Come Out Of The Shadows Jesus

I don’t normally do this but this video showed up on my Facebook feed and I watched it and then I had a lot of questions.  One sentence in the video, in particular, had me confused.

“The Christians will finally come out of the Shadows.”

I had no idea there were Christians hiding in Shadows.  Exactly what Shadows are they hiding in and where are those Shadows?  Are there schools and hospitals in these Shadows where they can be educated and receive medical care?  Do they have Garbage Disposal?  Because it might get kind of nasty in the Shadows if the garbage starts piling up.

If real Christians are hiding in Shadows then who are the people that are claiming they are Christians but aren’t hiding – like the ones that go to the church across the street from me, or the ones on TV or the FaceBook groups?  Are they fake Christians?  Are they just pretending while the real Christians are residing in some horrid Shadow?

Why are the real Christians hiding in the first place?  Who are they hiding from?  We don’t allow Lions in arenas full of Christians anymore, do we? That would be fucked up if we do and I’ll start writing Protest Letters to the UN immediately if that’s the case.

Are these Hiding Christians in Canada too? Does this explain Andrew Sheer, Jason Kenney and Brian Jean?  They aren’t hiding so does that make them fake?  How can I tell the real ones from the fake ones?  If I see a person hiding in my shrubs should I assume it’s a real Christian and offer them chocolate and a blanket?  If I suspect someone that isn’t hiding in my shrubs is a Hiding Christian are there identifying marks or secret handshakes that will let me know what they are?  Are they dangerous?  This guy is talking Civil War and that sounds kind of dangerous to me.  Is there a Hotline I can call if I have suspiciously identified one of the Civil War-causing Hiding Christians?

Are there nice Hiding Christians?  Should we be working on Safe Houses for them?  I would donate some food for them if I know where to send it all.  The Shadows might be a big place and I wouldn’t want my donation disappearing to other things that hide in the Shadows.  And speaking of food, if the Christians that are not hiding (fake Christians) don’t mind me Bar-B-Quing, should I immediately stop Bar-B-Quing in case the real Christians are repelled by the smell of roasting meat?  You know…..like Hell?  I ask because if the Christians I see all the time are not real Christians then I have to question everything I know to be true.

There are so many unknowns now.  I’m asking myself “What would Jesus do?” but I’m drawing a blank.  I suppose if Jesus was around the real Christians wouldn’t be hiding, right?  Or maybe Jesus would be in hiding too, waiting for someone to impeach Donald Trump so he could come out of the Shadows with all the other real Christians.

So, if I have this right, if the Americans impeach Donald Trump, Jesus can come out of the Shadows with all the Hiding Christians.  And maybe there are enough nice Hiding Christians to stop a Civil War that the not-so-nice Hiding Christians want.

That sounds totally plausible to me.

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Sarcasm, Belligerence or Condescension

Hi!  It’s so nice to see you, especially since you came to the Back Door – I’ll explain that in a minute.  Here’s a mug, coffee is in the thermos and you already know where to find the treats.  It’s not like it’s the first time you’re here.  You are family now.  You’re lucky I don’t assign a chore.

Yes, that was a joke.  I would never force you to work for your coffee because that would be wrong and I hate having chores when I visit one of you.

So, I’ve had to answer my front door 3 times this week.  3 times!  And I always approach the Front Door Summons with some trepidation because there are a finite number of things that happen at my Front Door and not all of them are pleasant.  And rarely is it a friend.

Everyone I know comes to the Back Door.  You do.  You knock once, come on in and yell, in a very high voice, “HELLOOOOO”.  I had a weirdo friend once that wanted everyone to use the Front Door all the time.  I had to stop visiting her because who knows what other kinds of horrible things she’s got going on?  What was she hiding in her back entry?  Did she have small children chained to the wall or something?  Who knows?  No one was allowed to go back there!

And a Summons from the Front Door isn’t like a phone call where any sort of fuckery can happen, there’s usually only a few reasons someone might be on the other side of that door.

