On Corpus Christi Cycles

I’m (currently) in class where we are discussing Corpus Christi plays.
One play in particular, The York Play of the Crucifixion, has a scene where the people are comically nailing and ripping a person as they try to get his body to fit on the cross. This is a scene where the audience would laugh, that is until the cross rises and you figure out it is Jesus you’re laughing at.

My instructor, after having us read the part aloud, asks us how we would react to such a ploy; one that makes you laugh at Christ.

Personally I thought it was a silly question; any God of mine would be perfectly fine with me enjoying a joke at his expense.

Turns out, such a ploy would have the girl in front of me bruising her knees in excessive penance.
Ridiculous.

I swiftly stopped listening to the class discussion and turned back to Facebook where a strangely fitting status came up in my newsfeed.

“One of the best things about Spain is that their church services are on Sunday evenings. So you can stay out until 4am, sleep until 2pm, recover from the night before, and then go atone for what you’ve done.”


This reminded me why I have an issue with religion.
Why live a good life when you’ll be forgiven anyways?
It’s bad parenting.
This is probably why the world is all fucked up.
People do whatever they want and there is no retribution, no karma! Just sinning followed by repenting followed by promised forgiveness and then it’s right back onto sinning!

Shit, I should be Catholic.

“Yes Officer! I am, in fact, drinking and driving, but it’s cool because I’m really sorry and I’ve been forgiven.”

Karma makes sense to me.
You reap what you sew.
There is no second chance. What you put out, you get back.
Where as Christians put out all this shit and apparently a half assed, “I’m sorry!” to the heavens cleans their soul.
I’m just saying that I call bullshit.

Stay Real My Friends

This past weekend I was sitting at this tiny diner in Cranston called, “Harriet’s” for breakfast.

This is significant for a few reasons. The first being that I don’t go to Cranston often, but every time I do I realize how under appreciated it is. 
The second is, I rarely pay for breakfast at a place that doesn’t offer gluten free options and lox on their standard menu.  
I live on the boarder of Providence’s notoriously bougie East Side.  It’s the proud home of Brown University, RISD Festival Ballet Company, vegan coffee shops and ultra modern high schools like The Wheeler School. 
People here are nice enough, but the word pretentious can come to mind often when you converse with them.  
Pretension and people aside, as a closeted foodie, the East Side also boasts some amazing eats including two of my favorite breakfast spots. 
So why, you ask, did I end up on Atwood Avenue in Cranston, eating canned peaches and greasy potatoes instead of indulging in my beloved lox omelet and gluten free toast accompanied by a cup of fare trade coffee from the local coffee house?
I asked my breakfast date the same thing.
“This place is unpretentious.” she said “It’s Sunday morning, I just can’t be around Providence people. They’re so wrapped up in themselves.”
Her comment stayed with me as we finished our breakfast. I had recently been devouring articles about why my generation is so disenchanted with life; some studious, some not so much IE comics from The Oatmeal , in an attempt to figure out why my life is currently a cesspool of unhappy.
One prevailing issue that psychologist have apparently pinpointed as a plague to my generation’s psyche is social media. They condemn it, not as a waste of time, but as a self esteem killer. A phrase I kept seeing was “Life Cultivating”. 
In layman’s terms that phrase defines the act of people rubbing their shit in your face through the interwebs: new babies, graduation, always looking perfect, weddings, happy relationships, great friends, awesome parties…..etc. and they leave out all the bad things, giving the impression that their life is flawless. 
It’s sad, but true, that when I see all the amazing things on someones Facebook, it makes me feel like shit that I’m not out there curing cancer while simultaneously touring Europe. Instead I’m procrastinating on an English paper so I can graduate college in five years instead of six. 
This is an incredibly stupid thing to fret over, because what I briefly forget in my moments of social media induced self loathing, is that everyone has shit. 
If my life is on blast across the world wide web (and whose isn’t?) I don’t want to disillusion you. 
I do not look pretty even half the time, I don’t party all the time (anymore), I spend a lot of my time as of recent with my face in school books, I fight with my friends, my relationship has MAJOR issues and I do not look that thin in real life. This doesn’t mean my life is bad, it just means it’s not perfect. My life is partially pure shit, just likes yours and just like almost everyone else’s.
Remember the next time you see that perfect “selfie” that it took her 45 minutes of her life, and a photo editing app she paid five dollars for, to achieve that picture. When you see one of your friends finally graduated, just think about all the student loans they have to start paying back because it took them six years to do their undergraduate. When your friends send out their birth announcement remember all the reasons you don’t have kids, like the fact that they’re sticky.  All the time.  
I just want to officially set the record straight, for anyone who may have gotten the wrong impression from my social media, that my life sucks just as much as yours.  If you ever doubt that, just read through this blog. 
Stay real my friends. 

Contents of My Purse.

There’s an old cliche about the psychological assumptions that can be made about a woman after examining the contents of her purse. 

I once dated a guy for years and true to the end of our relationship, he flat out refused to go through my purse, no matter the situation. He would go through my emails, my Facebook, and my phone, but ironically never my purse. 
So without further ado here are, listed in the order I discovered them, the filthy contents of my purse. 
One wallet. 
One smaller purse. (Yes, I carry a small purse inside a big purse in addition to a wallet)
A champagne cork from the Fourth of July. 
Super glue. 
Margarine. 
Fifty dollars in scattered one dollar bills. 
A checkbook. 
A&D ointment. 
Advil. 
Ibuprofen. 
Three kinds of eye shadow. 
Mascara. 
Sharpie. (A fine tipped one!)
Lipstick. 
A toothbrush. 
Tea bag tags with fortunes on them. 
Cigarette butts. (No cigarettes though)
A camera battery. 
A black trash bag. 
Three parking tickets. 
Food wrappers. 
Paycheck stubs. 
Dirty underwear. 
A tape deck adapter. 
Keys. 
Pens. 
A paper iPhone. 
Parts of a gluten free cookie. 
I think that’s most everything. I wonder wear my eye liner went….. 

Yeah that’s margarine. 
And that’s a champagne cork. 
Tea fortunes.