You guys at the Weekly seem to bash the catholics about their attitude towar sexualtiy [sic] at every opportunity. Anybosy [sic2] who has been to Rio duting [sic3] Carneval wil [sic4] tell you that it's possible to be catholic and "not" be hung up about sex. Get off their case!
Call the parish, because if this letter is the product of a Catholic school education, somebody deserves a tuition refund!
Four years at St. Thomas the Apostle grade school combined with 16 years attending Mass on at least a weekly basis have earned me the right to Catholic-bash. It's a repressive, hypocritical religion run by mean-spirited men who would be far less irritating if they were getting laid on a regular basis (and I'm talking about with consenting adults here—not the underage minions entrusted to their care). I don't believe in the religion—never did—but I still (sigh, gasp, weep) bear the psychic scars that this enforced exposure wrought upon my soul. What Ilisa Illiterate here missed was that I was not criticizing individual Catholics and their attitude toward sexuality (or "sexualtiy" if you prefer), but the fact that an adult reader not only believes it's wrong to have premarital sex just because some nun told him so, he also hasn't figured out the fact that it's a sin only makes it that much more fun.
My own personal savior, John Waters, said it best in his essay "Puff Piece (101 Things I Love)" from his brilliant collection Crackpot: "I quickly kneel by the side of my bed, thanking God I was raised Catholic since sex will be better because it will always be dirty." It's true. Nothing makes a girl feel more badass than stumbling home past primly dressed parishioners early Sunday morning, still wearing last night's sequined skirt (now on backwards), hair gnarled up in a bed-dread, mascara-rung smears for eyes, Robert Smith-style lipstick on the mouth and surrounding areas, all the while emitting the delicate (and enticing) aroma of semen, cigarettes, and stale beer. Their glares tell you that they know what you've been up to (and are fairly sure it was with someone you're not married to) and that they fully believe you are going straight to Hell. And you don't care, because if there is such a place it'll be so packed with all your friends, who'll have time to even notice the eternal flames of damnation licking at their kneecaps?
And the outfits! I don't know any woman who doesn't have a short, pleated plaid skirt and Peter Pan-collared blouse lurking somewhere in the deep recesses of her wardrobe. Catholic, schmatholic—the Catholic schoolgirl look is a universal man-catcher. One Halloween, me and several of my friends dressed up as a Catholic School Girl Gang. Us en masse, a potpourri of plaid and white cotton, got a reaction outta the boys that I'd not seen before and will probably never witness again. I don't think anyone went home alone that night (oh, right, except for me). A friend of mine, singer Reid Paley (new record called Revival out on EMusic now!), one of God's Chosen People, told me, "I'm all for Catholicism; it creates interesting women." He then reminded me that the girl who tried to run him over with a large automobile was one of my kind. Travis (born some form of Protestant), taking a more scientific approach, proclaimed, "Historically speaking, Catholic girls are great fucks. The more repressed the better." Yeah! Bless me Father for I have sinned and sinned and sinned some more!
An Apology: In my first column I referred to my ideal man as looking like "the bastard son of Steve Buscemi and Richard Belzer." A certain ex-boyfriend of mine read this description and was very upset at the thought that he might resemble such a man. David, sweetheart, sadly, you are far more traditionally good-looking than either of the love studs I mentioned. You have to remember, these two are my ideal. I haven't yet found the man who warrants such description. And when I find him, I'm gonna scoop him right up, tie him to my bed, and never let him go. Unfortunately, you look more like a younger, cuter John Cusack. Don't get me wrong, Cusack's a hottie. In fact, after I saw High Fidelity, I seriously considered hopping an Amtrak and making the five-hour trek to your home in an effort to convince you to gimme a dose of that sweet monkey lovin' I haven't had in so long. But the truth is, I need a man who's been a little uglified. And honey, you're just too pretty.
Reader Assignment: Have you ever walked in on your parents having sex? Please tell me about it. Write to firstname.lastname@example.org or Dategirl, c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western Ave Suite 300, Seattle, WA 98104.