|WEEK IN CRAIG: DIOS MIO!|
Being the youngest child has its perks. You get the latest curfews. The least rules. The most freedom. Frankly, your parents are exhausted by the time they get to you. However, sometimes being the youngest you really just get shit on. When I was a little kid my parents got divorced. A few years later, my mother got the bright idea to send me, her youngest child, to Catechism classes in a belated attempt to make at least one of her kids Catholic. It was clearly too late for my teenaged heathen brother and sister. So, dutifully, I trekked off to church alone every week, accepting my shit-on fate, ready to be SAVED! Hallelujah.
The only problem was that I was a few years behind the other kids. So, I had to go to classes with kids my own age one night a week to prepare for Reconciliation, and I had to go to Communion classes another night a week with (oh, the humiliation!) second-graders. I was working double-time with the sacraments.
A few weeks into my regular fourth-grade class, they took us down to the church to meet the priest and take the "Eucharist." Unfortunately, nobody informed me that "Eucharist" meant "Communion." So, when the priest started handing out these shitty-looking little crackers and everyone was eating them, I had no idea that I wasn't supposed to take it yet since I hadn't yet made my First Communion. As soon as I popped the wafer in my mouth, my friends started elbowing me in the ribs. "Amy, you're not supposed to eat that!" "Don't chew it, don't chew it!" "That's Jesus!"
My friends quietly held a conference in the back of the church about what was to be done in regards to the Jesus that was quickly dissolving in their friend's unholy mouth. Should I just swallow it? Was it really Jesus, if I hadn't yet made first Communion? Would I go to hell? Should I spit it out, leave it in a font of holy water? Give it back to the priest? Finally, class was dismissed. As we waited in the church parking lot for my friend Jeff's mom to come pick us up it was decided that the best thing to do would be for me to spit it into my saintly nine-year old friend David's mouth. He had made his First Communion, and he could swallow it. The young group of budding theologians decided that the ten minutes that it had spent turning to Jesus Paste in my mouth would be forgiven.
Just as I was rearing back to spit the holy lord into my friend David's mouth, Jeff's mom, a devout Catholic woman from the Philippines pulled up. "Ay! ¡Dios mío! What are you doing?"
Caught red-handed, we shamefully explained to her about the Jesus dilemma turning to mush in my mouth.
"Swallow it!," she told me, crossing herself repeatedly. "Just swallow it!"
Anyway, so did ya hear the Pope died this week? Yeah, totally. This week we're delving into, you guessed it, the Catholic side of craigslist.
I caught your eye tonight at the Mass for John Paul II.
I was wearing a blue jacket and had the baby blue scarf.
Remember? Email me!
Oh, Craigslist, you guys never miss an opportunity, do you? Your persistence warms my heart.
These are some of the affects being raised at an early age as a Catholic have had on my adult life that I have overcome or am still working on. Being raised Catholic included being the daughter of a mother raised by mean nuns in a Catholic school, and my attending mass on Sunday's along with Sunday school, and my having a Virgin Mary Statue I used to pray to with candles when I was just 8 years old.
1. Rage - continual rage and especially at male authority figures.
Wow, I'm totally disturbed by farting, shitting, and the associated smell as well! Here I thought all this time that it was because, well, farts stink. Turns out it's because I was raised Catholic? Wow, thank you, you've totally given me Catholic catharsis.
Ps. Is that why I've been celibate for twenty years as well?
I met you on a Catholic dating website where I was just looking for a nice guy after my current boyfriend pulled a total dick move on me. I told you that I was a church going, devout Catholic. Sure, I went to Catholic school, but I haven't been to church since my mom made me go when I was home for Christmas mass. I told you that I was saving myself for marriage. Hell, I even told you that I didn't believe in giving blow jobs and would only do so for my husband. The more we talked online the more ridiculous my lies were becoming. I never anticipated that I would actually meet you in person or anything, you were like my procrastination method at work and my own private joke. I had fun with it. I told you that I hated to waste money and that I was very frugal. Little did you know, my current boyfriend, who I was sleeping with, was a corporate attorney who "makes more money than time" (his words not mine) and we had a very lavish lifestyle.
I took the joke to the next level when I agreed to meet you for dinner that night. I started seeing you on the side until I dumped the attorney for you. My Catholic parents have always wanted me to meet "a nice Catholic" boy since I wasn't able to when I went to my catholic college, so they went along with my lies about my church attendance because they really liked you. They also will vouch for the chaste life I have led because they do not want to believe any differently.
So now you see I'm in a huge quandary. I agreed to marry you. I totally love everything about you. It is too late for me to tell you the truth, so hit best of (you know that button in the top right hand corner) so that my fiancé can see this (since he reads the best ofs) and then determine where he wants to go with it.
I just don't have the heart to tell you, but hey, if you do decide to still marry me, our wedding night is going to be awesome because I'm horny as all hell!
You want your fiancé to find out that he was "your joke and now you're marrying him" by way of him reading it in The Best Of section of craigslist? Brilliant! I'm totally using that. "Honey, did you read the Best Ofs today? Did you see the one about the chick who's pregnant with another man's baby and who sold his watch at a pawn shop for heroin? Surprise! Wee!" Oh, what fun.
When I was a teenager I felt guilty 'cause it was taboo, and I was
I'm using my friend's vagina to relieve tension because I feel guilty about using my own hand. Jesus would be proud.
Ay! ¡Dios mío!