Jesus Freaks

I’ve had religion in my back pocket since birth. Born and raised catholic, it was burnt into my brain that if I did not attend church every Sunday, I would be doomed to the fires of damnation and would have to prance about with all the other evil spirits while everyone else “partied” in heaven. Jesus was a tactic my parents used to instill fear while they attempted to mold us into perfect human beings. “Kathleen, would Jesus cop an attitude while mopping the floor?” or “Kathleen, would Jesus have shaved his brothers eyebrows and given him a wedgie”? Nice try mother, but unfair argument, Jesus didn’t have any siblings. Booya. Point being, I’ve had to suffer through Sunday mass for 18 years. I’ve just recently noticed that the sole purpose people attend mass is because they think they “have” to in order to get to heaven, or be in good standing with the big guy. It just aggravates me that 99.9 percent of the people in mass are simply worshipping their blackberries as they check e-mails during the readings, or are playing tick tack toe on the church bulleting during the sign of peace. Why hasn’t anyone had the dignity, or the balls to raise their hand during mass and say “I’m really fucking bored?” I’m not dissing on religion and I’m certainly not making fun of the institution of church, all I’m saying is, no one is there for the right reasons. I won’t be hypocritical, my whole life I have robotically attended mass because I “have” to. In fact, I hate it. I just propose that we make mass a little more fun. Maybe someone could blow fire during the gospel? Or maybe the priest could magically produce a dove from his sleeve as he describes the resurrection? Or maybe each pew could have a talking Jesus doll and when you pushed Jesus’ hand he could say “And peace be with you” or “God damnit Judas, strike three and you’re out!”

Vending Machine Etiquette

Yesterday I conducted improper vending machine etiquette. I work in a building where the vending machines are "conveniently" located in the basement, which I must applaud, is a brilliant strategy for my office building. The entire building seems to be made of up the "big boned", smoker, over 30 crowd. Their not particularly friendly, spandex is a common wardrobe item and they all hate me. These vending machines (2 to be exact) are hidden in an eerie corridor right next to Tom "the engineers" office. Tom is not an engineer, hes a custodian, but he felt it fit to tack "engineer" on his office door. He's a liar. Bottom line, I rarely venture down there for 2 reasons. 1) Its pretty dark and Tom just hybernates down there patiently waiting for someone to appear so he can lurk out, introduce himself, then proceed to inquire about your entire life. And 2) I'm not a big lover of junk food. Yesterday, however, bored and craving chocolate I had the brilliant idea to get a reeses peanut butter cup, freeze it in the freezer and then eat it. This was a brilliant idea, so I thought. I get in the elevator, hit the B, button, which I must point out, is never located near floor 1. If you ask me, in an elevator the buttons should go in ascending or descending order. You don't just throw the B in there next to floor 3 or 4. Thats annoying. Its like the Free Space in Bingo. You know it doesn't belong and you have to fumble around it the entire game. So, down I go, into the office basement. The vending machines are glowing and welcoming, but what is this? Someone else is down there. What? It's not Tom, but rather, a rough looking woman who looks like she might be a cannibal. I'm completely caught off guard. I've never seen anyone down here before, besides Tom. We reach the basement vending machine at roughly the same time and we're stuck in that human pickle situation. Those aggravating situations where you put your foot forward first, then they do at the same time and you mumble "woa, sorry go ahead" then they talk over you saying "No, my fault, you go" and then you both proceed to stand their staring at eachother debating if you really should take their advice and go. Human pickle. It sucks. And there I stood, with cannibal woman. Well I blew it. I offended her. Upon reaching the vending machines I'm thinking "Go for it. Just go for it. Take the initiative, just avoid the human pickle situation all together." So I go. Worst mistake of my life to date because in response, cannibal gives me the disgusted sigh. Its not quite a hiss, its a little more weighted with a pinch of big bad bitch thrown in. I pull out my dollar bill, which is crinkled, stuff it in the vending machine, practically shaking because the thing behind me is pissed. The machine keeps spitting the bill back at me. "whoops!" THATS ALL I COULD SAY! "Whoops" i just kept repeating it. Finally it accepts the bill, I punched D4, grabbed my candy and collected my change. Fuck it, I am not waiting for the elevator. I opted for the stairs. For furture vending machine users, there is a proper etiquette. You should never take initiative and just go to the vending machine. In a situation where there are two individuals and you reach the vending machine at the same time, either engage in the human pickle, or politely announce that "your still deciding".

I wish my name was craig

I am willing to shamefully admit that I have become a craigslist junkie. In my early internet days I was never impressed with e-bay, google earth or you-tube. I had no interest in watching a cat play the piano, or an overweight woman falling off waterskis while her family guffaws as her one piece swim suit desperately tries to hold in the fat that is yearning to break out. You know what I'm talking about. It had no appeal to me. I was perfectly content with the many wonders of facebook, and cnn.com. I ocassionally read a blog or two, and then retired from the computer after merely 15 minutes of "surfing". But now, I have discovered craigslist and have become Jerry. You know, the kid who locks himself in the basement den. Jerry's only ten years old, but he has the skills of a 35 year old when it comes to a PC. He's familiar with all the websites and is an advocate for the internet. He wears shirts that read "I hear noises in my head" and "PC: Personal computer or paternal companion?" He spends many a night on his parents computer googling god knows what, only to prop open to the den door at 7am for nourishment a.k.a cheetos. He's completely isolated. He belives the matrix is real and he is a firm believer that cyber space is his closest companion. I'm not that extreme yet, but I have disovered my new best friend and amigo...craigslist. Created by an individual, who I am assuming, was named craig, it is a website that has become my guilty pleasure. It's ebay's kid brother. At first it started with innocent "shopping". Looking for furniture for my apartment, dvds and books. Then one day while working at my 9-5 office job (oh hey real world, hows it going?) I discovered the personals section. It was a wednesday I believe. Tired of seeing busted couches and shitty lamps, I wandered into this pandoras box, which was appropriately titled "personals". I began scanning the omaha personal ads on craigslist and was enetertained for an entire hour. I had found the buried treasure, I had won the lottery, I had basically stumbled upon Jesus' tomb. Titles for the personals read
"Jew Available"
"Yes, I smoke"
"Let me be the prop in your fantasy"
"Weak for Asian Princesses"
"Submissive female who wants to be treated like dirt, but not abused"
This is my new playground. I find the greatest humor in reading these ads. I scour them everyday laughing at the exspense of others. This personal site just screams in print "Loneliness"...and literally. So if you are ever bored, instead of engaging in a physical activity outside such as frisbee or golf, and rather than plopping down in front of the television set...log on to craigslist. I guarantee you will become a fan within the first 5 minutes.

In the Beginning.....

Blogs seem pretty 4th grade to me. It ranks right up there with sketchers and retainers. So why am I subjecting myself to the scrutiny of the ever cosmopolitan "blogger"? Well, I suppose the main reason is because I've been encouraged to "develop" my writing. This fall I will be be planting my feet in Chicago with the hopes of attaining a degree at Second City. Do they hand out degrees? No. Do they have robes or diplomas? No. Is it even a college or respectable University? Absolutely Not. However, they do have a gift shop and a bar. Which, when you really think about it, thats all that college consists of anyways. Second City is primarily composed of classes that focus on comedy and improvisational performance and writing. It is the almighty tool to success for comedy, or so I like to think. I use to blog. I remember kind of enjoying it? I keep a notebook with me and write down humorous everyday things that I happen to encounter, so I figured that I would "get with it" and do it "blog" style. So, I guess, expect more to come? Yes, expect it.