Deviance

Someone asked to pray for me – both of us, together, hand in hand, if you will – today, and if there’s ever a time when I feel awkward, it’s during an unsolicited public prayer on my behalf. I mean, it was really sweet of them to offer, but I don’t really do that kind of thing. However, because I am a pussy, I sat there, my hand clenched in theirs, while some very nice, prayer-like words were said, half-hoping that the world would swallow me whole, and wouldn’t that give him something to pray about other than me? To be perfectly honest, it bothers me less that it sounds, and though I can’t really go into the context (oddly, it was professional), let’s just say it wasn’t entirely inappropriate, though it’s not like it was expected

(Didn’t I tell you I was in seminary school?)

(What?)

(I just itched my foot!)

(And bought some Tide!)

Ahem. Honestly, I’m a little envious of people who have that much faith in something else. I was raised mostly sans-religion, save for a last-ditch, panic-stricken effort by my parents to have me baptized at 15 (saved!), and though my parents are now very strict fundamentalists (LCMS, for those keeping score), their…zeal… didn’t come out until I was well out of the house. Mercifully, they’re not pushing it on me now.

Anyway, sometimes I sort of wish things had been different – not that I’d been LCMS, necessarily, but that maybe I’d grown up with something, because that would mean I’d feel a little more urgency to impart some kind of faith in my own kids, maybe. Although that would have meant my whole life would be different, and I probably wouldn’t have some of the other beliefs I hold quite dear, and lord knows, if I were a fundie, I wouldn’t have married a Jewish guy.

And had I been their flavor of LCMS, there wouldn’t have been any dancing, drinking or card-playing. In other words, I missed my opportunity to live the Footloose dream, and I’ve always wanted to be Ariel, with her fancy feathered hair, great-ass jeans and the remarkable ability to still look sexy on a tractor. Incidentally, Adam often refers to a phenomenon known as “Footloosed,” i.e., some girls just don’t clean up well, because Ariel was hotter – much hotter – pre-ruffly dress and dance. I tend to agree.

Not to wildly switch gears (religion! surveys! SEAMLESS!), but I have a thing for surveys. I always have. I get irrationally excited that someone wants my opinion on something – I always fill out blog surveys, and I gleefully pick up a little scantron sheet and golf pencil for any restaurant or hotel who asks for it, and oh, do I opine! Yes, my service was fantastic! No, no, I did not have the bread, but I’m sure it was divine, but since you’re asking, I would like softer toilet paper, please, and free in-room hot stone massages.

Anyway, when I was a college freshman, I spent 35 minutes of one horrible afternoon answering a survey of a sexual nature, and so help me Jesus, I answered every. single. question. to the surveyor (a female! FEMALE!), including how many partners I’d had, whether I spit or swallow, and what the merits of other positions were vis a vis the missionary. Before you judge me, it started off so innocently about tampon usage, and if there’s ever a topic I like to discuss, it’s periods. It wasn’t until she started breathing heavily, clearly in the throes of some sort of…orgasmic activity… when she asked if I had any semen in my system right then and there that I realized oh my God, I was helping some random fake survey lady get off.

Oddly, this horribly humiliating experience, which I can’t believe I’m admitting again, to – um, at least what, dozens? – a few weeks later, I would actually answer a stranger who called me at 6 a.m. when he asked what I was wearing because for some half-asleep reason I thought he sounded a little like my boyfriend, and when he asked for details, I gave them to him, including the fact that my pajamas were actually blue satin, and yes, totally I was wearing a thong the day before, why do you ask? Again, I was only tipped off when I picked up on some heavy breathing.

It’s sounding like I was way into phone sex, but alas, I wasn’t, but apparently I am excellent conduit for others to get off via telephone. Give me a call this weekend if you’re feeling…hot and bothered…and you’re not too busy. I’m sure I can help.

Finally, one of my best friends told me today that she’s doing a “soft launch, if you will” in announcing her pregnancy, and in that moment, I’m not sure I could have loved her more. Baby as software launch! Love.

*Reindeer Section

19 comments May 15th, 2007