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Category Archives: Catholic education

A Cross to Bear

When I am preparing to host an event, things get a little tense around here.

The housecleaning, yard work, meal planning, and thinking of little details like what everyone will wear and what hand towels will go in the bathroom, consume me.  Everything I just mentioned doesn’t really cross Mr. Gaga’s mind at all and he just picks up some beer and tries to just fly under the radar so that I don’t murder him in his sleep.

On a warm day last week I came home from a long day and thought I would take the kids to one of the many frozen yogurt establishments in town.  We had gone to Sweet Frog before and enjoyed it so we headed there after dinner.

The kids filled their cups with a variety of yogurt and toppings and we settled down at a table.  The yogurt is amazing.  Better than Pinkberry, better than any yogurt I have had.  Also, the place is very cozy and there is nice comfortable seating.  We were all going back and forth saying how much we loved it when I looked at the girl ringing up people’s yogurts.

I looked at her shirt and I did a double take.

I stopped eating with my spoon mid-air about to enter my mouth, squinting and looking very carefully at her shirt.

I put down my spoon and leaned forward a bit to get a closer look. I rubbed my eyes like they do in the movies thinking that I was seeing things.

“You guys – what does that girl’s shirt say?”

The boys read the shirt aloud.  I was speechless.

I thought they were just cute frogs that had fake eyelashes and liked yogurt but apparently they have a much deeper meaning....

I thought they were just cute frogs that had fake eyelashes and liked yogurt but apparently they have a much deeper meaning….

“I don’t get it ….what does God have to do with yogurt?” I asked the kids as they resumed eating their yogurt.  “Rely on God that it will be good yogurt? I don’t get it!” I kept saying.

They ignored me.

Then I looked on the wall behind the register and saw this:

This says "Serving with everlasting truth fully relying on God"

This says “Serving with eternal everlasting truth fully relying on God”

What the hell?

The other yogurt places I have been have signs about the benefits of probiotics and active cultures!

I was floored.  I looked around…nobody seemed to notice that we were in some sort of cult-like yogurt facility. I looked down at the yogurt.

“Are they trying to save us through the yogurt?” I asked in a whisper to my 6 and 7-year-old boys, who stared back at me cluelessly.

Sam looked up from his yogurt….”Well I don’t know Mom…..but all I know is that God’s yogurt is delicious.”

He had a point.

I finished my yogurt, I mean just because it was cult yogurt doesn’t mean I shouldn’t eat it.

Two days later, I was doing some banking and I saw a strange charge.










This was the exact amount of the yogurt!

Hello! My YOGURT came up on my bank statement as HEAVENLY DEVINE INTERVENTION!!!!

Again, I rubbed my eyes and blinked fifty times to make it go away, but sure enough it was still there.

I thought – maybe I am seeing things. Maybe it really says “Sweet Frog Yogurt” but I see  “Divine Intervention” because I am going crazy.  Maybe Jesus is sending me a secret message before Michael’s communion.  Maybe I am being saved!

I didn’t have time to think about it too much, I resumed running around like a lunatic getting ready for the party for the remainder of the week.

I did think a couple of times that maybe I was “saved” and just didn’t know it yet.

The night before the party, we had a lot of last minute stuff to do.  I ran around in the backyard potting flowers and setting up tables and I noticed that Mr. Gaga was missing.

I went to the front yard to see that he had dipped into the beer for the party.  He was holding a Corona in one hand and watering miscellaneous grass with the hose in his other hand.

*Apparently when you get saved from heavenly yogurt it doesn’t make you nicer to your husband.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked with potting-soil filled hands on my hips.

(Mr. Gaga doesn’t like it when I yell or swear outside where the neighbors can hear me and I generally don’t care.)

“I’m watering the lawn.”

If I didn't know better, I would almost think that he WANTS us to get divorced.....

If I didn’t know better, I would almost think that he WANTS us to get divorced…..

“I don’t give a flying fuck if every motherfucking blade of grass in this lawn explodes into flames on Monday!” I screamed very loudly. “Get in the backyard and help me!”

Tumbleweeds rolled by and neighbors stared.

We didn’t really speak much for the rest of the night.

