Thursday, January 28, 2010

Jesus loves you, but I will call 911 on your crazy ass...

I've met some of the craziest people parading in the name of Jesus.

I can say that free of guilt because it's my blog and nobody's reading it anyway. Plus I don't care, so there's that.

My first encounter with a Geezus demon was at bible camp circa 1992.

"Why the f*ck were you at bible camp, Costa?" you may wanna be asking.
Well, they had the best coffee in all of Western PA. Or, I was trying to get close to something. And I did. His name was Bob and he was possessed. With what, I'm not sure, but he was creepy. And like many creepy people he had a big ass crush on me.

His eyes glowed an eerie red and his teeth were like candy corn. He took to me instantly. He walked right up to me and held my tiny hand. His was sweaty and evil. I was paralyzed with fear. He said angry things and scared a lot of us. I just wanted to run back to my cabin and have a beer with my younger sister. That's why SHE was attending bible camp. She was passed out though because it doesn't take much beer to knock a child out. And when you're at bible camp you tend to drink faster in fear of being caught. So I was stuck alone with him by the campfire until my friend found me. When she did I told her we need to get him to a camp counselor and have him exterminated. I wasn't privy to the christian vocabulary. I was merely a child from the 'hood, a mistruster from way back, trying to find some truth.

As he stood there speaking in tongues, rambling some crazy sh*t, eyes getting glassy and all, I did the only thing I could think of. I took off running as fast as I could, and despite what my soccer coach said I could run pretty fast. I hid for the next two days. Mostly in the shower area. I had my sister and friend bring me meals. When it was time to depart from camp I jumped on the bus and never looked back. I don't have a clue as to what ever happened to Bob.

Another Geezus creep came shortly after my departure from Bob. This little disciple attended the church that sent me to bible camp. Like Bob, he fell for me, fast and hard. And unfortunately HE knew where I lived. He'd show up on weekends and stand in front of our house with his arms held high, praying, I suppose. He thought if he prayed hard enough I'd come out and marry him, or date him, or hold his hand. I stood from the door and yelled, "FREAK!". Persistent, as most of that faith are, he insisted on ignoring my pleas for him to leave and kept his arms held to the sky, begging Jesus to bring me out.

Finally, after feeling sequestered in our home for most of March, my Mom had enough and took a broom and a pot outside and told him to get the hell away from the house. He never returned.

As for me, I stopped attending church. I traded in my bible for a pack of Newport 100's and, kids, the rest is history...

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Bug Eyes

Things that look cute on my dog...see above demonstration, just DON'T look cute on people. Why is that? Or, more importantly, why is it that people don't realize that?

I mean, my dog can look like her eyes are about to pop out of her head and stare at me dead on-unwaivering, and it doesn't, say, creep me out, but, in fact, just makes me love her more.

So what if I am a lipstick lesbian, why does that give the man on the el who probably hasn't showered in like 6.2 days, the license to gawk at me the entire ride..or like the person at this meeting I went to last night who bugged out the eyes at me while I was actually listening to him speak..but he bugged those buggers out so intensely that I couldnt' even look him in the eye to his look in my eye.

See those things don't make me LOVE those people more like they do when my dog does them, as, I never even liked either of them in the first place and had to count to 10 over and over in my mind not to go crazy on them in public. So, of course, it doesn't make me LOVE THEM. It t'aint cute on humans and that is that.

Dogs are cute. People, in general, aren't. Not when they do weird things, especially.
You know, like when they roll around on the ground or roll over and ask you to rub their beer bellies. Dogs bellies? cute. Big man hairy bellies? Um, nay.

What about pooping? My dog poops and it is like a baby tu tu, you know. Like when she poops and I have been worried all day she wouldn't but does, and I sing a song and make her feel like a "good girl" for poopety poop.

See? The person I work with in the other department who uses the public facility? Yeah, not so cute when they smell everything up and I have to hold my pee all day.

Whew, good thing I have my puppy to look forward to when I go home tonight and not some big bulgy eyes looking at me saying, "Where is my steak, biatch?"

Thursday, January 14, 2010

I often nod my head and agree...

...but that doesn't mean i'm listening.

And it doesn't mean i know what you're talking about...

Just this morning an entire conversation was had with someone else and apparently myself. I'm not sure how long the conversation was, and cannot recall what i said. I do remember thinking, "that's a big banana", but i vaguely remember putting it in my purse. I don't even like purses anymore, but i guess they're necessary, especially if you're going to be carrying around big bananas.

She kept rambling on about something, fire extinguisher, i don't know. My breasts were extra full today and i was in admiration.

Then she said, "Okay, i'm leaving, did you get that all?"

And I said, "Yah, don't rush, it's foggy outside." Irony? Coincidence?

Friday, January 1, 2010

Why People Need a Second Dog

So, let me clarify.
If I could have a subtitle to my title for today's post, it would say: Why People Need a Second Dog: I Mean, if They Don't Have Kids.

You See,
I treat my dog, Sammy, like a baby. Yvonne and I wrap her in swaddling blankets (like christmas, get it?) and talk about buying her a baby bjorn (spelling?) and getting her a pet highchair so she feels like part of the family when we are eating. We talk about things like her feelings, her likes, her best friends and their parents, her favorite meals and, of course, where she would like us to send her to college if she weren't already going to be offered a full scholarship.

Oh, and, of course, we have one of those touchy, feely, "family beds."

The dog has no boundaries, but, damn, is she cute.

That being said, it appears that Yvonne and I have both forgotten that she is actually a dog, and, well, not a daughter, aged-3, raring to go to her first year of kindergarten in 2012.

And why do we realize this?

Well, first off, Costa made some comment on my facebook about me not knowing that real babies don't wear leashes..which, somehow insinuates that "Sam" is not my REAL baby. Um, the nerve of someone saying this to a childless, 35-year-old lesbian who gets some glimmer of self-esteem that she has a child when all 364 of her other facebook friends (other than Costa, who is also in her thirties, childless and a lesbian) have 2.5 kids and have been married to the same person for 8.7 years?

Secondly, we also know this because Yvonne, in chatting the other day, made the comment, "Man, I really need a dog..."

"Um, I said...what is 'this,' a half-dog?"

"Baby is not a dog, Blythe...well, she is a baby baby."

My my my.

But it is true, Sam is not a "dog," she is a mini-me, the child I have never wanted, but love anyway because, well, she is mine.

And, I guess, that is why, well, one day, when there is something like a yard or a temperature above, say, ten degrees, perhaps there will be a Fido added to the mix.

For now, one baby is enough.