Like most people raised Catholic, I’m totally conflicted about religion. I’m a baptized, confirmed Catholic (my confirmation name is Cecilia! Little known fact!) who attended Catholic schools exclusively until university. Also like most Catholics, I rebelled against my faith, in spades. I explored everything: Wicca, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Reform Judaism. (Not Islam, but no offense meant there. Back when I was coming of age, there wasn’t the Islam stigma that Americans have these days.)

But I have to laugh like hell at myself, because you can take the girl out of the Catholic Church, but you can’t take the Catholic Church out of the girl. When I need the comfort of faith, I’m more Catholic than the freaking Pope. But I can’t believe in Catholicism. I’m sorry. I really tried, and I tried to believe in Catholic Lite (a.k.a. the Church of England, or probably Episcopal to you). (Did you know that “Episcopal” is an anagram for “Pepsi-Cola”?) I tried so hard, I had my husband and two sons baptized by the Anglicans. I mean the C. of E. I mean the Episcopalians. Whatever.

You know what, though? In my heart of hearts, I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. It doesn’t feel true to me, and I have a strong faith in my instincts, if not in my Church. I can’t say I’m an atheist; I would like to believe in something. Honestly, I wish it was so. But I don’t believe. Not really. Except when times get tough. I really envy people like my friend Lisa from Wisconsin, who is a sincere Catholic. To me, it usually feels like an artificial construct.

Recently on Facebook I mentioned that I was wearing my Miraculous Medal (a Virgin Mary relic, for the uninitiated) because of the dire state of my mom’s health. I have also been known to do such things as light candles in California missions for various dying parents (it appears I’m on my second). I also believe in rainbows and shooting stars as good omens.

Humans are still completely superstitious. We like to paint ourselves as sophisticated and enlightened, but we’re still really just reading omens and augurs and believing in invisible men in the sky. I wish it wasn’t true. Now, more than ever, I wish I really believed all the Catholic rituals which, strangely, comfort me so. I just wish I knew what I really believe versus what was ingrained in my brain when I was too young to know the difference.

I don’t like people. You shouldn’t take this personally. I’ve always been a sort of lone wolf, and I’m choosy about the company I keep, mostly because if I don’t have anything to say to someone, I don’t say anything. I can’t make party conversation. My husband, by contrast, will talk to absolutely anyone, anywhere. It’s crazy!

In the long run, though, we both agree that we prefer the company of each other and our kids to the company of absolutely anyone else. Who else would get our in-jokes and affectionate if mildly vicious banter? We have a circle of friends, but by and large, we Crumpackers stick together.

This, in large part, is why I said I’d never join Facebook. Why on earth would I want to involve more people in my life, more conversation, more investment of energy in people who aren’t Ben or my kids? I resisted it like hell, until finally yesterday I caved in to the pressure of a group of my Facebooky online girlfriends and signed up.

It’s fascinating. I stuck in my high school information and graduation year, and voila — the first thing I saw was a guy who used to play trumpet in the Immaculata High School band while I played clarinet. I hadn’t thought of him in 30 years. And as soon as I started to identify my friends, the damned thing popped up with a list of my other friends who were also on Facebook. The fucking thing knows more about me than I know about myself. It’s definitely evil. It’s so evil, in fact, that the firewall at my office blocks it outright. Damn skippy.

But if you’re on there, I’ll be your friend. I’ll rail against you and everyone else with the fury of an addict, but it seems there is little I can do about it. Who knew Facebook was the new crack cocaine?

The kids today at the local pumpkin patch.

I have exactly bubkes, doodly point squat, jack point shit to write about. I mean, it’s 90 degrees outside when I want football weather, So Cal sucks, and my kids are slobs, and Boolie’s demanding to be taken to the potty every 3.2 minutes and be careful what you wish for, because I almost wish she was still in diapers. But y’all don’t want to hear about that. God knows I don’t.

But I have me some ferocious links, and some of them you may not have seen, and you should see them. So here goes:

Extremely cool National Weather Service online weather school

Australian showbiz gossip site, better than Perez Hilton because possibly less trashy

Map of recent California earthquakes

The NWS Storm Prediction Center in Norman, OK, home of awesome meteorologist and weather photographer Roger Edwards

Gluten Free Frugal, the website of my friend Tenille, who just had a baby girl, Mira, on October 4. Full of gluten free recipes that don’t involve $80 worth of groceries from Whole Foods!

The BBC News and the Toronto Star, which provide especially intriguing reporting on American issues; bear in mind that the UK and Canada are almost the only friends of the USA left standing

Awesome website which will insert your name, or one of your friends’, into a fake news story announcing the Internet phenom of grassroots Presidential nominee [fill in name of your choice], thanks to my Canadian friend Dana!

I know, I know, there’s a lot of weather stuff. But I’m just odd that way.