Why the second Catherine, you ask? Well....
I'm lying in bed right now. It is roughly 2AM, and I've just arrived home after a fun night of karaoke. Here are the thoughts bouncing 'round in my head, keeping me from sleep:
My full name is Molly Catherine Catherine LeCaptain.
When I was in high school and was confirmed (you know, the whole church-y thing), we had to choose a confirmation name that we felt suited us best. They gave us a list of names and their meanings. My friend chose an exotic name that had something to do with music, and I wanted to choose a name that had some personal meaning too. Instead, I waited until the last minute when we needed to have a name chosen so that the plans could all be arranged in time for the actual confirmation day. Flustered, I thought to myself, "Well, my middle name is Catherine, that's about as personal as you can get without choosing your first name, right?" And so, I told the woman running our confirmation class that I had chosen Catherine to be my confirmation name, and went along my merry way.
A short time later, my mom asked me what name I'd chosen. "Catherine," I told her matter-of-factly, without any trace of knowing that I'd screwed up.
She laughed.
"What?" Seriously, what? You gave me that name, why would you laugh at it?
"You do realize that when you're confirmed, the church tags your confirmation name onto your middle name, and that's how your recognized. In the church."
I don't know for how long we laughed when we said, "Molly Catherine Catherine LeCaptain" together in unison (oh redundancy. WHOA! That's DOUBLE redundancy! Because my new name is redundant, but also I said "together in unison"..........wow. I'm a nerd).
By then it was too late to change anything. The deed had been done, and the name tag stickers had been printed. I am officially dubbed Molly Catherine Catherine LeCaptain. Forever.
Segue....
As children, my sister and I had rabbits. Megan had her bunny named Brownie, who was brown and white with big floppy ears. We'd take him for walks around the backyard, which mostly consisted of us slapping a harness and leash around his body and standing there, staring at him while he ate grass. We also used to bring him into the house and roll a can of tomato paste around the kitchen to see if he'd chase after it. Those were simpler times...
One day in winter, Brownie must have fallen asleep near his water dish. Because one day, we went out to find him with one long, normal floppy bunny ear and one, half that size, as if it had been chopped in half. The other half of the ear was frozen in his water bowl, like a little bunny-ear popsicle.
Brownie must have had a thing for ice, because a few years later (that could be an exaggeration, I really don't remember how long he lived) it was my turn to feed the rabbits, and so I went out to the hutch. I saw Brownie sleeping soundly right underneath the opening where I could reach in and touch him. Being the evil child that I was, I decided I was going to wake him from his peaceful slumber by picking him up and holding him. But when I went to pick him up, his body did not give and was not floppy and limp like bunnies are supposed to be. He was frozen solid. He had fallen asleep and died, and by mid-afternoon, he had turned into a bunny popsicle. I think the best part of this story is really the part when Megan (my sister) came around to see the rabbits when she saw me standing there. When I told her that he was dead, she immediately, without even asking me if I was lying or not, turned around, started bawling, and ran around the house like 10 times (not an exaggeration). This is all much more entertaining if you picture it like a dramatic, child soap opera. But in real life it wasn't all that funny. Not to Megan, anyway........ (Oh SnAP)
Then there's my rabbit. First of all, I named him Babs. Yes, I named him Babs. After the Tiny Toons character. It wasn't until much after I'd named him that we realized he was a she. I thought of changing his name to Buster, but everyone was all like, "Nooooo he already is used to his name. He'd get confused." Psh. Like rabbits give a shit.
To digress, I got a bird a few years later, and named him Howie, after my favorite Backstreet Boy (don't judge), only to discover long after (years later) that Howie had laid an egg, and that he was a she. What is wrong with me? Next thing you know I'm going to get married only to discover that my husband is actually a woman who thought I was a lesbian. Either that, or I'll name my first born something feminine because all her dirty-bits look like those of a girl, until she's older and it turns out, I'm an idiot.
Anyway. So, going along the lines of terrible rabbit problems, Babs was a very hairy rabbit. He had shaggy gray fur and, eventually, the fur around his tush area became so matted and thick that you could no longer make out his tail. He had gross-nasty poopy residue all over himself because his butt was probably enclosed in there somewhere along with his tail.
So at some point, we start to notice that Babs isn't looking so hot. One day, I come home from school, and my mom tells me Babs died from pneumonia. At least that's what she told me. I don't know if it's true or not.
I asked for a proper burial. So my dad threw dead Babs in a black trash bag and dug a hole out in one of the dirt garden frames we have out there. My mom asked me to say a few words as we all stood around that piece of yard with dead bunny in it, but I was too shy to say anything really good, so I think I just said something like, "You were a good bunny." And now there is a rabbit skeleton buried in my backyard. Pleasant.
These are the things I think about, pre-sleep.
Goodnight, everyone.
Peace, love, and more love.
