December 2010


I just sent my crashed computer off to be repaired.  I’m using my personal laptop.  It’s very old and nearly useless in this context, but it’s better than nothing.

Last night I discovered that some elderly family friends have spent thousands and thousands of dollars on bizarre, overpriced and ultimately useless shit that a prominent televangelist says will help them get through the “end times.”  I went into major asskicking mode and contacted their children, the Better Business Bureau, and everyone else I could think of.  My resolution for 2011 may be to take this bastard down.

This morning a creepy weird guy from church asked we put his wife on the prayer chain.  She’s fallen and hurt herself, he says  She seems to do that a suspiscious amount.  Their relationship has a strange power dynamic.  I just told the pastor I’m worried about her.  I really don’t know what else to do.  I think he hits her.  I really, really do.  But she’s doting and smiley and so on and is never away from him, so it’s hard to have more than suspicions.  There’s nothing I can think of to do with that particular bastard, which just makes me sick.

If you want my theological understanding of what it means to “take the name of the Lord your God in vain” it’s what these guys are doing.  Exploiting scripture to extort money and hiding behind holy language to hide abuse.  This makes me sick.

Ugh.  Not a great twenty four hours, really.

That was a cartoon sad sound.  Not the sound of kissing.

I had an eventful morning at work.  I’ve taken a job doing the bookkeeping for the daycare.  For a really, really nice hourly wage.  It’s not a very many hours at all, so the news isn’t all good.  Also, I’m not a huge fan of bookkeeping.  But every little bit helps.  Or so said a woman I once saw peeing in the ocean while she tried to drown her husband.

The people from the state agency that pays for the daycare were supposed to come by today at nine thirty to install the software on my computer to do the books and then show me how it’s used.   They didn’t show up til eleven 1115.  At 1120, my computer crashed.    While I attempted frantic repairs, State Agency Lady and I made small talk.  It was awful.   It’s hard to explain, really, how it became so awful so quickly.  But jeepers.  We went from “nice weather” to “oh, I don’t want to live anymore.”

Have you always wanted to be a church secretary?

No, although it does have some very fun aspects.

This is part time, right?

Yes.

So do you go to school?

I did.

So you must have, like, money you live off of.  A trust fund.  That must be awesome.

Oh.  No.  I’m looking for something full time.  The economy kind of sucks.

Don’t I know it.  I’m surprised you didn’t apply here to the daycare.

I don’t have those credentials and I don’t like kids.

What are your credentials?

I have a BA and have done some graduate work in ESL.

What’s your BA?

English.

What did you get that degree for?

[I don’t actually remember what I said, but I was thinking sarcastic thoughts that had to do with student loans and personal enrichment.]

That’s nice.  So you don’t like kids?  Do you not want to have kids, like, ever?

I should’ve mentioned what a terribly personal question that was and how inappropriate for small talk.  I mean, for all she knew I had some sort of terrible accident that caused my uterus to fall out and her questions would cause me great emotional pain.  Or, at the least, I should’ve told her that I like kids quite fine one on one but dislike being in rooms where six of them are crying at top volume.   That’s the truth anyway.  Instead, I shrugged.

I’ve got three kids, love ’em to death.  They’re 15, 20, and 17.

I was a little surprised she named them out of chronological order.  I wondered about that.  Maybe the fifteen and twenty year old are the same sex?  Or her favorites?  Or the seventeen year old is a stepchild?

Fun, I said, and rebooted my computer for the third time.

If you want kids, you’d better make up your mind.  Unless you want to adopt.  You’re about my age, right?

Maybe.  How old are you?

Forty two.

Well, I said, you look very young for your age.  I’ll be twenty nine in a couple of weeks.

Oh, you have some time then.  Are you seeing anyone?  Any daddies on the horizon?

Jeepers.  I didn’t know whether to fall over laughing or burst into tears.  In less than two minutes this woman made me feel like my academic credentials were useless, that I look old, and that apparently I’m some sort of unloved baby-hating she-beast.  All of this while my work computer crashed and crashed and crashed.

So later I told her I liked her pants.  I told her I didn’t have the nerve to wear corduroy because it can make a bit of a sound when a girl walks and I do admire her sartorial courage.

That’s right.  She called me old, so I called her fat.

I’m in fine form today, niceness wise.

Dang.

Sorry, Jesus.

Maybe give me a bit of a hand tomorrow?

This week I’ve been given the most marvelous gift.  Actually, I’ve been given two.  My sister gave me a present for my birthday a couple of weeks early.  But this the work relevant one: our denomination’s advent lectionary this year lists the second Sunday as “social justice Sunday.”   I think traditionally it’s supposed to be hope.  But, you know, we’re mainline protestants and we’re really, really sorry about how white and middle class we all are.

On the church facebook page, I’ve been running a daily scripture relevant to each week in Advent.  Last week there was a lot of stuff on there about making peace and finding peace in God and all of that.  This week I’ve begun with Proverbs 29:7, which says “The righteous care about justice for the poor, but the wicked have no such concern.”

I’ve been pretty depressed with the Republican party’s awesome decision to cut off unemployment benefits unless people who make a quarter million dollars a year get to hang on to Bush’s tax cuts.  Of all the issues to take a stand for.  Sheesh.  Calling John Boehner evil in public, however roundabout the method, makes me feel better.

It shouldn’t, of course.  This is practically the definition of slacktivism and it’s passive aggressive and it’s using God’s word for my own spite-y little purposes.  But, dang, it feels nice.

Yesterday I made a Christmas bulletin board.  I cut out red and white paper snowflakes.  I printed off the word “welcome” from Word and then added glitter accents to the letters.  I replaced the o in welcome with a construction paper Christmas wreath with glitter holly.  I stapled the whole glittery mess to the bulletin board.

That’s awfully secular, don’t you think? asks Foul Bitch of a Choir Director.

What would you suggest?

Angels.  The baby Jesus.  The real meaning of the season.

I have neither the time nor the talent with scissors to make any of those things.   We only have construction paper here to work with.  But if you’d like to do the bulletin board, I’m happy to let you.  Or if you’d like to donate supplies for something a little more complicated, I’m sure folks would really appreciate that.

I said that in a sweet and cheerful voice.  I didn’t threaten to staple anyone’s face.  I didn’t mention that I thought her Teddy Bear Nativity sweatshirt was far more sacrilegious than some glitter spread hastily on paper will ever be.  I was nice, I swear.

I just think that a church ought not be so secular.

Do you have a suggestion about how the bulletin board should be done?

I just don’t like it.  It’s too secular.

God makes snowflakes, ma’am.

You made them.

It was an homage.  To, you know, God.