Wednesday, February 06, 2008
I lent Jesus 40 days of desserts. I'm hoping He'll return them come Easter.
I can't believe you're still here. You still come to visit me after weeks and weeks of nothing? Christ, you're a good friend. And here all I have are vague excuses and veiled attempts at explanations for my lengthy blog absence. Excuse: Life, man. Sometimes it sucks you dry.
So I come back to you with ponderings of all things Catholic, but particularly Lenten. The season, which ashily began today had my little Catholic brain in knots the last few days thinking of how exactly I would appropriately commemorate these next 40 days of sheer Catholic guilt and repentance for my ever growing list of sins and grievances against the Almighty.
Last year was my first really 'good' and 'well played' lent. I gave up desserts, particularly cake -- without which I am hard pressed to find a reason for living. I permitted myself the indulge in the moist delight on Sundays (which, where I grew up, was kosher to do. The priest growing up said that Sunday is a day of celebration, always, even during lent. And to partake in what you have sacrificed all week on Sunday pleases God (phew) and also gives you just that much more fortification to make it one more week doing without. I couldn't agree more. Because I do love cake.) and on ultra special cake-days, like Valentine's day, and the occasional birthday-it would-rude-to-NOT-have-cake-at-this-party-party. In a cake filled nutshell, I cheated, but I swear I wore the Lenten game face longer than I ever had before. Additionally, my clothes fit better. Crap, I must really eat a lot of cake in Ordinary Time.
My Bestie has decided to give up on the sailor mouth this year. She figures it has a two pronged effect. One: she checks off the "gave that shiz up for lent" box and Two: she stops swearing inappropriately at her cush corporate job.
I could use a little of that myself (primarily when I found myself saying "This is going to fucking hurt like hell" to a cocaine addict who didn't understand my initial professional, cleaner and classier explanations of the procedure I was about to do. The Mister said, "Couldn't they fire you for that?!" I said, "No. Two reasons. One: He's a coke addict and we all know how we have to talk to coke addicts sometimes (clearly.. don't you?) and Two: National Nursing Shortage. Bam."), but ultimately figured that really, without my favorite four lettered words, this blog would be nearly nonexistent and I might die from my boring, flair less conversation skills. Truly, it is my tragic flaw (among others, to be sure.. let's not waste time listing them here.)
I decided that again, giving up desserts this year would be the sacrifice that God was looking for. And I think I really need to go Lenten balls to the Lenten walls this year and do it up (excluding Sundays of course. I am still human.) And while man cannot live on bread alone, he must have the Word of the Lord, he must also have cake. 'Tis true.
Additionally, I learned that my locale of employment is practically teeming with Catholics. I spent the morning thinking to myself, "I didn't know S/HE was Catholic!" We Catholics tend to lay low and not make a big fuss of the whole Catholic thing. Perhaps it is a throwback to those good old days when being Catholic had to be all secretive about their Catholic-ness when it was all underground -- literally. Granted, they were being slaughtered, but who didn't like being in a secret club. Secret clubs are cool. I mean, really. And how odd it is that as secretive and un-talky-about-our-Catholicness we are 364 days of the year, we spend one full day of the year wearing a large black smudge on our faces to out ourselves to everyone (and each other) about our beliefs (which might explain the slaughter part from many years ago... just a thought..). And on the level, it's really hard to be a smartass, a hardass or any other kind of ass when you're wearing a mark on your head that means you know you ought to be nicer to people -- and they know it, too. It kind of ruins my flow, man.
I met my fellow guilt ridden, meatless and fasting colleagues this morning at mass -- which is a strange religious bonus I have through my employer. My office building has a chapel complete with Catholic priest. What does YOURS have? Course, my office doesn't have a gym or any sweet watering holes nearby and it usually has a wafting odor of lingering poo and recycled air, but hey, we have a a chapel complete with Catholic priest. Now don't go bombarding my hospital's HR webpage looking for openings, ok?
