Friday the 14th

(REMEMBER THE RULES OF ENGAGEMENT, KIDDOS: IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THE BLASPHEMY, COME NO FURTHER...FOR THERE ARE MEAN, NASTY THINGS WHICH ARE SHARP AND THEY WILL HARM YOU BUT GOOD!)

Good, good, good, "Good Vibrations".

Today is "Good Friday", a day when Christians observe the "passion", or suffering, of Jesus on the Cross at Calvary. (An aside: It absolutely drives me batty whenever I hear someone ask for the "Calvary to come in', 'cuz I don't think that's really what they want. But I digress...) And while we all know I have my own special problems with religion, I do have to take exception with the nomenclature of "good" and "passion". Yes, I know they're going for pious here, but I prefer the less traditional "Black Friday" whenever one is referring to crucifixion, though I often get that handle confused with that 1970s Super Bowl terrorism movie.

For me, the passion part is much more personal. And even though some of the collateral damage of turning 50 a few weeks back seems to be a thinning of my filter, I still cannot bring myself to divulge this little tidbit. Maybe when I'm 60 you can remind me to spill it. Until then, I'll give you another funny to enjoy.

I started with a quote from the prophets, The Beach Boys. While I am not technically a fan, I do feel their pain at being so eclipsed by those other B-prophets, The Beatles. Stream-of-conciousness theory demands that I now co-opt and include the jaundiced parody version of one of their hits as it applies to today:

"Well he was just, 33...When they nailed him to the tree..."


Whether or not you "believe", you might have an interesting 33 story of your own. By nurture or nature, I certainly managed to manifest a doozy for myself. You see at my own...personal...Je-(ahem: sorry, took to singing in my head again). Part of my own personal 33rd year was spent in a hospital room, having suffered a stomach ulcer. Once I realized that my Dad had been visited by the same infirmity in his 33rd year--the man was terribly over-worked--I decided something had to change. I was a worry wort who often suffered the mantle of "paranoid" leveled at me by "friends". I brought work home in my head. I was sure that difficult customers were sent on the day before my days off just to ruin my down time. I travelled to work at least once in the middle of the night to jiggle the door handle and check the lock. (Okay, I guess "paranoid" was fair.)

So I had a religious experience: An epiphany. One day while I was out for a walk with Husband, I decided my life needed to get up off its ass, whip out its jugs, and do a midnight dance in the rain. (For the record, WAY better use of the night-time than busting into a decrepit old mall to feel up the glass.) Within months I had left the working, sold my house, and finalized my plans to go West, young woman. And the rest is history; a pretty damned sweet one, too.

If I could give you a Spring Message it would be this: Next time you see one of those fucking "Bloom Where You're Planted" signs, tell it to push up bulbs and shove itself where the sun don't shine. I mean it. Right there in the half-metaphysical/half-religious store with lots of oversized purple shifts, singing bowls, and rocks covered in inspirational "epithets", you just tell that sign what the be-Jesus you think of it, telling you what you should be doing and making you feel all inadequate like you don't know yourself, like you don't have what it takes, like you took the easy path. Cause it's looking at you all splinter-eyed and mocking. You tell that sorry-assed...Uhm, let's see. Ah, huh-huh, you get the point. (Just REALLY glad I beat that paranoid rap!)

This Spring you have my permission to bloom in whatever way and wherever you choose. Circumstances, if favorable, need not be adjusted. However...never close a door. (Unless Jesus opens a window. And if it's raining, just look at him askant and say, "Dude?!")

Finally, there's one more seasonal character with which we must dispatch: The Easter Bunny. This is truly an evil minion sent by repo-men to collect god-knows-what from your soul. (Just check out his clips on YouTube--"Evil Easter Bunny"--and you'll know what he's capable of. The common defense-mechanism reaction to this chicanery is raucous, panty-wetting laughter. He's insidious! (I prefer the Springy Chicken character from the old "Rollie Pollie Ollie" cartoon.) No doubt this heinous creature is an "off-Spring" of the "harmless little bunny" of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" fame. LOOK AT THE BONES! He'll do you a turn, mate! (Now you'll wet your armor.)

So use today to observe passion and goodness in the methods of your choosing. Plant a flower, blow a kiss, say a prayer if that's your wont. But don't go 'round bleeding internally from worry, nor should you needlessly shove plate glass. As the "Saturday Night Live" prophet, Chico Escuela taught us long ago, "glass breaks". (He added that rubber breaks too, but don't talk to Republicans about that one.)

Know something else that breaks? The Constitution. So if you happen to live in one of the 14 US states where Good Friday is an official holiday, be careful not to get any falling Constitution on you. I wonder if they make one of those handy-dandy separators for church and state like they do with yolk and whites. (Did I just invoke food segregation or chicken fetal assault? I hope not!)

I know how I can make Amendments! The tank's low; I'll just visit one of those 14 gas stations of the cross to pay homage to the fossil fuel industry AND those 14 states.

...and I'll be sure to pencil in #14 and #33 on my lottery sheet while I'm there! For GOOD luck.