Yay! Lent is here! Only 39 more days until I go all Travis the Chimp on some Peeps. (Too soon?)For you heathens, yesterday was Ash Wednesday. It's exactly what it sounds like. A gay or drunk or gay drunk priest rubs ashes on your forehead. Poor little Catholic school children everywhere are told they have to give up something they love for forty days. (Schoprah gave up cabbage every year she attended Catholic school—suckaz.) They call it Lent. Then they wrap it up with Easter Sunday, but not before Good Friday, where some lucky eighth grade boy with a squeaky voice pretends he's Jesus and enacts the Stations of the Cross while you're made to be silent FOR THREE WHOLE HOURS and think about What Jesus Went Through just for you, you worthless sin factory.
In the words of Jack Donaghey, "Whether it's good or bad, or you're just sitting in the park eating a taco, there is always the crushing guilt." I try to explain this to my non-Catholic friends, including my Jewish pals whose ancestors invented guilt—they only seem to feel it when it come to their parents or perpetuating Judaism, not every waking, breathing moment of life—but unless you were forced to sit through endless masses for years on end with only Sad Jesus nailed to a cross to gaze at and be taught religion by an obese, Star Trek-loving, Geo-driving, blue-eyeshadow-wearing, middle-aged single woman, you won't get it. (Commentor and F.O.B. Schmarie knows who I'm talking about!)
Lent is really a gift for those of us raised in shame-based communities because it requires reflection: What can I give up that won't make my life worse, but that requires some kind of effort? Diet Coke? No. Chipotle? I'd make it a week. Longtime, in her infinitely non-parochial schooled wisdom, had the answer I was looking for: lose the crap. So I'm giving up bullshit. I'm not talking about being 15 minutes late for work because you couldn't stop watching Saved By The Bell reruns on TBS. Or ignoring the presentation your boss wants you to edit by tomorrow morning, blerg. (There's a recession, how dare you not do other people's work!) It's not actually about giving up anything, it's about paring down, which is shorthand for appreciating and celebrating what you do have. Or who you have. If it ain't nourishing or loving, I ain't buying. The weather's warming up and so am I. And speaking of, here's an old Easter ditty:
Child to his Mommy: "Why did Daddy say he had a Resurrection last night?" BAD DUM DUM!
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1 comments:
Remember how she kind of walked sideways too? I think the Dorothy Zbornak pearls weighed her down.
Regardless, that heffer taught us that you can't love someone else until you love yourself, and I'll be damned if I didn't spend years trying to figure that one out.
In honor of Ms. Baumgartner, I would like to take a moment to call out all you so called "catholics" who want to make sure the entire restaurant hears you when you say "nope, I can't have chicken tonight, I'm Catholic." As if you act Catholic while taking your birth control pills or engaging in pre-marital "relations." Lent is the one time of year being Catholic is trendy, and I refuse to join the bandwagon!
In summary, I will not sacrifice a damn thing the next 38 days, culminating on Easter, a religious holiday determined by the moon and Egyptian Calendar.
P.S. If you can't tell, Lent is my most favorite time of year to bitch!
Yours truly,
Schmarie
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