Sunday morning. Ah, the day of the week that I reserve for sleeping in, no underwear, entire apartment vacuuming, dishwasher emptying, and my laundry. I am in quite the slump. Happily. Like a pig in mud.
I did the regular Catholic Church worship situation for almost 14.5 years. My ex-husband was a Catholic. After my divorce in 2005, I did what fundamentalist refer to as, “backslide”. I stopped attending church of any denomination. No particular reason. Looking back, any church probably would have imploded as soon as I walked in it throughout the entire year of 2006.
Fast forward to 2013. Back in the Bible Belt, there is a church, or two, on every corner. After 27 years, I moved back to my hometown, and knew no one locally. I don’t go bar hopping, or hit the gym, so I thought that perhaps I could broaden my peer base through church attendance.
I had been invited to a church by a neighbor down the street. I decided one Sunday that I would go with her. I went. All I will say is that I kept falling asleep during the sermon, and it was well lit, so people noticed.
I attended two more times, and then stopped. This time, my reason was because I couldn’t stay awake and was embarrassed to be caught sleeping.
2016. I have been living my Sunday dream for a couple of years. The routine is still the same. I wear a bra now though because I moved to an apartment complex.
The winds of change have been blowing, and I was once again thinking about my peer base. Mind you, it’s not about quantity when it comes to friends, but quality. I had to get burned a few times to get that through my thick head. Eh, I don’t go paint and drink wine, still don’t bar hop or go to the gym. Netflix & Chill is my favorite weekend pastime, so the church idea comes up again.
I had been mulling over a local church, and thought about going for four weeks straight. I didn’t want to go alone and someone who shall remain nameless, J., bailed on me. This past weekend, the monthly “Women’s Night Out” happened.
*NOTE: This WNO is usually referred to as GNO, or Girls Night Out. It was pointed out to me that we ladies in our 40’s are WOMEN, not “Girls”. There is more to it, but you get the idea.
A. spent Saturday night with me. She agreed to go to the church service with me. She is a real trooper.
We made a pact the night before that we would actually get up, get dressed, and attend the 10:45 a.m. service. We successfully arrived at the church, in the rain, and began looking for a parking space.
I know I made Jesus sad, but this douchebag, in this douchebag SUV, literally parked in the middle of two spaces! I began to work in obscenities like they were oil paints and I was painting the Sistine Chapel. I have zero patience for idiots, and here I was, in the Lord’s parking lot, and the King/Queen of all Idiots was in my eyesight.
We found a park. We attended the service. We went back to my Ford. The King/Queen was still parked in the two spots. We actually sat and stalked the douchebag’s vehicle for 15 minutes, but the douchebag never came out. A. was working with a limited bag of trail mix, so we decided to drop it and go get lunch.
I took photos. You can see for yourself the level of douche I was dealing with. Do I feel bad that I lit up the sky like the 4th of July with my verbiage? Yeah, for a little while I did. My Chipotle steak bowl made me forget about my feelings.
*NOTE: Emotional eating is never ok.
Until next time –