The first step in the excommunication process.

Some of you may not know this, but I am Catholic. I was born and raised Catholic, and I attended Catholic school K-12. While my current religious beliefs are based on the movie Dogma and David Bowie's "Starman," I do still consider myself Catholic for the following reasons: I am terrified of religious icons, feel Catholic guilt every day of my life, started drinking wine at age 8, have worked bingo concessions on Tuesday and Friday nights, and even though I haven't attended church in years, can recite the Nicene Creed at the drop of a hat. And part of being a Catholic school alumna is the ability to recite 70% of the Commandments without assistance.

This blog post is inevitably the first step in my excommunication process (hey, Pope Benny, if you're reading this, e-mail is the best way to contact me). While sitting at home (and by home, I mean the library), I realized that I have broken the mother of all commandments. Let me paint you a picture of how this confession would go if I actually attended confession:

Priest: "Go ahead, my child."
Me: (thinking: "Dude, I'm not related to you") (saying) "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been oh-Lord-you-don't-want-to-know-how-long since my last confession."
Priest: "That seems to be the average time between confessions for most Catholics aged 18-30. Go ahead."
Me: "Father, I have broken the first commandment. I have worshiped an idol."
Father: "What is this idol, my child?"
Me: (Bro, seriously. I know who my parents are, and you're not one of them). "I have worshiped the god Hewlett Packard."
Father: "The computer?"
Me: "Yeah...the computer."

For those of you who aren't Catholic, the First Commandment goes something like this: "I am the Lord your God who brought you out of slavery. Worship no gods but Me." If you learned the Commandments from a Charlton Heston movie, sorry if that's not how you remember it.

In the library this evening, my computer wouldn't start. In between the tears, wanting to throw it out the window, and screaming to myself, "NO! MY OUTLINES AND MEDIATION STATEMENT ARE ON THERE!," I realized that my computer has become an object of worship for me. I praise it when it turns on, plead with it when it makes funny noises, and curse it when it does something I don't want it to do. This is how the majority of the Catholics I have met treat God. Praise Him/Her when things are going good, beg Him/Her when things are uncertain, and take His/Her name in vain when you-know-what is hitting the fan.

As a law student, our laptops become part of us. They are extensions of our fingers, and without my laptop in front of me, life just seems bare. Every law student has heard the story of what other law students have done to protect their laptops. If you haven't heard, let me fill you in. A robber broke into a law student's apartment with a baseball bat. The student woke up, realized what was happening, and said something to the effect of, "Take what you want." (I mean come on, the guy's got a baseball bat, and your worst weapon is your Con Law book. It doesn't take Einstein to figure out who's going to win that one). The robber begins taking things, and then goes for the student's laptop. The student says, "Please don't take my laptop. My case outlines are on there." The robber, doing what robbers do best and stealing something you don't want them to steal (otherwise they wouldn't be called robbers, just crazy people who break in and look at your stuff), takes the laptop anyway. The student attacks the robber, gets the baseball bat from him, and proceeds to beat the robber with the weapon the robber brought to beat him (I love good irony).

While those of you who aren't law students may be thinking, "Wow, that's crazy!," those of us who are law students are saying "BINGO." That's exactly how it's going to go down if you try to take our laptops. The $5,000 student loan check on my desk? Yours. My grandmother's antique, one-of-a-kind ring? It'll look great on you. My laptop? I'm going Tonya Harding on your ass.

And that's why I'm most likely going to be excommunicated. Because if The Almighty comes down to earth and gives me a choice between my laptop and eternal life, my answer is inevitably going to be:

"Can I take a minute to think about this one?"