Friends with Non-Sexual Benefits

July 20, 2011

So many, many posts ago I discussed my phase of “email bombing” old friends and people I went to high school with. Well as part of my whole attempting to push myself into living life and behaving more like a member of the human race I have had three pseudo-dates with old friend flames… some more successful than others, so lets take a moment to dissect the carcass of my friendships.

The first date occurred with my best friend from high school who I haven’t seen for roughly 8 years. We were part of a group of 4 and 2 of the members including Sarah M the friend in question had a relatively successful high school rock band. Yes I was part of one of those groups of people, my job in the group was to be the girl in a tight top with large knockers in the front row since I had no musical talent to speak ok. Sadly as is common with temperamental egotistical musicians the band had a falling out over each other’s boyfriends and paths to follow leaving one member to forge a small independent music career in London and the other left here attending University and spending time with me. We were inseparable and she was one of the handful of friends who actually spent time with my mum over the course of our friendship and grew to appreciate her quirkiness and childlike charm. I can’t even remember why we stopped talking, it was probably one of my hermit periods where I didn’t talk to anyone and it just carried on forever because neither of us made an attempt to get in touch.

So 8 odd years later thanks to the wonder of Facebook I found myself sitting at one of the small awkward tables at the Dome Cafe in Mount Lawley, looking anxiously out the window for my old friend. Eventually I spotted her strolling across the lights, her once bright red boy cut was now a conservative brunette bob and her grungy leather pants had been replaced by post pregnancy pants and buttoned up blouse. I dare say she looked like an adult ( and new mother to an 8 month old girl). In a moment of sheer panic I visually asses my outfit in the window’s reflection. For some reason I have managed to put together the most nauseatingly juvenile outfit known to man. Separate pieces that may work on their own but together look like I am auditioning to be the new bass player for Hole. Seriously, black dress with short sleeves that are too short to cover my new arm tattoos… a belt o chunky it looks like I got it off, red sunglasses that with this outfit look like I’m crying “overage Lolita” and worst of all….what really gave me that extra shot of self loathing adrenaline, I had on Blue fucking nail polish. No Joke, I had tried it on a few nights ago and forgot to take it off. So as my mature friend walked towards me I imagined her image of me as someone how was hanging on by a thread like it was 1998 all over again.

She greeted me warmly, perhaps I can salvage this I think to myself with some of my irreverent Enid charm and humour… so of course I say “wow those are some lovely breasts you have there…being a mum agrees with you” OH MY FRICKEN GOD just remembering that I said that is making me sweat buckets at my laptop. WHAT WAS I THINKING. Sure this is my type of odd comment I make all the time that people who actually know me and spend time with me found oddly endearing “oh that wacky Bernie is saying strange things again” It is however not an appropriate thing to say immediately to someone who hasn’t been around your personality for 8 fucking years. She immediately turned red and kept readjusting her blouse for the remainder of our coffee time. Ok so you are probably thinking humble reader that after the initial disaster I dazzled her with my warm heart and interesting conversation. Well not really, for some reason I decided to tell her this whole story about how I was experiencing a depressive episode and had resigned from my job and was seeing a shrink again. When I realised that this wasn’t fun conversation I attempted to steer the conversation towards old memories from our high school days only to fail again because every memory I brought up reminded her of something horrific eg her parent’s divorce and her failed relationship with her first love. So if you are keeping score I am currently 0 for 4.

As a method of last resort I turned to her daughter, asking questions and grabbing a lovely gift I had bought for her from under the table…Ahh classic move, Bernie: Attempting to buy acceptance and affection since 1989. That could be the title of my memories or at least a monologue. The present went down a treat and I was mildly interested in hearing about her child. Actually this would have to be the first instance in history where I was actually disappointed a friend didn’t bring their baby on an outing given that my fear of children under the age of 1 may have led me to behave more appropriately. At one gushing stage she pulled out her iPhone and started showing me pictures of her daughter to which I ooowwed and ahhhed appropriately. It became awkward when she let go of the phone entirely leaving me with a photo gallery of over 600 photos of her spawn. After 10 minutes of looking as she kept talking I felt like a bomb detonator, how long did I have to hold this fucking thing to prevent our coffee date from self-destruction. Soon she said “you don’t have to look at them all” and laughed, but of course the sadist in me felt silly taking the out immediately and I lied that I was enjoying looking at them…torturing myself for another 5 minutes.

