I clip pictures of church folk from the local newspaper and post them on our “Look What’s Going On” bulletin board. There’s a fellow–a tremendously fat one–in the congregation whom I don’t much care for who is running for public office. There are a half dozen pictures of him at the county fair in the paper. I am tempted to post a picture of him posing with children and livestock. It’s captioned That’s a Lot of Bull! I find this hilariously apt. I should post a nice photo of him with his wife instead. Hrm.

I have a boy’s name. I share my boy’s name with the son of a church member. Son is getting married and the church ladies recently held a shower for him and his intended. A woman just came by with a gift bag and left it on the table outside my office with a scribbled note This is for Son. I kinda want to take his present and pretend I thought it was for me. Being single is, presents wise, a total rip off. I have bought three blenders–and given them all away. I don’t own a blender. This is the extent of my Single Bitterness.

Very Old Man who Loves Youth Ministry and New Technology wants to hire a part time youth/kids minister. He wants to do so so badly, he’s willing to pay the salary himself. He wants to hire me for what would more or less be a quarter time position. I would welcome the money such a job would bring, and the organization side of things would be awesome. But I’m not really into spending time with youth or children. I don’t know what to tell him.

And finally, I’ve been asked to be a Trophy Date. One of my friends wants me to go with him to some alumni thingy at his college to make him feel better about showing up single and under-employed. I am ill-qualified for this task: I wear a lot of homemade clothes and can be quite shy. Also, I’m a very brunettey brunette with short legs. Trophy Dates, I am convinced, are leggier and better dressed and have hilarious anecdotes that are also hilarious to people who have MBAs and/or 2.3 kids. I told him that I’d only go as the girl who drives his drunk ass back the motel and not as the girl who screws him on a Ramada Inn bedspread. He said that I could have my very own bed and could drive his car. I told him I’d have to think about it. This tidbit is relevant to my job only in as much as I just spent several minutes instant messaging him on company time.

Boys are lately a pain in my ass… and a topic that seems to have well more to do with my job lately than I’d prefer. Sigh.

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