Good Reasons Someone Would Be At My Front Door:
  • To give me 2 Night Vision Goggles so The Viking and I can play Hide ‘n Seek in the dark.

That pretty much ends my list of good things that happen at the Front Door.

Bad Reasons Someone Would Be At My Front Door:
  • It could be the police wanting to know if I’m a Grow-Op (no), or if I own a Rav 4 with front end damage (maybe), or if I own any firearms (no), or where I was night before last between the hours of 11:00pm and 3:00am (probably asleep in bed but I couldn’t prove it).
  • It could be armed assailants that want to steal our TV. It is a really nice TV.
  • It could be someone complaining that we forgot to close the curtains for Naked Hockey Night.  That doesn’t happen very often though.

Most probably though, whoever is on the other side of my Front Door wants to sell me something or teach me something – neither of which I’m interested in.  Unless they want to teach me how to do handbrake turns and drifting because I really, really wish I knew how!  The Viking won’t teach me for some bewildering reason.

Of the three times(!) I had to trek to the Front Door this week, two times were because the Religiously Active are apparently concerned about The State Of My Soul and which direction I will be heading immediately after my death.  The first visit was from two little old ladies that were so sweet I couldn’t be rude.  I took their pamphlet and smiled and wished them a wonderful day.  I put the pamphlet directly into recycling without reading what would be involved in saving my soul.

The second visit from the Religiously Active was a sweet old man with very short arms.  I don’t know why his arms are so short because while I was running through a mental list of all the possible reasons his arms could be so short he became less sweet and more Inquisition-y.  I told him I already had the pamphlet he was showing me and he didn’t believe me!

“Oh reaaally.” He said slowly.  “Have you ever seen these two ladies before?  Are they from the neighbourhood?”  I think he’s been knocking on doors for far too long; there was definitely some bitterness there.

I hesitated.  It was like looking at a Bunnie that just bit me; it was so cute but it had big teeth!  And how should I reply?  With Sarcasm?  Condescension?  Belligerence?

I decided on the Carefully Neutral But With A Hint Of Sarcasm tone.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen these ladies before in my entire life.  Well, maybe I did before they got old – wrinkles sometimes change a person’s face – but I definitely haven’t seen them in the last decade for sure.  You aren’t going to make me go through my recycling bin for the pamphlet, are you?  Because I would really hate that.”

It was his turn to have a moment of indecision but eventually he said.  “Well, thank you for your time.  Will we be seeing you at our Memorial Celebration?”

“Probably not.  Have a lovely day.” I smiled kindly.

The third visit to my front door was Canada Post delivering a catalogue.  I really hate this kind of Summons because the Postal Person is already two houses down the block before I open the door so I’m forced to holler “THANK YOU!” and she just waves back at me.  That is an extremely unsatisfying interaction with another human being.  I like a “You’re Welcome” when I say “Thank You”.  It’s a start and an end.  Satisfying.  A backhand wave from half a block away isn’t the same thing at all and I don’t particularly like having to bellow my appreciation.  To add insult to injury the catalogue wasn’t even for me – which might have made up for the walk all the way to the Front Door.  But no, it was for The Viking.

Okay.  End of Pet Peeve Rant.

You have a weird look on your face.  Do you think I’m nuts?  Is it because you just haven’t thought about it or do you not mind people coming to your Front Door willy-nilly like there’s no order to the chaos in the universe?  Without order and rules we could be facing an onslaught of people knocking on Front Doors and running away like in the 1970s, and no one wants that, my friends.

So!  How was your week?

Thanks to Part-Time Monster for inventing and growing Weekend Coffee Share and Nerd in the Brain for hosting the event.  You guys are awesome.

Damn You Benjamin Franklin!