In the morning I woke up at 6:30 to go pick up the cake and finish setting up for the party.  I had ordered an Italian cake with strawberries and peaches and whipped cream in the shape of a cross for 60-80 people.  When I realized that the number of people attending would actually be 45, I tried to make the cake smaller.  When the bakery informed me that a smaller cake could not be made into the shape of a cross, I stuck with the larger size cross with “God Bless Michael” written across it.

What I hadn’t considered was that it would weigh about 75 pounds and fill the entire trunk of my car.

I drove home carefully and thought as I pulled into the driveway that I had nowhere to put the cake.  I entered the house and headed downstairs to see if the basement fridge could accommodate this huge cross.

I put my bag down and tried to squeeze the box into the narrow space.  The box got stuck halfway .  I tried to pick the box up a bit and push it on an angle and it got stuck further.  The more I pushed the more the box was folding in and possibly ruining the frosting and writing.

I started to sweat and call Mr. Gaga.

I tried to pull the box out and balance the cross on my knee while saying every curse word I could think of.  By the time Mr. Gaga came down I was trying to push the box in backwards with my butt.

*Apparently when you get saved by yogurt you don’t really stop cursing.

“Why do we have a fucking stupid piece of shit refrigerator that doesn’t actually fit food?” I yelled.

I want a divorce What’s the problem, now?”  he asked with exasperation.

“This fucking cross won’t fit in this asshole fridge.” I said with despair.

“I’ll take care of it – just go get ready,” he said sensing my pending nervous breakdown.

That was basically the last calamity and we all got dressed and got to the ceremony on time.

The ceremony went well, Michael did not sip from the filthy swine flu cup as I instructed him and everything ran smoothly.

We got home a little late but my sister-in-law helped me put out a cheese platter that had all of the meats in the shape of a cross which was perfect.

meat cross

I had the tables set up with beautiful flowers, candles and wine bottles that were teals and yellows.  The red wine bottles had gorgeous crosses on the label.

I took pictures of everything and the party went off without a hitch. The weather was perfect and the food was perfect….(maybe the yogurt really was saving me after all.)

Even the cake wasn’t too mangled from the basement drama.

I had time to run around taking candids of our family and of Michael and Sam and it was a great day.

When everyone left and the kids were in bed I went to download all 50 pictures from my iPhone to see how fat I looked relive the glory of this holy day.

Somehow in the transfer process from phone to computer they got DELETED!!!



I got a cake in the shape of a cross!

I fought with other mothers to get the perfect date for my son’s first holy communion!!

I served prosciutto fashioned into a huge cross!!

This is the thanks I get?

I tried to take pictures of what was left after the party – but somehow it doesn’t seem quite the same.

Here's a part of the cake....

Here’s a part of the cake….

I went to bed disgruntled and exhausted.

In the morning we all woke up late. I was so tired, I barely put makeup on, threw my hair up and went to head out to work.

I realized quickly that my bag was missing with my wallet, and basically my life in it.  I searched everywhere.  I went outside and checked the car and it wasn’t there.

I started to have heart palpitations and a pit started to grow in my stomach.

Mr. Gaga picked up the phone on one ring, “Good morning,” he answered cheerfully.

“Someone stole my bag!” I said frantically rummaging through my closet and looking under my bed. “I have searched the entire house!”

He calmly reminded me how I had come in the day before swearing and acting like a maniac in the basement with the cake.

I ran to the basement and what do you know…next to the fridge….there was my bag.

He is a pretty smart guy.

“Oh thank God, ok have a good day!” I said rushing to get in the car.

“Wait…so were you about to accuse our families of stealing your pocketbook?” Mr. Gaga demanded with disgust.

“Um….well…yes……or maybe the caterer?” I answered weakly.

It was at that moment that I realized no matter how much Sweet Frog yogurt someone consumes….some people just can’t be saved.




Last night….

….I couldn’t do a blog post.

I hosted Michael’s First Communion party yesterday.

I am sharing with you my post from a few months back to refresh your memory about how this all started and then I will tell you about the party later.

Being a good Catholic is exhausting…..

No wonder the Pope quit.


Michael has his First Communion coming up.

This is a big deal.

For most good Catholics it’s because it’s an important sacrament that means something important I am sure…..

For me it’s important because I have to start thinking about the food and decor I need to have for 100 people at my house, and make sure it doesn’t conflict with the millions of other obligations that we have in the spring and summer.

I had to attend an important meeting at the church this week outlining all of the details about the ceremony and also to secure a date.