Somehow three hours had passed since I initially humiliated myself and my pseudo date announced she had to head home and cook dinner for her husband and friends. I don’t think I have ever cooked dinner for another couple…another adult failing of mine. We parted on friendly terms and she seemed to have partially enjoyed her time with me… but on my way home I was overcome with an image of my dear friend running into the arms of her successful accountant husband in her 4X2 suburban house, with her little baby girl by her side and thanking the lord she didn’t end up like that blue nail polish wearing freak from her high school years. We have maintained sms contact since then but I am yet to receive that elusive invite to her house she mentioned…something tells me I had better not hold my breath

The second pseudo date was a lunch at an old friend from my check- out chick days who I hadn’t seen since my wedding nearly three years ago and before that probably another three years. Her name is Tash and she is one of those women who even thought she quite a bit younger than me I completely admire and hope that one day if I ever get over my issues I can be like. She just has it together.. not in a creepy Stepford way but in a confident, caring, I can take what life throws at me and move on kind of way. I can’t even handle when they change the chocolate in a kit kat bar over winter. The lunch date went off without a hitch, I listened eagerly as she told me about her two young children and her new partner, their renovation plans and her hobbies.. which include very adult sounding things such as Pilates on Monday, pole dancing class (for exercise purposes apparently) on Tuesdays and playing volleyball with her husband on Wednesdays. You know how I fill my nights? watching television shows on dvd, writing on this blog and stalking people on facebook..and as for sporting activities with my husband, the only activity my husband and I share on a semi regular basis is a shower and that is not for erotic/romantic bonding purposes, it’s the only place we can talk about movies without being interrupted by our needy, neurotic pack of dogs. I think that is the saddest sentence I’ve ever written. Of course I tell Tash nothing of this..I learnt from my previous mistake with Sarah. I will consider this date a success because I kept my crazy at bay..we had good conversation and due to her busy schedule she will be the perfect friend I see every now and then. I’ve done it! I can add someone else to the friends roster.

Finally we have my drinks date with one of my oldest friends, another girl named Sarah who I met in 6th grade and have had an on again off again friendship with ever since. You might think of us as the Ross and Rachel of female friends. The last contact I had with Sarah was an apology text sent after she abused me by text for a solid hour over my relationship with Andrew and how I wasn’t a good friend. Now call me what you will..Enid, Bernie, Crazy, but I really don’t think in all my life I’ve been a bad friend to anyone and for someone who is as down on herself and self-deprecating as I am to admit that makes it true in my book. I accepted her apology because basically I’m too friendly (read: gutless) to hold a grudge but we haven’t spoken since that incident in 2006. So one Saturday night I found myself knocking at her door, the very same door I had visited as an 11-year-old girl, bottle of wine in hand ready to see if we still had the illusive “it” that kept us friends for so long. I am happy to report we do still have “it”. We really are an odd couple because Sarah is in a lot of ways everything I can’t stand in other people, she is gorgeous, thin, no financial hang ups thanks to the money trickling in from her parents and she says things like “I never buy things on sale..there is a reason they are on sale” and yet I can’t hate her…believe me I’ve tried. My husband asked has she brought up the way she treated you the last time you were friends? and I told him No… we have known each other long enough to know that the key to a long-term friendship is denial of the past and the ability to resist eye rolling at each other. Since our initial get together I’ve seen her once a week and I have to say it’s been nice, so I guess that is a victory to the small, small part of me that isn’t a hermit freak. Look forward to future entries filled with social humiliation if I am to believe my new/old friend’s dream to take me to some of Perth’s “hip” 25 and over bars… I recall her elaborate description of one such place where an acquaintance of her’s is a “cage dancer.”



Sucker Punch

July 4, 2011

Hello Blog world…Enid is back.

It has been quite sometime since I graced the pages of my humble blog and surprisingly in that period of time when I remained silent my world was in chaos, both the good and bad type of chaos. Now anyone who knows me is aware of my penchant for making lists… (it’s easier than dealing with life) so here is a Enid Vs Everything list of what exactly has been going on in my life over the last 6 months or so.

1. The cause of my mystery illnesses was discovered and it related to small gallstones blocking a duct and causing my liver to function very poorly and led to lots of pain, an inability to eat and finally jaundice which led to having surgery to remove my gallbladder.

