Archive - February 2006
Our Lady of Lost Hope
Thirteen years, kids. Thirteen years.
That’s how long I was sentenced to Catholic schooldom. Kindergarten through high school graduation.
My parents tried to feed us a line about a better education, but I ain’t swallowing. My theory is that they were just too damn lazy to go to the trouble of scaring the hell out of us on their own, and opted to pay people with a natural proclivity, and years of efficient convent training, to do it. It worked. To this day I can’t even go near the penguin house at the zoo.
Roman Catholic “tough love” centers solely around the threat of eternal damnation, of being cast into Hell where a thousand demons will feast upon your bones, pausing between bites only long enough to dip your flesh in Ranch dressing. It was all or nothing with them.
For the most part, the rules were pretty straight forward, and only a small list of sins (murder, et al) would send you right to Hell. I could handle that (although “lust” got sketchy in high school as I was never able to ascertain if the sin involved acting on lust (not that the chance presented itself often) or just having lustful thoughts). All was fine until third grade and the looming specter of First Communion (insert scary, dripping font here, oh and say it like Vincent Price in the Pit and the Pendulum).
Communion, in case you don’t know, is the act of eating a piece of shit-flavored unleavened bread which represents the body Christ. It was, apparently, a big deal. And new rules cropped up about going to Hell. Namely that if you had any sins, at all, that you had not confessed, and you partook of communion, you would go to Hell.
Now, Catholics take great pride in their list of sins. The latest estimate puts the number of punishable sins at just shy of 37 million. It’s one thing when you have to worry about seven in order to stay out of Hell, but now, if I committed any one of those sins and took communion, I was doomed.
And to top it all off, the priest would not hear confession while he was handing you the wafer-thin slice of Christ. This meant I would have to go hours, if not days without sinning. Please, I couldn’t go twelve minutes without hitting my sister. Or at least, wanting to hit her, which was also a sin (I checked). It just couldn’t be done. So I was going to Hell. And finding out at age 9 that you are going to burn in Hell really lends itself well to the development of a “Well, then just fuck it” attitude.
This should answer some questions regarding the nose thumbing attitude I had in high school. As a normal teenager I would have had the desire to “stick it to the man.” But add in the knowledge that I was already going to Hell, and what are you going to say to me? Permanent record? Ha. I’m going to be sodomized by Beelzebub for all eternity. You think I care about a check mark next to: “Shirt un-tucked?”
My anger has pretty well subsided now, like most passion tends to. People that know me now might be tempted to say I’m atheist, but that’s not right. Some might call me agnostic, and that’s closer. But if you ask me, I’d just tell you that I am a Recovering Catholic.
“Hi, my name is Buddy.”
(Applause. A woman in the back weeps gently. Doughnuts and coffee are served after the meeting. My sponsor, Jim, hugs me, though he holds on a bit too long.)
Still destined for Hell, but not so worried about it anymore.
Hi there llama-friend,
Another month has come to pass and I once again decided to bore you with incoherent ramblings. First I’d like to point out that, financially low yielding as it may be, the 16 year old girl aspect of the guidance counsellor work is not too shabby. I’m guessing there’s no chance any individuals of said profession have in fact buried the rainbowrope in the high school sophomore pies, but the delusion of such grand practices can make the job seem worthwhile.
Additionally it facilitates the quest for cheap reefer. I mean, let’s face it: in high school you’re either high or working towards a Pulitzer. In your case I imagine a combination of the two.
High school girls have a certain quality that sadly seems to fade after prom, the temporary breastual defiance of gravity. In case you’re wondering, I’m planning to obtain a patent for the use of former phrase. Once a woman hits 17 her mind starts doing nasty things to her. She begins to think about children, wants respect and understanding, and searches a purpose of life beyond finding the perfect hairstyle for Friday night.
Needless to say, many men don’t want to appease this development of the female psyche and date sophomores until rent-a-cops know all of their disguises and put posters with their face on it all over town. Nasty business that is. Sucks having to move to get action.
Ok, I completely lost track of what the hell I was trying to achieve (other than getting my IP on numerous FBI watch lists) with this last section.
I’ll keep it short this time, so as not to monopolize your precious time better spent surfing porn. (I can type one handed by the way)
And I actually have some advice to ask of you.
I’m contemplating seeing a certain lady-friend of mine. The problem is just that lately she’s been whining a lot because her boyfriend of nearly ten years just disposed of her. Do you think waiting a week and then trying to sneak in the rebound swooshbang lovemaking, or is a week and a half better?
Hopeless in Swooshbang
That's a lot you've got going on in your letter. To each paragraph above your actually question, I'll just say this:
1. You're probably right.
2. You can't prove that.
5. I think you did.
I wouldn't recommend waiting more than a week before initiating rebound sex. In fact, the "concerned friend/are you okay/he's a dick" talk should start up within a day of the breakup. That'll help set the stage.
But make your move after no more than seven days. You don't want to risk waiting too long and letting her self-esteem begin to creep upward, that'll make it twice as hard.
Since you seem to know her, you may have a better grasp on her self-esteem and its ability to recover, but as a general rule, I'd say four to seven days is optimal.
Hope that helps,
Dear Confuzzled Isn't a Word,
It depends on what you're doing. Here are some scenarios and whether or not being told you're hilarious is good or bad.
Telling a joke - Good.
Telling a joke to the biker whose girlfriend you were just on - Bad.
Doing a stand-up routine - Good.
Giving a presentation to the CEO - Bad.
First date, just after you tell her your "First Day of High School" story - Good.
Six months of dating, after asking for a hand job - Bad.
Prison yard, after dropping a weight on the big toe of "Tiny" - Bad.
Prison shower, on if you can help initiate the new guy - Bad, because it means your next. Finish up quick.
After being caught with your underage girlfriend by her father and saying, "Be done in just a sec" - Bad. But anything you say right now is going to be bad.
It's usually good. At least that's what I make myself believe. Like I also choose to believe women who say "Size doesn't matter." It just makes life a little easier
Hope that helps,
© 2006 GrumpyLlama.com
All Rights Reserved.