First topic of discussion was First Reconciliation.  This is when the children have to go meet with the priest and confess their sins.

I remember when I had to do this as a small child, being so afraid and nervous I  as I approached the confessional with sweaty palms and a pit in my stomach.

I told the priest that I was “sometimes mean to my mother,” and he told me that if I just said the “Our Father” three times then I would be totally forgiven.

I was so relieved.

Needless to say, in this day and age, this kind of torment is not favored by parents.

Parents were raising their hands at the meeting saying “How can we be sure that the children are comfortable and not nervous?”

“Can we be 100 percent sure that the priest will tell them they are forgiven?”

“I remember being very stressed about this, I DO NOT want that for my child.”




Then of course there was the topic of wardrobe.

Of course if you saw the picture of the Dad at my son’s baseball game then you know that this is a town filled with primarily Vineyard Vines and JCrew.  Nobody wears makeup….nobody combs their daughter’s hair….I could go on for hours.

But anyways – there comes a debate about headpieces.  A bunch of mothers said “Yes” to headpieces, and then it started.

“Well, my daughter would never wear something in her hair.”

“I don’t ever make my daughter wear something she doesn’t want to!”

“Well what should I do if she says that she won’t wear it??”

I told you I didn't want to wear this headpiece MOTHER!!  I look like a WHORE! When I grow up I am being a Scientologist....

I told you I didn’t want to wear this headpiece MOTHER!! I look like a WHORE! When I grow up I am being a Scientologist!!!


I wanted to stand up and say “Look!! If your child is Catholic they have to make a confession to a creepy priest that could possibly be a pedophile and they have to wear a creepy bride-like head-piece that means they are marrying Jesus!! Deal with it you assholes! And if you don’t like it – then go be Jewish!! And have fun with 10 hours a week of Hebrew school and if you think our headpieces our bad – good luck with those hats and barrette clips they wear!!


But I didn’t say that.

I just looked at my phone waiting for everyone to stop whining and complaining.

There were 2 available dates in May to have the First Communion ceremony and one is Mother’s Day.  Again, some nice Catholic mothers I am told, actually enjoy having this precious ceremony on Mother’s Day.

I am not that type of mother.

On Mother’s Day I would like to eat a nice brunch, (something a little more substantial than a communion wafer) and enjoy my life…not sit in a sweaty church for an hour and half and then entertain 100 people in my backyard.

It was imperative that I get my name on the list for the first weekend in May.

I was pretty much willing to do anything to get it.

As the “church lady” spoke I adjusted my chair to be at the best angle to pop up from it and sprint to the sign-up table. I envisioned elbowing people or tripping them to be sure that I could get up front in a speedy fashion.

At the end of the meeting, the Church Lady asked that we bow our heads and say a prayer.

She also asked that we allow her time to move from the table before we swarmed and knocked her over.

I don’t even think anyone said “Amen” at the end of the prayer and that bitch didn’t have a fighting chance of escaping.

People were fucking INSANE!!! There was no mercy!! No forgiveness!!

I witnessed no behaviors that Jesus likes!!!

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….


I ran so fast to the table, and yet I could feel a crowd forming around me as I got to the front of the room.   People were pushing and shoving and hands were sticking into the space where the sign-up sheets were, grabbing at the pens on the table.

A pregnant friend was in front of me with a pencil ready to sign-up when we reached the table.  She was the first to get the paper, and I was behind her, I was so set.

“Give me that pencil when you are done,” I yelled in her ear above the noise of the crowd.

But as she signed her child’s name to the sheet, it was clear, that there was no way she would be able to hand me anything…..the crowd was too rough. She was jostled and pushed aside…I tried to grab for the pencil out of her hand but she got swept away.

There goes the pencil…..

I would just have to just grab the sheet myself.

A different woman had gotten control of the sheet and I pushed underneath her arms as she was writing and I quickly signed on the bottom of the sheet, in the last slot, before anyone else could think of it.

Thank you Jesus.

For understanding that it’s very important to celebrate your body in wafer-form only on specific days.

Thank you for answering my prayers and not punishing me for my sometimes less than devout behaviors…

We will be there on our desired date with bells on.



Dear potential employer,

“Don’t even think of asking me what I did all day,” I warned Mr. Gaga the other day as we discussed the pending start of the school year which will leave me home without children from 8 AM until 3:30 PM everyday.