2. I visited the USA baby… after all that stress and worry about whether or not this little hermit girl could handle the big city I went and I had a wonderful time.

3. I got two more tattoos…taking my grand totally to 4….I have to fulfill my white trash quota somehow.

4. In the last few days of my trip, I received the sad news that my Nonna Ersilia passed away at the age of 86.

5. I came home to a shit storm of family troubles…to say it was a hot mess is an understatement.

6. I wrote and delivered my very first Eulogy and I wrote and delivered my first character reference for my childhood friend who is currently in prison for drug trafficking, trying to get an early release.

7. I experienced an episode of depression, anxiety and agoraphobia unlike any I have experienced since the great depression of 2001. This led to my doctor putting me on antipsychotics which left me in a perennial state of zombification.

8. I resigned from my job at Fremantle hospital

9. I started seeing a clinical psychologist again

10. I got a new job as an assistant project officer for the prevention branch of the Drug and Alcohol Office W.A

Phew…that’s a lot of stuff…no wonder I’m so tired. I need a break and the washing has just finished so I’ll be back.

Ok so I have definitely had my ups and downs but I have decided to pull my head out of the sand, put down the remote control and work on getting back to my old self, taking advantage of the time I have off in between jobs and to put it in “Balcatta” terms, sort this shit out. So for the moment the plan is three simple steps, firstly I need to stay on my medication and keep seeking counselling for the time being. It’s funny how even though I myself have worked as a counsellor, whenever I see a professional of that nature when I am agreeing to “homework” I often think…”yeah right” to myself.. ok rich lady charging me 180 dollars for this 50 minutes of therapy I am going to start working on my cognitive thoughts before bed to stop having violent flashbacks and dreams. Then last night I had a dream where I was laying on a beach in the middle of nowhere and all of a sudden a huge frill-necked lizard almost the size of a grown man landed on top of me and was about to eat my face off if I moved.. safe to say I woke up in a pool of sweat and with my heart sounding like the chorus to a metallica song. Needless to say my sleep was a bit off after that. So guess who is going to be giving the good doctor’s homework a try tonight…. ME.

Secondly I am going to really try not to stress as much as I normally do particularly about things like money or the future. I am going to make a conscious effort to just put a bit of faith in the world and hope that things just kind of work out in the end. Finally I am going to stop living vicariously through my beloved tv and actually attempt to occasionally go out and live know be a normal human being and socialize with other human beings. In fact I have already started and look for a future update in the next few days on how my “friends with non-sexual benefits” journey is going.

So there you have it.. for the three people including my long suffering husband who actually reads this thing (aka. # 231 attempt to sort out my crazy life via words on the internet) expect more regular updates that will hopefully range from a couple of deep and meaningful to a lot of the silly and neurotic stuff my few readers actually want. I’m talking to you Mark.

Eight legged freaks

November 17, 2010

Today I had a revelation. As someone who attempts somewhat foolishly to deal with my feelings of depression, anxiety and general zero care-factor about myself and my environment without medication, therapy and minimal retail therapy it is important that I am able to gauge these feelings easily. I need a reliable measure that is easy to identify in order to put the breaks on, reach out to people or consider more intense interventions. These measures have included in the past and present – food intake (particularly of the KFC and Mac and Cheese variety), Alcohol and prescription pill intake and how many times a week I shower/wash my hair and how many episodes of sex and they city I can watch in a row. Since starting full time work I pretty much have to shower daily and wash my hair several times a week, hey I even brush my hair most mornings no matter how shitty I feel. So that pretty much leaves me with food intake, alcohol and sex and the city as my measures. However since I’ve been so ill lately I’ve barely been eating let alone drinking so that’s out too. This week while recovering from another painful episode I found myself watching 2 full seasons of sex and the city and I started getting concerned but I convinced myself it was just a reaction to the pure boredom of being home sick and Mark’s surprising influence over my viewing habits. Then later that day as I finished tidying up the house I realised that my house is full of little spiders clinging to the ceiling. Seriously there are at least 10 in the toilet, many in the bathroom and a decent amount in the kitchen. The funny thing was this wasn’t the first time I had noticed them, that was a good 2 weeks ago but to be honest as disgusting as it is I just don’t care….I know I should get rid of them, I mean really the that not the worst place to have little creepy spiders???? but it’s like getting rid of them is one step too far for me at the moment. My plate is so full with work, sickness, Andy’s day surgery, my emotional baggage and neurosis, showering daily so on and so forth that my little spider infestation is the line in the sand between just hanging onto sanity and another trip to D20. So if I’m going to look at this in a positive light, I guess I have my new measure…”number of spiders I allow to live happily in my house and for how long” So given my current spider situation I’m guessing I need to do something STAT.