Welcome to Coffee.  You weren’t hoping I would be all bubbly and chatty, were you?  Cause I’m less bubbly and chatty and more dozy and dumb.  I’ve been this way all week long.  If my eyes roll back and my head flops to the right don’t worry, it’s not a stroke, I’ve just fallen asleep.  If clearing your throat loudly doesn’t wake me, try poking me with your spoon.  Coffee has done nothing to alleviate my exhaustion; apparently caffeine isn’t the guy for the job today. Maybe a cocktail of energy drinks with extra strong caffeine shooters will do the trick.

I have nothing to report in the way of interest this past week.  It’s all a blur.  However, yesterday I did have to muster up some form of energy because I had some errands to run/schlump.  Thank goodness for automobiles, even if I probably shouldn’t have been trusted behind the wheel.

A group of pimply-faced high school students pushed the cross-walk button but I was already too close to stop and too tired to give a shit. One of them waved his arms at me so I rolled the window down and yelled “DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!!”

I dozed off reading the label on a can of soup in the grocery store and a guy said “You gonna buy that or what?” My eyelids creaked open and I scowled at him. “Daylight savings time. And no, I’m not going to buy that because the sodium is too high but I can’t make my arm lift it back to the shelf. Here, you do it.”  I pushed the can into his hand and shuffled along.

Later, when I was home and shouldn’t have been expected to interact with anyone besides The Viking, the doorbell rang and two young guys were smiling beatifically, badges from Vivint on their jackets. “Hi! I see you have an SAI Security System sign in your garden. That can’t be right because they don’t exist anymore.”

“So? Not many criminals keep up on corporate take-overs and share prices.”  My left eye wouldn’t open so I had to rely entirely on my right eye.

The tall one hesitated but managed to come back before I fell asleep on my feet. “Do you have an alarm system now? Are you protected by a different company?”

“Yes. And before you go any further…..Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight. Savings. Time. I’m too tired to listen to you.”

They both looked uncertain and just as my eyelid was crashing shut the tall one said. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

Kidney Clothes called to see if I had anything to donate. I said no, I didn’t have anything to donate but the woman said “Not even an old blouse or sweater? We could really use some sweaters.”

“Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight Savings Time. I’ve lost 7 hours of sleep this week and by tomorrow it will be 8 hours of sleep. I haven’t got the energy to clean out my closet today. Call me next month.”  Yes, that was a little rude but I only had so many words in me and I used them up quickly.

“Um. Okay. Thank you for your time.”

I’ve fallen asleep twice on the toilet this week and once at my desk – The Viking caught me that time but he was more envious than cranky, especially when I offered to spoon with him if we went to bed right then. His sense of ‘work before play’ kept him from acting in his own self-interest though.

I also sucked in a cat hair when I was yawning and do you know how difficult it is to get a cat hair out of your mouth? It’s ridiculous. I suppose I should be grateful that it isn’t fly season yet but somehow I can’t muster up the effort.

I know who is to blame for this and this definitely needs to be blamed on someone! I need someone to heap curses on and a name to shout when necessary – and this week it has been very much necessary. “DAMN YOU BENJAMIN FRANKLIN!!”

Okay, to be fair, he didn’t actually invent Daylight Savings Time, he just came up with the idea. Probably when he was drunk. It took some other nefarious individuals to implement this evil, but I’m too tired to list out all the people involved.

So Benjamin Franklin will be receiving all my angst and curses. At least until I’m not a walking/schlumping zombie or a danger to the public at large when I’m behind the wheel of my car.

Daylight Savings Time never used to bother me at all, but for the last few years it’s been kicking the shit out of me.  The Viking is in the same boat.  Do we live our lives on the razor’s edge of competent functioning?  Is a single hour of sleep all that separates us from Sloths with the ability to drive?

If I had a Time Machine, I would go back to Benjamin Franklin, rip that pen right out of his hand and tell him not to even think it because some asshole in the twentieth century will think it’s a great idea and ruin humanity forever.  Or at least a week.

So, did DST kick the shit out of you too, or is it just The Viking and I?