And incidentally, 20 hours in and all I can think about is cake and my Bestie had lost nearly $1.50 in quarters today by about 11:30AM at a quarter a curse. Who knew the poor might ultimately benefit from the potty mouth of a good Catholic?
So I come back to you with ponderings of all things Catholic, but particularly Lenten. The season, which ashily began today had my little Catholic brain in knots the last few days thinking of how exactly I would appropriately commemorate these next 40 days of sheer Catholic guilt and repentance for my ever growing list of sins and grievances against the Almighty.
Last year was my first really 'good' and 'well played' lent. I gave up desserts, particularly cake -- without which I am hard pressed to find a reason for living. I permitted myself the indulge in the moist delight on Sundays (which, where I grew up, was kosher to do. The priest growing up said that Sunday is a day of celebration, always, even during lent. And to partake in what you have sacrificed all week on Sunday pleases God (phew) and also gives you just that much more fortification to make it one more week doing without. I couldn't agree more. Because I do love cake.) and on ultra special cake-days, like Valentine's day, and the occasional birthday-it would-rude-to-NOT-have-cake-at-this-party-party. In a cake filled nutshell, I cheated, but I swear I wore the Lenten game face longer than I ever had before. Additionally, my clothes fit better. Crap, I must really eat a lot of cake in Ordinary Time.
My Bestie has decided to give up on the sailor mouth this year. She figures it has a two pronged effect. One: she checks off the "gave that shiz up for lent" box and Two: she stops swearing inappropriately at her cush corporate job.
I could use a little of that myself (primarily when I found myself saying "This is going to fucking hurt like hell" to a cocaine addict who didn't understand my initial professional, cleaner and classier explanations of the procedure I was about to do. The Mister said, "Couldn't they fire you for that?!" I said, "No. Two reasons. One: He's a coke addict and we all know how we have to talk to coke addicts sometimes (clearly.. don't you?) and Two: National Nursing Shortage. Bam."), but ultimately figured that really, without my favorite four lettered words, this blog would be nearly nonexistent and I might die from my boring, flair less conversation skills. Truly, it is my tragic flaw (among others, to be sure.. let's not waste time listing them here.)
I decided that again, giving up desserts this year would be the sacrifice that God was looking for. And I think I really need to go Lenten balls to the Lenten walls this year and do it up (excluding Sundays of course. I am still human.) And while man cannot live on bread alone, he must have the Word of the Lord, he must also have cake. 'Tis true.
Additionally, I learned that my locale of employment is practically teeming with Catholics. I spent the morning thinking to myself, "I didn't know S/HE was Catholic!" We Catholics tend to lay low and not make a big fuss of the whole Catholic thing. Perhaps it is a throwback to those good old days when being Catholic had to be all secretive about their Catholic-ness when it was all underground -- literally. Granted, they were being slaughtered, but who didn't like being in a secret club. Secret clubs are cool. I mean, really. And how odd it is that as secretive and un-talky-about-our-Catholicness we are 364 days of the year, we spend one full day of the year wearing a large black smudge on our faces to out ourselves to everyone (and each other) about our beliefs (which might explain the slaughter part from many years ago... just a thought..). And on the level, it's really hard to be a smartass, a hardass or any other kind of ass when you're wearing a mark on your head that means you know you ought to be nicer to people -- and they know it, too. It kind of ruins my flow, man.
I met my fellow guilt ridden, meatless and fasting colleagues this morning at mass -- which is a strange religious bonus I have through my employer. My office building has a chapel complete with Catholic priest. What does YOURS have? Course, my office doesn't have a gym or any sweet watering holes nearby and it usually has a wafting odor of lingering poo and recycled air, but hey, we have a a chapel complete with Catholic priest. Now don't go bombarding my hospital's HR webpage looking for openings, ok?
And incidentally, 20 hours in and all I can think about is cake and my Bestie had lost nearly $1.50 in quarters today by about 11:30AM at a quarter a curse. Who knew the poor might ultimately benefit from the potty mouth of a good Catholic?