I went to the much anticipated Ronald McDonald Charity Ball a few Saturday’s ago and I have to say it was a trying night, so wasted on someone like me. All those “Perthanalities” pretty dresses and free booze and I couldn’t enjoy any of it. The sad thing is the night had the potential to be quite enjoyable but I’m guessing the difference between my night and an enjoyable night was a different pair of shoes and the ability to consume a bottle of champagne (which due to my illness I was unable to do). As odd as this sounds Bernie enjoys a little dance every now and then, (Just ask my friend Mark, he has seen my best and worst moves in the Kitchen at our pseudo holiday house in UTOPIA) but because I succumbed to the pressure to be all feminine and wear fancy high heeled shoes I had two dances and all of a sudden it felt like my feet were giving birth to two mini feet. I sat down and never got up again. Next year I will scour the earth alla Lord of the Rings to find the one ring… I mean silver wedge that will give me the height and comfort I desire. Also the next time I go I will make sure I am drunk upon arrival so that I can find the huge spending during the auction (they raised $900,000) charitable and exciting rather than self important and boring. The car service my sister in law booked for us wasn’t arriving until 1:30am but as soon as I heard the awful screeching that was Jimmy Barnes bouncing from the stage straight into my upper abdominal pain I knew Andrew and I would be making an early exit. The best thing about the night was the ride home because I knew I would soon be out of these uncomfortable shoes and frilly dress and be in bed with my husband and my puppies, where I belong. The following weekend the entire Peirce family was featured in photos on the social pages of the Weekend West Australian, all the Peirce’s except Andrew and myself as in the socialite world we are the retarded hillbillies playing our banjos on the front lawn.

Milk Money

August 6, 2010

At present I’m smack bang in the middle of a financial tornado and it’s making me CRAZY. I’m trying to create (=buy=money) a wonderful birthday for my husband, I have bills (water, property rates, car rego) up the ying yang. During my Saturday night tax lodgement-a-thon I discovered that thanks to my occasional 50+ hour work weeks between the 2009-2010 financial year those lovely fellows over at HECS or HELP or whatever it’s called want close to a cool $4000 dollars to repay them for my useless arts degree education. Oh and also throw in the fact that we are about to purchase a new car for Andrew, if it wasn’t such a bargain I would wait until later in the year but it’s one of those special “friend” deals we can’t pass up. I know that we will get through but sometimes it just feels like this endless black hole you can’t dig yourself out from so to make light of an awfully stressful situation here are the top 5 crazy things I do when under financial stress.

5. I get crazy when I happen to come across “found” money, for instance yesterday while I was angry cleaning (angry cleaning = cleaning in a fury while talking to yourself in a heated manner and/or crying uncontrollably) I found 2 dollars under the bed and I actually got excited and quickly put it in my purse as if someone else was going to come and claim it. I also had one of trademark angry rants when I found an unaccounted for 20 dollars left haphazardly near the key bowl. I asked Andrew about it and he casually told me he found it on the street while working the dogs several hours earlier. I simply could not believe that finding 20 dollars was such a non-event for him that he wouldn’t tell me as soon as he walked through the door. In my freakish mind it would be considered a miracle and a reason to resist my depressive and self-destructive tendencies for a couple of weeks, and every year we would celebrate the sacred day I found 20 dollars on the street.

4. I start scouring the cupboards for food I haven’t used, particularly items which have been in storage for over 6 months. In the last couple of weeks I have gone through some tins of champignons, corn cuts and I’m awaiting an idea for some cryovaced smoked cheese I found hidden in the fridge.

3. I become one of those creepy shoppers who prowl the meat section, bakery and refrigerated food aisle at the supermarket in the late afternoon and even worse on a Saturday afternoon just waiting for those glorious “reduced” stickers or big black markers to come out and hand me a bargain.

2. Remember the glory days before NETBANK? sure it is super convenient to be able to do all your banking online but remember when you had to go to an ATM, pick up the phone or shock horror even enter a bank to find out your account balances etc. Sometimes Ignorance is bliss because at the moment I’m checking my netbank accounts over 5 times a day on average. I don’t know why I do that, a part of me finds it comforting and another part is scared into action. It’s almost like I think if I check it enough hidden money will appear.

