Sunday, August 3, 2014

Sunday Girl (Blondie)

Yeah, it's church time again. I just got back from mass. Being Catholic is like a heroin habit. You never quite kick it. There have been times where I have taken a break from church for extended periods. That is, only to find myself feeling like I left the house and the hair dryer was still on. Or I tried other faith services to see what they did and what they believed. I am not saying they weren't nice people, many were sincere about becoming better people. However, there was always this feeling because the service resembled the mass so much that it was like a cover of a hit song. Or there were things I could not quite get used to.

Once, I went to a church where a friend of mine was trying to become a deacon. It was a Presbyterian Church of some sort. Anyway, as I said, great people. The guest preacher was wonderful. A man who had marched with Dr. King, I could have heard this man speak all day. He spoke for almost 20 minutes, but each minute was locked and loaded with wisdom. Afterwards, we all had coffee and talked. Things were great, and then I met an associate pastor. He looked like Santa's disgruntled brother. Anyway, he said, "Hi, I was noticing you over there and couldn't help but say hi."

"Hi." I said with my coffee in hand.

"Anyway, I do private Bible studies. Here is my number if you are so interested." He took out a piece of paper and scribbled his digits on there. In a few seconds I had a revelation. The associate pastor was hitting on me! What was even worse was his wife was only three feet away! My jaw dropped open. Wasn't he supposed to be a man of God? Eh, not so much. Insert dancing girls and Charlton Heston saying in his deep voice, "Sins of the flesh."

Either way, as a Catholic our priests molest alter and choir boys. Sure, at least I was a legal adult woman so at least I could consent. Isn't not committing adultery one of the Ten Commandments? Needless to say, I never returned to that church.

Another time I went to church with another friend. It was a super, duper alternative church. It had a crazy name that I can't recall and it was inter-faith. The woman who was the pastor was an ex-Broadway actress who had a moderate amount of success. She had gone through an African American AME seminary in order to become a minister. This was of course after she had successfully kicked her alcohol and Xanax habit. My friend dragged me to this Sunday service.

We got there, and I anticipated a stand up/sit down type of thing. Instead, there were these seven women sitting in the front dressed in tribal gear. The pastor, Reverend Barbara, explained these were the Native Mothers and they were here to educate us on what true spirituality was. So each of these women got up, talked about where they were from, and said a prayer in their native language. Then they showed us a film about these women. This was like no church service I had been to ever. Now I was completely lost. The film wasn't about spirituality either. It was about how herbs could be used as alternative medicine, and modern science and doctors were killing people with cancer drugs. Additionally, after the film was over the audience was encouraged to go off any meds they were on because the FDA was evil, and holistic medicine was the only way.

I will admit modern medicine is not perfect. However, Skipper and Wendell spent most of their adult lives in school. They know a thing or two. Minutes later, after the movie ended there was a reading of some poem and some dude dressed in all black did an interpretive dance, and then this gay show choir broke out into a hymn of praise with a Broadway beat. I was completely lost as to what was going on and to what these people believed. I wasn't feeling spiritual, I was feeling like I was having a horrid acid trip. What did they believe? I think they made it up as they went. The Unitarians at least believe in the pod people.

Then the bishop of the church came forth. He is this nutty guy I know who used to work as a gay porn star/escort who's poster still hangs in adult book stores stores in Chelsea, dick in mouth. He said, "And now for the magic chant...." And then chanted in some language I did not recognize.

That was enough for me. I still want to know how he got to be bishop. Typically one has to train for that position. Not in this church though.

Of course all faiths have their drama. One of my favorite camera men is a priest in the Church of Satan. A good friend and awesome bullshit buddy, he and his porn star wife do have a true open marriage. However, Satanism has it's own drama and there is in fighting and some people use magic and others don't. But hey, at least they know what they believe, right?

So back to the present. Today I am in church praying like always, or at least trying to until something distracts me. In walks this monk who is totally gorgeous. Just about as gorgeous as the gay porn star/deacon of the alt church I went to for a minute. I mean, I wanted to throw off that robe and ravage him. Sins of the flesh. Damn, why did this have to the Catholic church instead of the Presbyterian one where my friend was trying to be a deacon? If the associate pastor would have looked like him, McYumski. He took some crazy vowel of celibacy. I thought about what cheesy pick up lines I would use. And then the bell rang. Time to stand. What a buzz kill for my sin of the flesh live and in person.

Of course I never said I was a good Catholic. This is the express mass, I am in and out in less than 40 minutes. A friend of mine who works up the street comes with her husband. Like dead beats we all kind of sit in the back. However, my church is quiet. It is off the beaten path. There is no drama. It's a nice way to start my week. As the priest was speaking, I kept wanting to go to the confessional booth with this monk and go to town. Luckily church boy wasn't there otherwise I would have just been sucked to hell for the things going through my mind.

Later, I went to the coffee shop. I saw my friend Howard who has lived this life that should be made into a movie. Howard has been an actor, filmmaker, college professor, and everything in between. Additionally, he has lived in Thailand, met militant Buddhists, and dated the daughter of William Westmoreland. Howard always sees me coming from church, and we always joke about how I am Catholic and he is Jewish, and how as a Jew he doesn't understand the Catholic need to seek sanctuary in church.

This week, Howard had a crisis. He has an on again/off again girlfriend and they operate an Air B and B together. Welcome to New York. Anyway, I relayed my monk crisis to Howard. Howard suggested I try to corrupt the monk and see how chaste he really is. This began to sound interesting. Howard also wanted to know if my church had any pretty girls, and perhaps socials. That way he could go and pick up chicks. His angle would be that while he was Jewish, he wanted to find Jesus more than ever. And maybe this would get him laid. I thought the plan was genius, and I agreed to support my friend's efforts.

Howard brought up the fact that his people killed my savior. However, I was quick to point out Jesus had a good life, ran around with hookers, made booze and food out of raw materials and had a rich absentee father that got him God status off the bat. He could handle a bad thing or two. Howard and I laughed at this. Then I felt bad for being such a jerk wad because I had done all this hard work.

Minutes later my friend Mindy strolled in. A rock 'n' roll roadie turned vet, she admitted she was doing the walk of shame from the home of a man whom she had sex with on the semi-regular. As we all began to talk, we all turned into our regular, self-centered, dick head selves. At least I did. Eh, we all did.

It reminds me of when I was a kid. We would get out of mass, and then into the car. Instantly, we began to make fun of some of the regulars in our church. My dad usually kicked it off, followed by Wendell and then me. Then my dad would try to relay it to the reading, but then would turn into a jerkoff again. My mom would insist we waited until we got home to become assholes, along with Skipper.

Alas we are human. I was a saint for five minutes until that cute monk wandered in.

Howard, this blog is for you.


No comments:

Post a Comment