“I understand…..” he answered cautiously.

A few minutes later…..”But what will you do?”

After being tortured by my children for seven years I am finally going to be able to tackle little projects that I haven’t had time for, like taking care of my beard.

It’s a valid question.

I tried to envision myself with nothing to do.

After my morning coffee and maybe a quick run….things could get dicey.

I decide to peruse the old “Help Wanted” section.

This led to a panicked session of “resume revival” and let’s just say I had a hard time making myself sound qualified for most of the job postings I saw.

Let me know what you think:

Lady Goo Goo Gaga



  • To find someone to hire me so that I will not go insane at home, and possibly have some extra money for shoes.




  • Major: Communications
  • Minor: Finding a husband

Skills & Abilities:


  • Registered and transported 2 small children to hockey, tennis, basketball, baseball, swimming, soccer, hip-hop, track and field, many birthday parties and playdates
  • Responsible for all household management, including planning and preparing meals 3 times a day, making all pertinent appointments for household members, and telling members of the household when it is time to shut up and go to bed.
  • Present to-do lists to household partner and persistently “remind” him to do said projects.
  • Responsible for all laundering of clothing, bedding, and any other furniture or materials that might accidentally become covered in vomit, pee or poop.
  • Responsible for cleaning and wiping of all rectums and surrounding areas for a period of 7 years.
  • Filled and emptied dishwasher daily, and kept track of approximately 25-40 sippy cups and snack cups, and their corresponding lids



  • Learned to properly utilize vocal chords to the best of my ability while screaming at my children
  • Relayed religious knowledge to children as well as utilized proper religious education offerings
  • Able to maintain composure and not gouge out my own eyeballs when forced to speak and interact with insane women in various environments including but not limited to playgroups, Kindermusik, and bad playdates


  • Got the bus stop moved after a series of harassing phone calls to the bus company
  • Maintained sanity while surrounded by insane women or insane children for the majority of the past seven years
  • Curbed swearing in front of children to only favorite terms, and completely eliminated daily use of “cunt” and “motherfucker”

Interests and Hobbies

In my free time I try to work on losing the baby weight from my pregnancy 5 years ago, watching any of the “Real Housewives” franchises and taste-testing different types of wine.


LADY GOO GOO GAGA BLOG (  – 2011-present

  • Make people laugh at how absurd my life is on a weekly basis.


10 Reasons Why My Kids are Lucky to Have Me as their Mother


Did you think I was going to get sentimental and mushy about how lucky I am to be a mother just because it’s Mother’s Day?

Nope, that’s not going to happen.

Of course, I absolutely love my boys more than words can say – but quite frankly that’s boring.

Who wants to hear about how great motherhood is and how blessed I am to have two gorgeous, happy, funny, sweet boys? 

I was thinking instead of talking about how great my kids are on MOTHER’S DAY I should talk about how great I AM!!!


1 – Of course – just stating the obvious here – but even though I am Italian and spent many years going tanning my kids are lucky enough that I don’t  roast them in a tanning bed.

2 – I let my children choose from refreshing beverages like milk or water and I give them Flintstones Vitamins with Extra C to build immunity!  I don’t breastfeed them until they are old enough to have one hand on a Wii controller and the other on my boob.

3 – If I did do something that could potentially scar them for life or embarrass them in front of their friends, I wouldn’t let some magazine reporter and photographer document said activity and publish it for the world to see.  I would not do that even if it was for the cover of TIME Magazine, because although I have a blog which could be seen as a touch narcissistic, I am not a complete asshole.  

*Side note: Although I would love to talk more about this – that is all I am going to say about US Weekly TIME Magazine!!  I see what you are doing MR. TIME Magazine Editor….I’ve got your number….and I am not going to give you the satisfaction of getting annoyed about it…..because that’s WHAT YOU WANT!!! You want us to all bicker and fight about who is the best MOM on MOTHER’S DAY!!! I am not going to do that.  I am just going to give a list of  why I AM THE BEST MOTHER…..for other reasons besides breastfeeding….because guess what???  BREASTFEEDING OR NOT BREASTFEEDING does not actually define MOTHERHOOD!!!


4 – I actually spend time with my kids. I take them to the park, or read books to them, or take them to the library instead of spending my time  “bullet-ing” all day like  many mothers in America.

