11:28 p.m. - 2006-11-03
Sunday School on a Saturday? What gives?
Filling in for Mr. Smed today is Naked Barista!!
My mouth has a tendency to fall behind what my brain is thinking. To say I think faster than I talk isn't quite accurate because I make full sentences. It's just like the chick who pulls the lottery ping pong balls out at 7:30 (or whenever). I have a million thoughts bouncing around and whatever sentence that makes its way out of my mouth may or may not be related to the previous sentence. Furthermore, the sentence that does squeak out often happens to be so off the wall that I lose those around me who aren't conditioned to my shenanigans. Case in point:
A friend of mine recently had a baby. When I went to visit her in the hospital, she was whooped (pronounced HOO-pehd), so I held the baby for a while and conversed with her husband. Also in the room was my good buddy Becky, who is just beginning to get used to the train wreck that is my stream of consciousness and Drew, the youth pastor at the church I attend here in Sunny, SC. Becky, the proud parents and I all belong to a fellowship group so we are used to talking in smaller, intimate settings. Everyone with me on the images here? Onward with my story, then.
A few weeks prior to this evening, our group had studied the section of the Bible where Jesus met the woman at the well. For those who aren't familiar with the story, she had been married five times and working on number 6. Jesus had asked the woman for a drink, which for reasons that escape me, was a huge taboo that made everyone gasp and smack themselves in the forehead (so I'm assuming). Jesus told the woman that he could give her "living water" so that she would never be thirsty again. When the woman began to be interested in what Jesus was saying, he gave her what I'll refer to as a Holy Smack-down. He said something to the effect of "Ok, go get your husband and I'll tell you." What he was REALLY doing was pointing out that he knew she had trouble lighting on one man and had no qualms jumping from one to the next in hopes that the next would be better than the last. Marriage was a business venture to her and following Jesus just couldn't be a matter of skipping to the next male in line. During our group, we had watched a video by a pastor fella by the name of Andy Stanley. Mr. Stanley's interpretation of the scripture will later make itself known, but now that you've all had a little Bible lesson a'la Nikki, I'll finally get to the part where I talk about not being able make sense to "norms".
During the hospital visit, there was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. Being the lively girl that I am, I piped up. (To convey proper intonation, I shall use stars to highlight actions and voice inflection.)
Me: You know how the other night in HOME group, Andy Stanley was talking about the woman at the well and he said that when Jesus offered her living water? Andy said she was like *cocks head off to the side, takes on a contemplative, innocent facial expression* "Really, sir? Tell me more about this living water." Let's be serious about this for a minute and call a spade a spade. The woman didn't give a flip about water. She probably thought Jesus was some schmuck who was propositioning her to get into his bedroom. Seriously!
Drew: What?
Room: *chuckles*
Me: She made a profession out of trading up, so to speak, so when some guy comes up to her and says that he can make her never thirst again, the last thing she's thinking about is her hydration. She wasn't all *cocks head again* "Oh, really, mister", she was like *fluffs breasts, straightens hair and leans against the chair seductively* "You don't say, big boy."
Room, except Drew: *dissolves into giggles*
Drew: Why do you think that?
Me: My guess is that she immediately thought "Hm, he's got to have some money. He's so eccentric. Is he a Trump? He just oozes power." I mean, I don't know whether or not Jesus had a comb over so there's no telling.
Drew: *completely bewildered that I would suggest she was after more than salvation in the beginning* I'm going to have to look this up.
Me: Really, I think about these things. The first conversation Kyle and I ever had turned into a fight about whether or not Judas wore leopard skin or silver lame' underwear.
Drew: WHAT?!
Me: When I met Kyle, we were working at a dinner theater that was playing Jesus Christ Superstar. We discussed the state of Judas' unmentionables in the last scene because he was wearing a silver lame' skirt. The people in the front row had to get a REAL show. I believed his drawers would be animal skin. Kyle figured he was the accessorizing type so he must have been wearing matching underwear.
Drew: *staring in amazement*
Room: *laughing hysterically*
Me: *shrug* I'm jussayin'.
Drew: So we've gone from a woman to a comb over to Judas' underwear. *smell of smoke coming from his head* What IS a comb over?
Room, including me: *laughing uncontrollably*
Me: It's when you're balding and try to cover it up with hair that hasn't fallen out yet, like this. *sweeps all hair from the left side of my head across the top of my head to the right side*
Becky: Wait, I think Donald Trump's starts from the back though.
Me: Oh! *pulls all hair from the back of my head forward completely covering my eyes* It's something like this.
Room: *hysterics*
Drew: But Jesus was only in his 30s! *shaking his head, wide eyed as a deer, picks up his cell phone* Can I get your phone number?
I don't know whether he was hoping to do a lot of praying for me or call me for a laugh. He seemed completely thrown by my thought process and my audacity to think outside the box. People like him are fun for me. I like to mess with them. He's a good guy, though, so I'll take it easy.
The lesson for today's guest entry is that Judas wore leopard skin underwear (Hush, Kyle, he did too), Jesus had a comb-over and I am a very strange person to hold a conversation with if you're not used to me. But mostly, Jesus had a comb-over.
Thanks for playing, Fans o'Smed. Stop around my neck of the woods if you get time or are glutton for boredom.
-Naked Barista
(passwords handed out for a minimal contribution of $99.95 by emailing nikkifoofooATgmailDOTcom. I accept Visa, Mastercard, firstborns and furry woodland creatures.)
