I put on my best cleavage-inducing bra this morning for no damn reason. It’s Fat Tuesday and now my children don’t want to go to the parades this morning.

I don’t understand? Why the hell don’t my kids want to have more fun?

No, truth be told, I’m just about paraded out myself.  After 40 lbs of beads, five dozen moon pies and enough stuffed animals to give FAO Schwartz a run for their money, I think it’s ok if we call it quits until next year.

But then again, there’s a part of me (called awesome underwire) that wants to go and get even more beads, moon pies, and stuffed animals.  I would be un-American if I didn’t have this internal compulsion to over-consume.  And as a newly pronounced fake Catholic, Fat Tuesday is my last day to over-consume.

Starting tomorrow, after the ceremonial markings of kitty litter on my forehead, I have to be pious.  I’m not even sure what it means to be pious (it sounds like a skin disorder), so I have my work cut out for me.

I’ve often thought this Lent thing was one of the top craziest religious ideas.  But, of course, it comes in after the no pork thing (What the hell? Have you ever had bbq baby back ribs?) and those subservient ideas (clearly written by insecure men with little penises).

Ok, so there are tons and tons of other screwed up religious ideas (stoning!) that come way before Lent in terms of craziness, but I’m not going to pick the Bible apart.  There are other ways to have fun in life.

(And that would be reason #15 that I’m in contention for the name of Southern Anti-Christ. Something more fun than over-analyzing the Bible? I have got to be out of my fucking mind and sleeping with the devil!)

Growing up, I had a Catholic friend.  There was only one Catholic church in my small hometown, so those friends were few and far between (but Baptist friends were a dime a dozen).  When my friend had to give up something for Lent, my teenage mind thought she was crazy.

Give up something like chocolate?  For forty days?  You’re kidding, right?  Isn’t it enough of a sacrifice that I’ve never been to a wedding where dancing and booze were allowed?!  All this Baptist town does is repent year round! Dear God, why is it wrong I just want to live a little through chocolate? What else do I have in this fart of a town?!

Then I found out that Catholics are allowed to drink and dance (even at weddings!), and it blew my mind such things were allowed.  I also learned Catholics can pretty much do whatever as long as they go to confessional and repeat some prayer X number of times and TADA! They’re all straight with Jesus.

In comparison, the whole Lent sacrifice thing didn’t seem quite so crazy after all, and was actually quite understandable when you think of all the fun Catholics can have year round when compared to a Baptist.

For a while (like 30 seconds), I considered becoming Catholic as a teenager.

I can have pre-marital sex without going to hell if I just confess to it and say some prayer over and over!

But still. I couldn’t get over my intuitive feeling that there’s something not quite right about this organized religion stuff.

Until now.  Mardi Gras kicked my ass this year.

I’m absolutely sure this had nothing to do with me getting older, but is all about Wally’s office being on the parade route this year. This new venue means I could actually relax instead of being VIGILANT PARADE MOMMY, always on her toes, watching her kids every move lest they get sucked up and lost in the huge Mardi Gras crowds.

And so it’s been four days of things like corn dogs, martinis, homemade chicken salad sandwiches, martinis, cookies, chicken fingers, martinis, brownies, martinis, chips, spinach dip, martinis, and, um, another martini.  And within those four days, three involved a visit from my family.

My god, I need to detox in more ways than one.

Right now I don’t give a damn if I don’t see another piece of junk food for the rest of this year, much less the next forty days.  At the risk of causing my blog to implode, I’ll even say I’m sick of Mango Martinis.

Wait! Better repent before God strikes down your martini-themed blog, Heather! Hail Mary, full of….umm.  I better learn that prayer. Or make up my own.

After all the Mardi Gras revelry, I’m beginning to realize the Catholics have pulled the virgin wool over our eyes.

Lent isn’t really about sacrifice.  It’s more of a recovery period.

For me, it’s going to be all broccoli and water for the next forty days and I’M GOING TO LIKE IT!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 24th, 2009 at 8:01 am and is filed under Materialistic Me, Royal Holiday. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.