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a nap. A seven hour nap.

Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Coffee this weekend.  Cheers.

Scared Shitless

I’m kind of tired today but come on in anyway. Coffee is exactly what I need right now. And a cinnamon bun.

So, how’s life treating you? Well, I hope.

Me? I’m fine and would be wonderful if I hadn’t scared the shit out of myself last night.

I was lying in bed with my eye mask on to mute the bedroom light I had kindly left on so The Viking could see what he was doing when he came to bed. As usual I was wandering around in my personal Happy Place. I love it there. It’s a big cave with a hot pool surrounded by crystals that bathe the cave in dancing light. There’s a huge fireplace that magically never burns down to bare embers and a large bed covered in the softest furs created by witchcraft and not by the slaughter of innocent animals.

I built this place to help quiet my mind. I thought this was meditating, but I recently learned that I am meditating all wrong! From what I understand, I’m supposed to imagine rolling a boulder up a hill or imagine my soul is floating above my body or try to empty my mind and think of nothing. None of these things make me particularly sleepy and probably would just piss me off, especially the last one because my mind hates empty spaces so every random thought rushes in and creates beehives of chaos making it impossible to sleep.

So whatever! I don’t care if I’m not meditating within the strict International Meditating Guidelines. Who wrote the dumb rules anyway? Besides, the Meditation Dictators will only know I’m doing it wrong if I tell them and I don’t see any need to consult at the moment.

I also have a forest home where no bugs live, a secluded and deserted beach, and a glass hut on top of a mountain. If building these Happy Places aren’t technically considered ‘meditating’ well who cares? Right?

Okay, where was I? Oh yes, I scared the shit out of myself last night. So while I was lying in my furs, all warm and comfortable and pain-free, this hideous bellow interrupted my peace. It didn’t last long but it was deafening. I shook it off and hastened back to my luxurious nest. But then just moments later there was another horrific grinding sound, like rocks slamming against other rocks! WTF?! And a few minutes later another blaring trumpet followed shortly by a sound like someone sucking the bottom of their milkshake through a straw, only very, very loudly.

I was officially annoyed and irritated now!

Suddenly a thunderous, rolling growl erupted and my entire body jerked awake. Adrenalin gushed through my brain as I ricocheted upright.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT NOISE?!!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Whoever is making these noises had better knock it off, tout suite! I suspected it was Mim because she was physically closer to my room than The Viking, who was out in the office. Even though she’s a spawn of my loins I was fully prepared to beat her bloody if she didn’t stop with the noise.

Mim called from the spare room, “I don’t hear anything.”

Then it could only be The Viking but I didn’t want to come right out and accuse him in case the noise was coming from outside the house. “I AM GOING TO SLOWLY ROTISSERIE THE PERSON MAKING THAT NOISE!!”

The Viking arrived in the bedroom. “What’s the matter?”

“SOMEONE IS MAKING GAWD-AWFUL NOISES AND IT’S WAKING ME UP!!”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well someone is making noise and it had better stop because if I have to get out of bed to physically execute the culprit I am going to get cranky!!” All this yelling was totally ruining my Happy Place.

“What kind of noise was it?”

“It was like a grinding….something…..I don’t know! It was just loud!”

Except there was a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind that I did know what all that noise was. Because I was fully awake and logic was happening now.

“Maybe you were dreaming?” he said reasonably, kindly, sweetly.

I settled back on the mattress and pulled the eye mask into place. “Yes, that’s probably what it was. I was just dreaming.” I rolled over and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Sorry.”

He closed the bedroom door quietly, humming a soft lullaby, while I returned to my cave with the fur bed, the hot pool, the shimmering crystals and the fireplace.

Because I don’t snore.

Without a Blood Offering We’re Screwed

We’re screwed! Completely and utterly screwed!

Sorry. That’s a little rude of me.  Come in and sit.  Here’s some coffee and a piece of cake.

Yes, I was on a diet, but that’s done. No reason to diet when we’re screwed!

