I live my life, for the most part, for the love of me. After-all...I am a 'Blogger'. I don't go to church. I don't pray. I don't subscribe to any one religion. If 'creationism' is ever taught in schools as Science, I will sure as shit move my ass to France before you can say au revoir. I'm not a hater. I'm not in denial. I just like for things to make sense. Which is why I am most drawn to the philosophy of Buddhism and the freeing nature of its practice. It is a way of life that challenges the human spirit to realize itself from the inside out, without ego, as part of a much greater system. The best part? If you don't suceed - and you probably won't because its like impossible- there is no threat (verbal or otherwise) that you will spend eternity in a fiery pit called Hell reigned by a red devil with a pitchfork called Satan. Who likes to eat sinners for dessert. You may however, find yourself a Horny Toad reincarnated. Who knows? With that said if The Lord Jesus Christ himself ever comes to visit, I will be the first in line for communion.
But this past weekend. I did something...for The Love of Jesus. Actually, more like, for the love of my very first (and possibly last) Godchild. But its all the same, right? You, me, Jesus, we're all brethren! Only one of us is invisible!
My Godchild, Quinn, was having his baptism and I got word that part of the 'deal' was that I had to show up for the service (so much work!) - in Florida. Which meant that in order to get there, I had to drive through the SPAWN OF GUSTAV Friday night. Okay, so maybe I wasn't the one driving, but I was in the equally life-threatening position of 'passenger'. When you have Category 5 Panic Disorder, triggered by such things as the spawn of Category 5 Hurricanes, it equals = Stellataneous Combustion. Let me explain.
Gustav, which was actually chillin on the other side of the Gulf had had a FOOD BABY earlier that afternoon - and it somehow floated its way over to Lake City Florida right about the time Zack and I argued over the awesomeness of the 'heat' lighting. Because he knew it wasn't heat lighting. And all the sudden the hurricane hit our little space of I-75, rendering us completely unable to see through the highest speed of windshield wipeage, as Zack insisted on staying in the middle lane so we wouldn't wreck into the 50 semis doing 90 around us. And in that moment. The longest fucking stretch of interstate between two exits in all of the Continental U.S., I shat internally. In my brain, in my stomach, in my face, tiny implosions, toxins melting vital organs - all over the seat. I had forgotten my Xanex - the one and only thing in this world that could possibly save me from experiencing the anxiety of my impending death.
We finally pulled over (the tidal wave just carried us off the interstate) and I called god-baby mamma. I asked as politely and un-anxiously as possible for her to quickly find weather.com and give me a full report, so I could decide if I needed to start walking to Tampa. An hour later after 62 questions about what links to click the rain has stopped. She says 'ahhhhh...yes!....SHAWAN' (her extremely annoying pet-name for me - which is only extremely annoying in this moment that I'm not interested in things sweet and silly...and any and all attitudes that aren't validating my panic), 'there is a bit of red. Are you in LAKE CITY? Yes. Lake City is VERY BAD. And ohh....how funny...SHAWAN...its the ONLY bit of red in the entire state of Florida RIGHT NOW!'
And it took every bit of strength in me to not reach behind me in the back seat and pull out, row by row, the precious hand-knitted baby blanket for her baby I'd lost 4 fingertips to over the last 6 months.
Penis. Penis. Penis.
Are you still with me?
After my near-death experience, comes Jesus. How very apropos? When my dear friend, who makes me knit perfection for all the babies she keeps ACCIDENTALLY having, asked me to CO-god Parent with our other good friend (also a chick...yes, I can only imagine what the congregation was thinking about that one), I thought it meant we would just be responsible for the kids wellbeing and stuff should they and their entire immediate family (because who are we kidding) be entirely wiped off the face of Florida by a tornado. Or Gustavs Food Baby. But oh contraire.
Not only did I have to sign my name on a piece of church paper - I had to make all sorts of pLomises! Out loud! Confirming the use, renunciation, affirmation, and intent of words like...Kingdom, spirit, evil, sin, and prayer! HUH? I kept waiting for Zack to interrupt the whole thing by standing up all Princess Bride'-like yelling...'LIARRRRRRR! LIARRRRRRRRR!'- and then everyone would throw stones, and Zack would go off and email the Dalai Lama about my treason.
But all is well. My little god-baby may not learn about Baby Jesus and Crew from me - but he will know how to be nice to girls, he will know that I'll bail him out of jail ONCE, he will always have plenty of condoms, and he will know that GOOD BEER can never be bought for $2 dollars. Most of all, he will know that there will always be room in our family if his parents turn lame. For a small fee.
*Fine-print. If you managed to get through this post and all you can think of is how you might convince me to feel otherwise about paragraph #1, please let me just say the following. I am surrounded by family and friends of the Christian faith. I believe everyone is entitled to their own opinion about religion, and so please remember, it is just that. My opinion. And perhaps you need to have more sex....because 'penis penis penis' was the real moral of this story.
**Behold The Masterpiece II. Second only to The Masterpiece I:
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