it’s flying abilities and threatening to dive-bomb my face.  In my book, that deserves death.

But, Paul?  Oh no.  He’s not a killer like me.  He likes to catch them by one of their creepily long legs and then release them outside, where I know they’re plotting how to get back in to scare me.Paul and bug

That’s him. Holding a mosquito hawk by the leg. Pretending to kiss it.  So gross.

Now it’s your turn.  Have you kept your old essays or blue books or other random junk too?  Did the age App bum you out as much as it did me?  Do you too have a personal vendetta against all flying bugs?  I’d love to hear any of your “me too” confessions:)

Sunday Morning Confessions 24

Yes, it’s Tuesday and I’m posting a Sunday Morning Confessions.  I told you that I’ve become a delinquent blogger for the next few months and I have too many confessions to wait until next Sunday.  So, ladies and gentlemen, here they are: confessions from the last two and a half weeks.  Be prepared for some doozies.  (And friends and family whom I’ve spoken to about it, don’t expect to read about “the date” just yet.  I’m still too traumatized to write about it.)

1. I’m slowly adjusting to life as a smart phone user.  Apparently all of the US of A has had smart phones for quite some time now, and I was one of the lone few who was still rocking the flip phone.  Whatever.  I loved that phone.  I loved that I had to hit the number 7 four times to text the letter S and I loved that no one ever expected me to call or text them back because I probably didn’t have my phone with me.

Entering this “smart phone” world has been an interesting transition.  My first “practice text” in the store was a bit of a disaster.  It literally took me 5 minutes to text “What time do you get off work?”  It was painful.  My sister and the sales guy openly mocked me.  Interesting sales strategy but I still bought the phone.

I still haven’t quite figured out auto-correct and Siri so this was a conversation I had with my sister-in-law:

I suppose that’s what I get for trying to sound like Snoop Dogg.  Apparently Siri doesn’t say “fo shizzle” and neither should I.  And if you were wondering, yes, I did finally learn how to add punctuation to text. Continue reading

Sunday Morning Confessions 23

I’m not Catholic but on Sundays, I make confessions.  Instead of telling them to a priest, I tell them to you, the internet world.  I try to post these in the morning, but let’s be honest, they typically get posted on Sunday night or Monday morning.  The best part about these confessions is when you make them too, so don’t be bashful and add your own confession in the comments.


1.  I was busted picking a wedgie during class.  When my undies bunch, my go-to maneuver is to hang out in the back of the classroom while my students work on something independently.  I also use this strategy when I need to pick my nose.  I suppose I could try Kevin Jame’s move as seen IN THIS AWESOME CLIP(begins at minute 7:50), but I prefer to hide in the back of the room so I can really “go for it” and quickly and efficiently dislodge the offending garment.  However, this week, a freshman boy had a pertinent question at the wrong moment.  He turned around and made eye contact with me right as I was mid-pick.  I’m not sure who felt more awkward at that moment, but he chose not to ask his question.

This awful moment reminded me of that moment when you walk in on someone in the bathroom.  Eye contact at that moment is thee absolute worst.  I so dread that moment that in my dreams a few nights ago, I got in a car accident and when the police showed up, I was in the bathroom and the officer walked in on me while I was mid-wipe.  Talk about a nightmare.  I don’t dream about vampires or chainsaw murderers; no, my nightmares involve painfully awkward moments.

2.  I eat A LOT of cereal.  Need proof?  My roommates and I have a shelf just for cereal.  All but two of these boxes are mine.

Until college, I honestly didn’t know that people my age ate “non-sugar” cereals.  Why would anyone ever choose Special K when they could have Cinnamon Toast Crunch?

Another cereal confession:  I wish there was a meat-flavored cereal.  Does this sound good to anyone else?  For instance, tonight I had Cheerios for dinner.  It was delicious but I thought, “Man, this would be even better if the Cheerios were steak-flavored.”  I don’t know, guys.  I think this could be my million dollar idea. Continue reading

Sunday Morning Confessions 22

I’m not Catholic but on Sundays, I make confessions.  Instead of telling them to a priest, I tell them to you, the internet world.  I try to post these in the morning, but let’s be honest, they typically get posted on Sunday night or Monday morning.  The best part about these confessions is when you make them too, so don’t be bashful and add your own confession in the comments.


Before I jump into this week’s confessions, an update on a few from last week:  first, my mom tried to scare me again.  She thought I was on my way to their house so she hid in the bushes in the front of the house.  She didn’t confess to exactly how long she was out there, but it was for quite a while considering I was over an hour late and she had given up by the time arrived.  The best part is that at one point, her neighbor came out, saw my mom smashed in the bushes, and gave her a questioning look that seemed to say, “Cindy, what on earth are you doing?”  So my mom said, “Oh hey Carol, just doing some trimming,” and then pretended to trim the bushes with her fingers shaped like scissors.

My mom: Cindy Scissorhands.   She’s the best.  (nickname credit to my dad)  And Mom, you can’t get mad at me for sharing this story because you never made me promise I wouldn’t like you did about that other delightful conversation:)

Also, remember how I procrastinated by petting the neighbor’s cat?  Turns out I made a friend for life.  Four nights this week, I’ve come home to this cat waiting in front of our garage.  I was on the phone one of the times so I opened my car door and

he/she jumped right in.  (I haven’t checked for balls so I don’t know the gender.)  That’s a lie.  I did check, but I couldn’t tell.  Plus, I don’t know if they cut those off or deflate them or shrink them or what not when a male cat is neutered.  And I want to assure you that, despite this picture, I am NOT turning into the crazy cat lady.  I know, I know: “Thou doth protest too much,” but this particular cat is particularly friendly.  Any of you would pet it too.  You might not let it in your car, but you would pet it.

Moving on…here are this week’s confessions: Continue reading

Sunday Morning Confessions 21

I’m not Catholic but on Sundays, I make confessions.  Instead of telling them to a priest, I tell them to you, the internet world.  I try to post these in the morning, but let’s be honest, they typically get posted on Sunday night or Monday morning.  The best part about these confessions is when you make them too, so don’t be bashful and add your own confession in the comments.


1. I looked like an idiot when I didn’t know who well-known people are.  My most recent idiot moment came on Saturday.  Apparently Brendon Jennings was standing a few feet away.  When I was informed of this by excited voices, I responded with, “Who’s that? Did he go to Valley?”  People always assume that since I’m a basketball coach, I follow the NBA.  Obviously I don’t.

My other idiot moment came during our bunco game.  Yes, bunco, as in the dice game old ladies play.  I’m in a group that meets once a month and it’s a cool thing, okay.  I embarrassed myself by revealing my ignorance when I was at a table with the mega lotto winner (she got a check for $ 167 million last year and still loves to win 20 bucks).  She made a reference to Richard Ramirez and I, having never heard of this guy, asked if he was a childhood friend.  Apparently he is a well-known serial killer.  Man I hate looking like an idiot. Continue reading