Molly
My full name is Molly Catherine Catherine LeCaptain.
When I was in high school and was confirmed (you know, the whole church-y thing), we had to choose a confirmation name that we felt suited us best. They gave us a list of names and their meanings. My friend chose an exotic name that had something to do with music, and I wanted to choose a name that had some personal meaning too. Instead, I waited until the last minute when we needed to have a name chosen so that the plans could all be arranged in time for the actual confirmation day. Flustered, I thought to myself, "Well, my middle name is Catherine, that's about as personal as you can get without choosing your first name, right?" And so, I told the woman running our confirmation class that I had chosen Catherine to be my confirmation name, and went along my merry way.
A short time later, my mom asked me what name I'd chosen. "Catherine," I told her matter-of-factly, without any trace of knowing that I'd screwed up.
She laughed.
"What?" Seriously, what? You gave me that name, why would you laugh at it?
"You do realize that when you're confirmed, the church tags your confirmation name onto your middle name, and that's how your recognized. In the church."
I don't know for how long we laughed when we said, "Molly Catherine Catherine LeCaptain" together in unison (oh redundancy. WHOA! That's DOUBLE redundancy! Because my new name is redundant, but also I said "together in unison"..........wow. I'm a nerd).
By then it was too late to change anything. The deed had been done, and the name tag stickers had been printed. I am officially dubbed Molly Catherine Catherine LeCaptain. Forever.
Segue....
As children, my sister and I had rabbits. Megan had her bunny named Brownie, who was brown and white with big floppy ears. We'd take him for walks around the backyard, which mostly consisted of us slapping a harness and leash around his body and standing there, staring at him while he ate grass. We also used to bring him into the house and roll a can of tomato paste around the kitchen to see if he'd chase after it. Those were simpler times...
One day in winter, Brownie must have fallen asleep near his water dish. Because one day, we went out to find him with one long, normal floppy bunny ear and one, half that size, as if it had been chopped in half. The other half of the ear was frozen in his water bowl, like a little bunny-ear popsicle.
Brownie must have had a thing for ice, because a few years later (that could be an exaggeration, I really don't remember how long he lived) it was my turn to feed the rabbits, and so I went out to the hutch. I saw Brownie sleeping soundly right underneath the opening where I could reach in and touch him. Being the evil child that I was, I decided I was going to wake him from his peaceful slumber by picking him up and holding him. But when I went to pick him up, his body did not give and was not floppy and limp like bunnies are supposed to be. He was frozen solid. He had fallen asleep and died, and by mid-afternoon, he had turned into a bunny popsicle. I think the best part of this story is really the part when Megan (my sister) came around to see the rabbits when she saw me standing there. When I told her that he was dead, she immediately, without even asking me if I was lying or not, turned around, started bawling, and ran around the house like 10 times (not an exaggeration). This is all much more entertaining if you picture it like a dramatic, child soap opera. But in real life it wasn't all that funny. Not to Megan, anyway........ (Oh SnAP)
Then there's my rabbit. First of all, I named him Babs. Yes, I named him Babs. After the Tiny Toons character. It wasn't until much after I'd named him that we realized he was a she. I thought of changing his name to Buster, but everyone was all like, "Nooooo he already is used to his name. He'd get confused." Psh. Like rabbits give a shit.
To digress, I got a bird a few years later, and named him Howie, after my favorite Backstreet Boy (don't judge), only to discover long after (years later) that Howie had laid an egg, and that he was a she. What is wrong with me? Next thing you know I'm going to get married only to discover that my husband is actually a woman who thought I was a lesbian. Either that, or I'll name my first born something feminine because all her dirty-bits look like those of a girl, until she's older and it turns out, I'm an idiot.
Anyway. So, going along the lines of terrible rabbit problems, Babs was a very hairy rabbit. He had shaggy gray fur and, eventually, the fur around his tush area became so matted and thick that you could no longer make out his tail. He had gross-nasty poopy residue all over himself because his butt was probably enclosed in there somewhere along with his tail.
So at some point, we start to notice that Babs isn't looking so hot. One day, I come home from school, and my mom tells me Babs died from pneumonia. At least that's what she told me. I don't know if it's true or not.
I asked for a proper burial. So my dad threw dead Babs in a black trash bag and dug a hole out in one of the dirt garden frames we have out there. My mom asked me to say a few words as we all stood around that piece of yard with dead bunny in it, but I was too shy to say anything really good, so I think I just said something like, "You were a good bunny." And now there is a rabbit skeleton buried in my backyard. Pleasant.
These are the things I think about, pre-sleep.
Goodnight, everyone.
Peace, love, and more love.
Molly
If it makes you feel any better, my brother's name is Matthew Thomas Matthew Walschinski. yep...redundant only in a slightly different way. But he wasn't put on the spot, he was just lazy.
ReplyDelete