Thursday, July 17, 2008

I am so. blogging. this.

Steph left today. She was camped out at my house for a week or so, and it was awesome. I am so glad to have Steph back in PA, that I didn't even mind accompanying her to the Colonial Chicken Barbecue at her parent's church this past Sunday. Church. That's how starved I am for adult human interaction. Also, I love her mom and dad, even if they have run away and joined a religious group. And I kind of like checking in with the Christly types now and then. You know, to compare notes. See where we're all at.

I checked Wendy into the provided childcare so that I could enjoy the service uninterrupted by demands for me to take out my boobs. (I know, why did I pass up that opportunity???) The registration process for some reason involved divulging my address and home phone number to a very sincere and endearingly wholesome looking guy with gorgeous hair and stunning eyes. I was attempting to subdue the tide of unwholesome thoughts rising up from unwholesome places, in effort to preserve this good man's virtue (proximal sullying was sure to take place), and I suddenly realized that I was giving these people my real address. The address where I live. The address where they could send literature and psalms on postcards and thinking-of-you notes.

I jerked out of the hypnotizing blue voodoo of his gaze just in time to give him the name of a town three towns over from mine. HA! I've foiled you! Now to just ramble off a few random numbers for a zip code, and I will escape your attempts to recruit me by mail-

"Wow! I used to live up there!" says Blue.

"Oh yeah? Small world, huh?....I, uh....forget the zip code. We just moved there, actually."

Luckily, he knew it. What a helpful dude.

And that is the story of how I lied in the house of God. Not when Steph's mom glanced sidelong over at me when she heard me singing to ask "Are you mocking?" and I said "No." That was not a lie. I like singing in church. It feels good. But that fraudulent address tucked away in Pastor Kenny's filing cabinet? That is probably already on my permanent record with Jesus.


  1. Hey, remember that time with the nun in the train depot? What is something I will have to tell my gandkids about.

  2. Nun?

    Were there boobs involved?