Cardiogirl: 19% body fat 100% fun

Sometimes God answers my prayers and when He does I’m jacked.

Now there are people who will say that He answers every prayer and when He ignores me has no discernible response that means His answer is, “No.”

That doesn’t work for me since I am a black and white thinker.

If what I’m asking for doesn’t happen I just assume I got a busy signal and I need to keep asking. So far my track record on I’m-sort-of-asking-for-a-miracle prayers is zero; no reply. That sucks.

But my track record on small, sarcastic prayers is roughly 40/60. Many mornings I ask God to please let there be a clean white shirt for each one of my kids. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. But recently a standard prayer of mine got the green light. When luck
is
with me,
I can catch
an episode
of “Dateline” with
Keith Morrison.

I have been praying that my cable provider would add Investigation Discovery to the basic cable line up. Perhaps a lesser woman would have given up after a year or two, but my tenacity has finally paid off.

About a month ago I was flicking through the stations and suddenly there it was — manna from Heaven.

I can now plug into true crime 24/7. My kids call them my freaky shows and since my freaky shows have returned I could not be happier. I really find human behavior fascinating. I have no idea why some people believe murder is their only option. I just don’t get it.

I also find it amazing that a person would murder someone and then go to Home Depot wearing a baseball cap to buy two extra-large canvas tarps with his own credit card.

Then, that same person has the balls to sit in the police station and deny that he was ever at the store.

The cop: “We’ve got you on a surveillance tape buying a tarp with your credit card.”

The dude who’s totally guilty: “That wasn’t me.”

The cop: “You expect me to believe that you never went to the store and that you never used your own credit card to purchase a canvas tarp to wrap up your ex-wife’s body? You also expect me to believe that you never went to the landfill that your father owns to dump her body?”

The dude who’s totally guilty: “That was not me. I’ve never been to Home Depot.”

That’s when the cop pauses and says, “How did you know it was Home Depot? I never mentioned the name of the store.”

Bus. Ted! Roll the credits on another satisfying episode and praise Jesus.

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts. Today’s query comes from the aptly-titled tome “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 217.

If you were guaranteed honest responses to any three questions who would you question and what would you ask?

A few years ago I would have wanted to know certain things as they related to me but I’ve finally spent enough time on my therapist’s couch to let that stuff go. Hey that either means I’m approaching self-actualization or I’m really jaded.

I’m cool with either one.

So who would I grill? I think I’d want a sit down with Marilyn Monroe.

That’s right. I’ve just refined the parameters so you can pick anyone you want, living or dead, but it’s just one person who answers three questions.

You cannot ask Elvis how he felt about dying while on the toilet then ask Justin Bieber when he is finally going to end his career in a maelstrom of drugs, alcohol and Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab. Just like Leif “I Was Made for Dancin’” Garrett.

Back to Ms. Monroe. Here are my questions:

1. Does John Kennedy have gnarly toenails or are they well groomed?

2. Didn’t you get tired of psychotherapy after going through five therapists?

3. Are you a cat person or a dog person?

So Christmas is breathing down my neck and instead of trying to figure out the perfect gift for my kids, I decided I’d share the worst gift I’ve ever received. Plus I’m participating in a Blog Carnival at Tribal Blogs. You can find some other Christmas present disaster stories over there.

Alright, once upon a time — maybe 12 years ago — I used to make quilts. I really enjoyed it and I made some pretty bitchin’ blankets if I do say so myself. But then I started having kids and that jacked up my sewing groove.

However, I still enjoy making quilts and I still need to make one for Emily. I’m five years behind schedule but it’s on my never-ending list of things to do.

Anyway, back then it was common knowledge that I enjoyed quilting so one of my sisters decided she had the perfect gift for me.

And that gift was a dead woman’s thimble.

Just the small metal thimble — nothing else. There were no needles and embroidery thread to go with it; no gift certificate to Jo-Ann Fabrics. Just a teeny, tiny metal thimble that fit on the top of a pencil.

It belonged to my great aunt who died a few years before I was born. My uncle lived for at least 30+ years as a widower and then he died and left behind a house full of stuff. That’s when my sister had a chance to rifle through all of it and take what she wanted before the rest was sent off to charity.

Enter the thimble that belonged to his long-dead wife.

Now there’s only one story circulating in the family about that woman and it goes like this: She was married once before she met my uncle and she was an alcoholic. The end. That’s the entire story; that’s exactly how it goes.

It was 1930-something when they got married so naturally being a drunk divorcée was frowned upon. That’s why my uncle was seen as an exceptional man since he chose to publicly declare his love for a rowdy hellion.

Here’s what I can add to her back story. Based on the size of the thimble she had extremely small fingers. The thimble is so small it does not fit on my meaty paws. Not even on my pinky.

So besides being a strange gift it is also a useless gift.

Hey, there are more sub-par gifts out there — see what Kathy from the Junk Drawer gave her husband one year.