“How are we screwed?”

The Viking did it! You would think he would have known better considering Viking Gods are a little more interactive than the regular run-of-the-mill Gods.

What am I talking about? I’m talking about The Viking challenging the Gods. It started with him telling me that his friend Barney hit an elk on the highway the other day, and his truck is a write-off. And if The Viking had stopped there we would be fine. But he didn’t. He carried his thought just that one step further and screwed us!

He said, “That’s so weird because we spend way more time on the highways than Barney and we’ve never hit anything.”

Half way through that sentence I started waving my hands at him, “DON’T SAY IT!!” But he just kept talking! Even the cat looked horrified!

Well, normally I’m not superstitious. I have a black cat and I walk under ladders all the time and I’ve never thrown salt over my shoulder, but this is different. This was a direct challenge to the Gods. Right now, Odin and the gang are laughing their asses off?! The Norns have just changed the threads of our fate.”

Of course I believe that! The better question is “Who doesn’t?” That’s why I never count my chickens before they hatch and I always knock on wood. The worst part is that we don’t know when or how retribution will arrive. Maybe they’ll just throw an elk in front of us next time we hit the road or maybe it will be a Mack truck. The Gods can be vindictive that way.

I put some flowers, grains and a couple of apples on the back step as a form of appeasement but I don’t think the Gods were interested. It didn’t look like they even passed by. I dumped a beer on the lawn – that was the closest thing to mead I could find – and tossed a chunk of my hair out there, too, for good measure. I’m not feeling very un-cursed though.

Oh! Hey! You’re not a virgin are you? Because I think if I could find a virgin…….

Okay, okay! I was only joking. Mostly. Besides there isn’t a volcano within a 1000 miles of here.

So that just leaves us with a blood offering. The Gods are probably hoping for a bull or a goat but the best I can do is a chicken from Safeway. I wonder if I could get the butcher to keep the blood from one chicken and a heart? They wouldn’t think that’s weird, right? I can’t be the first person to ask. And while I’m thinking about it, why am I the one doing all the appeasing work around here? I’m not the offensive one!

If the chicken doesn’t work, then the only thing left is to sacrifice The Viking himself.  Hopefully the Gods will accept just some of his blood.  He is very useful around here and I would miss him terribly if I had to give all of him to the Gods.  According to my research though, they might be appeased with just a cup of blood and some mead.

If this works, maybe, just maybe, we might not be as screwed as I think we are.  And I hope he learns the lesson that he can’t go around, willy-nilly, challenging the Gods and think he can get away with it.

Thanks to Part Time Monster for hosting Weekend Coffee Share

Slogging or My Muse must be on Vacation

When I woke up this morning my plan was to write a post. Sometimes this only takes a couple of hours because I’m in the groove and other times it takes the entire day because I have to slog through ideas that went nowhere, ideas that went somewhere I didn’t want to go, ideas that turned me into an angry Harpy or, most likely, no ideas at all. But today I was optimistic that it would be the former; I slept good and I was in a relatively good mood given that I wasn’t on vacation and I wasn’t a Millionaire. And I even managed to play with the Feline Fiend before I had coffee. I hoped the play time would buy me some uninterrupted writing time but Izzie is never that gracious. Still, the Writing Gods were obviously in my corner.

Or not.

In hindsight, I think I mistook the Writing Gods for the Just Kidding Gods who were, most probably, laughing. It was barely past 9:00am when I opened my email and realized that my plans for the day were……well……fucked. Hunkered down in my In Box was the offending email. “Your parts have arrived and are ready for pick up.”

Shit.

I am the parts picker upper around here. The low wo/man on the Totem Pole. The Gopher (basically a rodent when you don’t sugar coat it). There is no one else that I can foist it on. The buck stops here.