1. You can call me Enid: the expensive appliance whisperer. Whenever I’m experiencing financial stress I develop a unique sense, the ability to hear like a distant wind the sound of expensive appliances slowly breaking down. Just today my washing machine called to me and it did not sound good I give it 6 months. All I can do is give it a gentle pat, a sugar cube and hope it holds out.

The Grinch who planned Christmas

July 15, 2010

I am a person who craves organization and planning. I feel so dirty saying that but I had to get it off my chest. My mind is chaotic and my whole being is often consumed by excessive amounts of  anxiety, so having an activity to plan is the one way I can exert some control over myself and also serves as a constructive vessel for all that nervous energy. The only problem is I’m running out of projects.  From 2006-2008 I was consumed with my wedding plans  and let me tell you planning a wedding is the crack cocaine of organizational distractions, so many little details that needed to be researched and decided upon…chaotic bliss = calm and normalcy. Since my wedding I’ve had my first real holiday to plan, the purchase of our first home and I’ve even attempted to relive the wedding planning glory days by offering suggestions to a good friend of mine who is getting married soon.

This year I haven’t had much to organize and it is killing me! I’m so desperate that I’ve convinced myself that it would be a good idea to start organizing Christmas gifts for my family and friends in JUNE PEOPLE!!! Seriously I need an intervention of some kind, I’m currently spending my nights trolling online shopping sites and ebay for the perfect gift…I spend hours doing it and when I find something perfect and buy it I get a sick wave of satisfaction. 1-2 weeks later when the purchase arrives and I put it in my “early Christmas bag” I feel a deep sense of calm. What’s wrong with me! The funny thing is I don’t even like Christmas, I usually offer to work on the day so I won’t even get to see the reaction to these presents I’m spending my precious hours of free time organizing.

I guess if I think about it I don’t have a problem with Christmas itself (I like giving gifts. I enjoy decorations to a degree and in a time long ago I enjoyed attending Christmas mass) The reason I avoid the holiday is because I belong to a family who can’t organize a friendly, casual get together without starting world war 3. The day itself is then filled with extreme tension and passive aggressive barbs both of which I like to avoid in all situations. One year we had such a bad fight about who would bring what chicken and cook it which way that I still have nightmares about a baked organic chicken’s revenge. I feel like shouting HELLO we’re Italians let’s just stare at a picture of Jesus, say a rosary or two and eat some pasta the way we used to. The best Christmas I ever had was the year I got high, ate Chinese food alone and watched a season of The Gilmore Girls on DVD. Sure that was the time of my infamous paint tin episode (which I have discussed in other journals so I’m sure it will come up here one day) but taken out of the context of my downward spiral it was a great day. As for my worst experiences there are too many to list them all but since I’m up for a challenge here are my top 5.

5. Having to perform improv sketches with my cousins for my family as entertainment before lunch. Three girls under the age of 12 baring our souls for a few awkward chuckles… I’m getting flashbacks just thinking about it. That’s the problem with growing up in the late 80’s-early 90’s  my cousins and I didn’t have ipods or portable dvd players to bury our heads into and essentially become monosyllabic and invisible to our familial figures, we had to sing for our supper.

4. The Christmas I spent the whole evening in the bathroom throwing up because of some bad ham … or as my mum refers to it: The Christmas I was poisoned by my evil aunty because I didn’t eat her unappealing chicken dish.

3. The year was 1996 I was a shy 13 year old girl  innocently opening a Christmas gift from my Nonna only to discover to my horror that she had purchased a highly inappropriate set of underwear, I’m talking  sexy lingerie at the dinner table. Shocked I attempted to stuff the underwear back into it’s wrapping while thanking nonna very much for my gift…those crazy elderly relatives offend so easily, you don’t want to seem ungrateful but it’s find to sex up your grandchild on jesus’ birthday.

2. The year relatives from Italy visited for Christmas and I overheard them discussing with my Nonna at length whether or not I had become a “woman” yet (to these people that basically meant had I started my period yet, unfortunately I hadn’t just one in a long line of disappointments my Nonna faced that day) and later that same day Nonna made me pose next to the over sized crucifix and statue of Mary for my annual “religious self portrait” The visiting relatives then revealed that these pictures had been sent to a young boy in the village every year, a future husband should I need one.