5 – I could possibly be considered a “milf.”  This is especially noticeable when compared to the “milgamo’s” around this town.    (“Milgamo” stands for – “moms I’d like to give a make-over.) This doesn’t necessarily mean much – but when the kids are older I am sure they will take comfort in knowing that when I pick them up from school I won’t be wearing ‘mom-jeans.”

6 – Even though other mothers in town seem to “forget” to comb their children’s hair or let their hair grow to the floor because  “Johnny doesn’t like getting his hair cut,” I get my boys frequent haircuts and comb their hair regularly. 

I think it is important that they don’t look like drag queens on heroin at the bus stop – (like many young boys do these days.)

This little boy is in 1st grade with Michael and often sits next to him on the bus….

 7 – I make sure that my children are not fat and lazy.  On nice days I often send them outside and lock all the doors, keeping them out for long stretches of time. 

When they try to come inside and watch television or play video games, I yell and say “Do you want to be fat and lazy like all of your friends? Do you??” and shove them back out the door.

8 -I don’t really make them go to church.  My father made me go every living Sunday of my life.  I think my kids are pretty lucky that I am too lazy and tired and not-god-fearing enough, to make them go.  When we do go on occasion, if they laugh and act crazy, I probably join in instead of yelling at them.  (Sorry Jesus.)

9 – I keep it real.  I don’t hide the nitty-gritty facts of life.  The threat that my children might some day really end up in “bad boy school,” keeps  everyone on their toes around here.  “Bad boy school” is a place that my mother-in-law taught me about.  It is a place where boys go when they are mean and rotten and can be conveniently seen from the highway!  I drive fast enough by it that they never really get a good look. 

I always say “Oh look I see little sad faces peeking out the windows….See them??”

They always look out the window frantically with looks of horror – and say “Yes! I see them!!”

Otherwise known as the Colt Building in Hartford, it’s the “Bad Boy School” in the Gaga household. I always say as we drive by – “There it is kids! Keep it up and that’s where you will be living soon!”

10- I BLOG about my life and theirs – so they will have plenty of evidence of what a good mother I am and how much I love them!!!


Bad Catholic – Easter Edition

Today is a great day! It is Easter Sunday, the day that Jesus rose from the dead.

I have been learning so much about religion now that Michael is in CCD and it’s interesting to view Catholic traditions through his eyes. 

For example, during the Superbowl we were watching the half-time show (obvi – I love me some Madge) and Michael asked

“Why is Cee Lo wearing a dress?”

“It’s not really a dress, it’s like…you know the same thing that priests wear.” I answered distractedly.

“Ooohh,” he answered knowingly. “You mean a Snuggie…..”

“Um – I think they are called habits or something….” I answered trying to watch the show.

“What?” he asked.

He was totally ruining my Madonna time – “Yes – priests wear Snuggies, just sit down and watch the show.”

The Catholic church has enough issues as it is. If I saw this creepy weirdo coming at me with communion - I would run for my life.

I also just recently found out the actual details about this whole Easter situation.  My Catholic friends from college couldn’t believe I didn’t know this story – but apparently I really didn’t pay much attention in church or CCD!

“So today He woke up?” I asked Mr. Gaga at breakfast while the kids poured out the contents of their Easter baskets.

“He rose again and ascended into heaven.” Mr. Gaga replied not looking up from the sports section.

“Well did He wake up in the cave and at least go into town and say like

“Ha-ha suckers!  Who has two thumbs and totally isn’t nailed to a cross with a thorn hat anymore?”

“Noooo, He “ascended into heaven.” he said impatiently.

“What? How do we know?” I asked with shock.

“Because the rock in front of the cave was moved.” he replied.

“What???? That’s all the evidence we have??? This whole day is based on a moved rock?? I thought this was confirmed…..I at least thought someone saw him like roaming the streets…..”

Mr. Gaga just stared at me unfazed by my revelation.

Hmmm, I don’t know if I am buying this story now.

Anyways – regardless if the Jesus story is true or not – at the very least, Easter marks the end of a dreadful time known as Lent.

Lent isn’t necessarily so bad – but it’s quite unenjoyable when you live with a husband who is allergic to all shellfish, and children that decide you should give up chocolate for Lent and watch you like hawks to make sure you never cheat.

During this time – we also were responsible for collecting money in an “Operation Rice Bowl” that Michael brought home from CCD. 