The Viking has fairly firm rules regarding the position at the bottom of the Totem Pole:

He/She who makes the least amount of money shall be The Rodent and shall perform all Rodent-y duties including picking up parts, making meals and doing laundry. Also, The Rodent shall help look for lost tools, the misplaced telephone, missing keys and small parts that have been put down somewhere and now can’t be found.

Addendum: The Rodent shall also smile, nod and make appropriate sounds of support during random outbreaks of cursing, finger pointing, and blaming.

For the most part I totally agree with the rules, except when it’s inconvenient and then I start looking for loop holes. Unfortunately there’s very little wiggle room in the ‘earnings’ section of the rules. So, I am the Gopher / Gnaveren / La Rongeur / Das Nagetier! Whatever you want to call it……I am the rodent.

And don’t get me wrong either.  I don’t usually mind picking up parts because it keeps The Viking busy so he doesn’t bother me with little things like accomplishing something. Ordinarily, I like driving; I turn the music up too loud, sing terribly but loudly, conduct the orchestra and enjoy the sunshine. But I had plans!

Sure, I needed to go to the grocery store and pick up Lottery tickets but that would only take an hour out of my day. I would have plenty of time to write, right? Adding a jaunt to the other side of the city and back would take a significant chunk of my time though – especially when the City insists on throwing Construction zones in my way.

I can’t say for certain but I suspect that construction sites are where guys and, to a lesser degree, girls go to just hang out – like a daycare center for grown-ups. They laugh and play and generally do nothing until someone (The Viking?) tells them I need to go somewhere and suddenly they spring into action and stop traffic in all directions.

They also put people on the road with huge signs that say “SLOW”.  I don’t know why.  Don’t those people have enough challenges without being forced to stand on the side of the road with a sign? Are the Construction Gods hoping that I will feel so bad for the slow people that I won’t notice the Construction Zone? If that is their reasoning I would really like to see people standing there with signs that say “STILL DRUNK” or “SLEPT WITH THE BOSS’S WIFE” or “NOT WEARING UNDERWEAR”. Now that would brighten up my day and make me far happier slogging through construction zones!

Once I’m finally through the construction zone, I think people abandon their earth movers, backhoes and hard hats and informal games of baseball or soccer resume. It’s only a theory but it certainly would explain the ridiculous amount of time it takes to put an overpass together.

Anyway……….

I didn’t get my post done yesterday. Who knows what brilliance might have happened? Instead, I can only complain about lost opportunities and foiled plans. When I finally finished with my errands for the day and found myself sitting in front of the computer I was completely stumped. Zero inspiration. I trolled through Facebook. Nothing. The clock kept ticking and the cat kept laying on my boobs (It’s hard to think – not to mention type – when your boobs become lodgings for a pet). I played Solitaire for half an hour and felt guilty. I scrolled through my Reader. And then…….

The Bloggess has something new. Inspiration! She hadn’t accomplished anything either except forgetting something that she didn’t know she knew. It makes more sense when she says it. However, I managed to slog through useless ideas, and several construction zones and found enough to say/complain about for a post.

I’m pretty sure that I’m not going to win a Pulitzer with it.  Not a single word of this post has fallen onto the page the way some posts do. This one was a slogfest. Edit after edit after edit. It seems less than what I would expect for two days work but here it is.

PS: The cat accidentally stepped on the adding machine paper advance and scared the living shit out of herself. Best thing that happened all day.  Or yesterday, for that matter.

Slog

That Had Better Be a Banana in Your Pocket!

I had to buy groceries today. And in an effort to get myself a little more organized so I don’t waste most of my time every damned day, I got my shit together and ended up at the store earlier than I usually do.  And, well……there were issues.

There was a surprisingly large percentage of older men there today. Guys like my father, who lived during the great years when the wife could stay at home and raise the kids and the men came home to a hot meal without knowing for certain how that magic happened.  And there were Laundry Fairies and Leprechauns that dusted and cleaned and vacuumed in that world where he slept each night.

Continue reading “That Had Better Be a Banana in Your Pocket!”