Wednesday, December 04, 2002

(DISCLAIMER: Attention World Youth Day Participants and Fans: What follows is my rant. I am a creature of moods. Today I feel like saying these things. If you don't like it, don't read my blog anymore. I don't care. The events that transpired at the Papal Mass are written in the viewpoint of one person. The comments are opinions, perrogatives and dreams. Please don't send me any response, positive or negative, and please don't email me any viruses because I happen to piss you off with what I say. If you want someone to tell you all about the love and cuddliness of World Youth Day, then don't read my blog. This entry does not reflect the views of any other pilgrims, other Catholics, the Catholic Church, and most likely, The Blessed Mother, Mary. I am sure She would not use the word, "suck" because She is good like that. Thank you. Support Public Radio. Read on, if you dare! )

Last night I had a dream I was back at World Youth Day. I went to find members of a group called Reginum Christi (yes, I believe that is their real name, it was something Latin something having to do with Christ the King), which was, on the real World Youth Day composed of a bunch of little fuckers who made a human chain around an area of land and wouldn't let anyone else pass through, including us. David called them on it and was basically threatened with bodily harm. The group then erected a tent (which was not allowed per the World Youth Day paperwork, according to the Better Half) and a big sign, blocking the view of the pilgrims behind them. They later set up ropes and baracades, so walking to the potty, a struggle to begin with, was virtually impossible. No one separates me from my bathroom privilages.

In my dream, I caught up to the group's main cow who was impatient and rude with me. I grabbed her, bend her hand back and squeezed hard, all the time telling her what I thought of her and her group, how they abused their name and their Catholicism to screw others. How they treated others like dirt to advance themselves. How they restricted their brothers and sisters from sitting near them, then had the audacity and stupidity to preach inclusiveness. I then was ranting and calling her and her group thugs and goons, all the time still gripping her wrist, dragging her all around. It didn't seem to hurt her much; she hardly flinched, but I've been told certain demon spawns don't feel physical pain. She disappeared in her Reginum Christi restricted Nazi house and mooed with the other cows, then I saw the door open and a skinny bitch talked with four big Latino guys and pointed towards me. They took off in a line and came towards me. I spoke to them in Spanish, told them I didn't want any trouble or wasn't looking for retrobution, I was just speaking my mind. The guys were nicer than the cow, but they looked at my I.D., hoping they could get my name. I remember the last part of the dream being me with my hand stuck out and saying, "Me llamo Jenn." (translation for those who don't habla, is "My name is Jenn." They left me alone after that.

It's sort of unrelated, but I have a feeling that this dream stems from the thoughts that I was having yesterday. Mainly, I realized that bringing a tape recorder was my mistake. It was the first time I did; usually I bring a bound journal and write. I feel that if I'd done that, I'd be able to just whip it out and scribble thoughts that would be offputing if I was talking into a tape recorder where people could hear me, such as:
"Man, this group next to us are real assholes!" or
"So-and-so in our group is being such a bitch today!" or
"Today the Better Half is drving me crazy with his fast walking and his Neopolianic complex!" or
"Sitting here admist overzealous pilgrims, I am reminded of a fatal flaw of the Catholic people- get a big group of them together and stick a Pope in front of them and they become a big bunch of dickheads. David had us say the Rosary. He finds it comforting. I don't know what passive-aggresive Blessed Mother he talks to, probably not the same one I talk to because right now, my Blessed Mother is whispering in my ear, 'Jenn, these people suck, let's get out of here and find a bathroom!' because She's good like that." It would have been cathartic...I think I'd have less issues now. In fact I feel better already getting it out here, on this blog.

I also think it would have provided me a rare quiet spot in which I would become introspective and be able to ask personal questions to God about my faith, as yammering into a tape recorder seems so less meaningful and virtually impossible when you're surrounded by 800,000 others. Plus, when I didn't want to talk to someone, I could just pull it out and start scribbling. Also at World Youth Day, I didn't bring any knitting along, as every little space counts. But there were times when I really could have used it, like at the lectures or when the rest of the group stomped and clapped and made hand puppets during the hymns. From now on, it goes with me, anywhere.

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