It is a little cardboard box with a picture of a starving child on it, with a slot on the top for coins, and the money goes to Catholic Relief Services

Thankfully, my cousin came over one day and got guilted by Michael into pouring her entire wallet of change into the box and we were pretty much done with our collection.  The kids were fascinated by the box.

“Why do we have to put money in here?” Michael asked looking at the cardboard “Rice Bowl” at the kitchen island while I did the dishes with my back to him.

“Because there are kids that have no food and this money will help them….like the boy that you see on the box.” I answered without looking up.

“Well, he doesn’t look very hungry to me.” he sniffed.

“Michael, that’s rude! He’s starving!” I answered.

“No he’s not!! He’s smiling!” he protested.

“He’s probably trying to look good for the picture!!  He’s very sad!” I answered indignantly.

“Well then why doesn’t he just eat the huge loaf of bread that he’s holding?”

I turned away from the dishes.  “Let me see that.” I grabbed the box.

I mean I have to say - he doesn't look too upset about the situation...I can see how this could be confusing to Michael....(and by the way if you like his shirt - I think I just saw it last week in the children's department at Saks.)

When we finally had to turn it in to Michael’s CCD class, I placed it in my car in the morning so that I wouldn’t forget it in the rush of the afternoon. 

Off I went to run a bunch of errands I needed to do before we went to NY for the holiday weekend. 

I found the perfect spot on the street and realized that my coin collection for the meter was a little pathetic.  I had mostly nickels and pennies in the cup holder of my car.

I looked longingly at the Operation Rice Bowl in my passenger seat. 

I decided that stealing from the children wearing designer shirts “poor and hungry” for my parking meter would be an unforgivable Lenten offense. 

I decided to rush – and figured any God or police officer would see my Operation Rice Bowl on the car seat and know that I was someone who did good works and should be rewarded.


Do you see my life?

Is it because I’m not so sure about the moved rock story or because of all those times when I told my parents I was going to mass but I really went to McDonald’s???

Why God?? WHY???

When we turned in the dang Rice Bowl that afternoon, the teacher made a fuss – saying Michael was the only one in the class to do it.  So I felt good about that – maybe it was worth getting a ticket after all.

Let’s face it, we can teach him to be charitable since we don’t do much as far as religion goes.  We don’t say grace, we don’t go to mass unless it’s a holiday, we don’t teach our kids to say prayers…

So imagine my surprise when I came back to pick him up and the teacher greeted me beaming.

“Michael is so wonderful! He passed his “Hail Mary test!” He knew the whole thing!”

I was completely shocked.  How the hell did he learn the Hail Mary?

I was so taken off-guard.  I don’t know why I said this but…..

I put my hands on Michael’s shoulders and used my “fake Mommy voice” and said…

“Oh – wonderful! They must have reviewed that on Sponge-Bob this week!”

I don't think Michael's teacher really "gets me."

Happy Easter everyone!!

Don’t even think of not voting for me- after I got a parking ticket instead of stealing from the Operation Rice Bowl….Click on the banner below!!! XO, Lady Goo Goo Gaga

Bad Catholic

At the beginning of the school year we signed Michael up for CCD.

Admittedly horrible Catholics, we were actually raised to be good ones. We at least know enough that we should educate our children so that they too can grow up to be horrible Catholics one day.

“But you’re a hypocrite – the Catholic Church goes against women’s rights,” my atheist brother argues with me.

“Oh I know – I will explain later that it’s all wrong – but for now at least they can learn some prayers.”  I reply knowingly.

I have always been a bad Catholic.  I think I was just born this way. 

I don’t get it and I don’t really care enough to absorb the information – so every time someone explains something to me I am freshly shocked by the absurdity of it all.

I don’t know what anyone is talking about.

My husband has to repeatedly explain to me (and the kids  – because they love it) about what happened on Easter. Something about Jesus being wrapped up like a mummy and then he like escapes from a cave like Houdini and then he was God??

I don’t get it.  It hurts my head.

“I think he was just pretending to be dead,” Michael says when my husband tells the story, “I think he was just asleep.”

“Wait – but who is Jesus’ Dad again? Isn’t it God?” I ask.

“Well – yes kind of.”

But why is Joseph in the manger pretending that it’s his baby? Doesn’t he know that he didn’t have sex with Mary?” I mean what is this General Hospital?” I ask every Christmas.