1. The icing on the sad cake! the Christmas before my 14th birthday, the scene was Christmas dinner with my dad’s side of the family. I spent most of the  night shyly ogling at an attractive looking guy in his early 20’s only to be told later in the evening that he was my long lost half brother who I hadn’t seen since he moved over east when I was 4. Shudder…that one still comes back to haunt me every now and then.



The kids are alright

July 7, 2010

This morning on my way to work I found myself in a situation that demonstrates just how agonizingly over analytical I can be about anything and everything. I was waiting at a set of traffic lights parked behind an old rusty bus full of primary school aged kids in beanies, writing with their fingers on the bus windows and blowing cold breath in each others faces. It appeared as though they were on their way to an excursion given the level of excitement and giggling going on. The kids on the back seat turned and started waving at me, at first I did that thing where you pretend you didn’t see anything and look in a different direction and busy yourself but the kids persisted, waving furiously at me from up above. Now based upon my observation of regular folk I  imagine most people in this situation would simply wave back, especially since the kids looked so happy and young (when I say young they weren’t even old enough to be infiltrated by the evils of Hannah Montananess and other such pre-pubescent sins). I sat in my car watching them wave and a million things ran through my brain from possible ulterior motives (were they laughing at me in my “mommy” like red Subaru Forrester, did they think I was an old uncool lady… if only they were parked behind me then they would see from the stickers on my rear window that I like Gomez and Magic Dirt and that “my cat goes to university” and I vote greens…and “my dog is smarter than your honour student” man I have a lot of stupid stickers on my car, I must talk to Andrew about this) I wonder if they really want me to wave or if it’s all an elaborate ploy to see if I’m stupid enough to actually wave at a bus load of small snotty strangers. Eventually I hoist my heavy hand and wave furiously at them with a sly smirk on my face. The back seat of the bus erupts in laughter, little hands are high fiving each other all over the place and I am left to wonder why I didn’t wave back 3 minutes ago.

How I envy that excitement, being on a foreign bus leaving the confines of the school yard for a day. The whole scene reminds me of my days at Saint Denis Roman Catholic Primary School how excited I would get on excursion day, rushing around in my school uniform which if I’m being honest looked like a cross between a sailor suit and a pedophile’s dream. The only problem with excursion day is that most of the time the adventures fell into two categories, the first being our bi-monthly trip to the Golden Egg Farm and the latter a trip to confession. If I live for 100 years I will never understand my primary schools fascination with taking us to the Golden Egg Farm, the place stunk of rotten eggs, the floor was sticky, the factory workers were unimpressed and the cooking demonstrations never changed. I guess we did get to leave with a book of egg recipes and a fluorescent hat with an egg on it. In hindsight these excursions seem silly, strange and I have to wonder who on the school faculty thought eggs were getting such a bad rep they felt the need to preach their greatness to the young masses (perhaps it was meant to be a subliminal early introduction to reproduction-the catholic way). At the time I thought these trips were the best thing since sliced eggs..I mean bread. My friends and I would cruise through the factory as if we owned the joint, pointing out which egg farm job we aspired to, mine was always the man who sat in a box watching streams of eggs go by under a strange light and picking out the ones. There was something about the sweet combination of sitting on my butt all day while under a continuous stream of mild pressure that appealed  to my mysterious combination of  laziness and type-A personality traits.

The other type of excursion would start with the promise of a walk through the neighbourhood, a very long line of kids walking two by two. Sometimes we would march, just for the fun of it. Our particular route was always filled with the smells of the local hungry jacks and KFC, we waved at the grown up people walking their dogs with the same level of excitement one might experience in a modern day encounter with a Paris Hilton type. These people were famous because they were older, had dogs and were allowed out during the day..that was enough for us. The innocent joy of these afternoon walks would soon be destroyed when one by one word spread down the line of paired identical children like dominos falling  that we were turning towards the local church. As we snaked away from the street with the fast food toward the street with out namesake church we knew we had been duped and all we could do about it was spend the next 15 minutes trying desperately to come up with at least five adequate sins to confess to Father Ross. Mine would usually consist of one truthful sin and the rest your stock standard responses, I felt as though I owed Father Ross that much simply because I always admired his long beard.

The moral of this story is to do as the Nike company marketing division suggests: Just do it..wave at the children, be inspired by eggs and confess your sins.