I don’t get it and as I write this blog right now – I don’t know the answer.   I am going to ask Mr. Gaga again in the morning.

But I should know since I was dragged to church every Sunday of my life – even if I slept over someone’s house!! My father would come get me!!!

And …… this is the worst – we had to say “grace” every night before dinner. (Even now!!)  Which literally sounds like this from all the disgruntled mumbling….

“Father, son, holy spirit…Bless uhlor for these errr ..about to …err  share…Amen”




"Wow these people are freaks - it's like one minute everyone is normal - then the next minute they are mumbling some weird version of grace I have never heard of....and PS - Don't they know I'm a Jew?"

 Once I had my license – it was up to me which mass I went to – so I would usually choose the 12 o’clock mass – and then pretend to go but just really go to McDonald’s.

Apparently the whole “thou shalt not tell a lie” thing escaped me.

Sometimes I would just go in for a quick prayer.....

So – I went on to go to a Jesuit University and then I got married in said University chapel.  Also – I would like to note that although I can be snarky and swear a lot and say things like “I hate babies,” I generally am a good person.

So imagine my surprise when I moved to Connecticut after getting married in New York and living there for a while and I couldn’t get my baby christened. 

I was told flat-out “No,” by more than one church.

“But why? We have all of our sacraments!” I pleaded with a nun over the phone.

“You must be registered and attend mass regularly.” she said.

“Well I work weekends – so I watch mass on TV,” I lied.


(to a nun)


“I am a good person!!!!” I yelled to the dial tone in my ear.

I hung up the phone and looked up at my husband who was staring at me with his jaw hanging open in shock.

“Did you just tell a nun that you watched mass on TV?” he yelled.

“Yes.” I said softly.

“We’re fucked.” he replied sinking into a chair.

Eventually – we greased some palms – and got a family friend to get us a hookup.  The deal was we could get the baby christened if we went to mass every Sunday leading up to his birth.

We went once and figured out what time the collection basket came.  At 10:55 each Sunday morning we would roll up – I would run in and drop a check (with our names on it for evidence!!)  in the basket – and then we would go to McDonald’s for breakfast.

( Apparently we are fat disgusting people who always choose the golden arches over the lord – what can I tell you?)

Well I said I was a bad Catholic!!!  Don’t judge me!!!

If this was our church - we would totally go.......

Last week when I went to pick up Michael from CCD – the teacher pulled me aside.

“Just so you know – the first graders are going to be part of Sunday’s mass.  I know you don’t go to mass….(Can you believe this bitch?) but it would be so great if Michael could be there.”

I at least got one thing out of my Catholic upbringing and its a little thing called guilt – so of course I said we would be there with bells on.

When we got there – Michael sat up front with his class and I sat a few rows back with Sam and his Bakugans to keep him entertained.

Now let me say upon returning to church I was shocked by a few things.

First and foremost – the place was packed!  Most of the people didn’t even have a first grader!  They just woke up and came to church for no good reason!?

And a lot of these devout Catholics – had BABIES with them!!!



Some nerdy couple came dressed to the nines – huffing and puffing up the aisle lugging their baby in an infant carrier.  They of course sat directly behind me – and I thought “Oh great – now I am going to have to listen to this baby cry for an hour.”

Oh no.

The baby was not the problem.

Apparently – the second realization I had, was that church is like American Idol for nerds.

To them – church is a place where in the name of Jesus you can just belt out tunes like it’s nobody’s business even when you have a horrible voice.

I mean try to imagine the most off-key, ear-piercing voice singing “Hallelujah” really loud right into your ear….

Then Sam stopped playing with his Bakugans, turned and looked up at me and said  “I really don’t want to listen to this!” really loud so I could hear him over the American Idol audition.

I doubled over and was crying with laughter.   I was right back to my junior high self – laughing inappropriately in church.

When Michael came back to sit with us at the end of mass -I was still wiping tears from my eyes from laughing.

Trying to be supportive I said “Did you like going up to the altar?”

“Nooo.”  he said with disgust.


“Because that guy (*the priest) just touched my head and didn’t even give me a bite of God.”

“You can have a “bite of God” after your First Communion – after we all go to Confession.” I replied matter-of-factly.

Oh shit.

Let’s just say this might be a bumpy road to heaven for the Gaga family.


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