Earlier this week, I volunteered to help my manfriend clean his rather unfortunate kitchen. While balls-deep in Butthole Surfers, cheap malbec, and on my second steel wool, he innocently asked, “Is this…OK with you?” I think, since cleaning is traditionally not the most party time task we get to experience in life, he thought surely I was cursing him under my breath. But…guys, I’m kind of a pervert.
Caroline accidentally named it about a month ago when we were kicking it with bourbon and Kevin on my couch. I’m not sure how it came up, but I was trying to recall an OxiClean commercial—you know, those ones from the ’90s when that bearded dude crouches next to a sickly-looking light brown bathtub and is all,”YO WATCH THIS,” and when you do, you see him swipe a perfect white scar, cutting through the scuzz. “HOLY FUCK,” 8-year-old me thought. Caroline nodded knowingly as I detailed all of this. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Biore pore strip people. I’m one of those, too.”
I. Want. A. Porch. SO. BAD!! I guess I could totally join Roosevelt in the stairwell but I don’t know, guys. Instead I’m doing an OK alternative and just spending the day and evening working next to an open window.
It’s fine. Hi. Good evening—is it evening? IDK, but I’m about to heat up some dinner, so.
I went to a WASP-y high school and attending youth group was a fairly popular, non-geeky Thing To Do — especially at Killearn Methodist or Wildwood Presbyterian.
I grew up Catholic, my family frequenting early Sunday mass within the stained glass Blessed Sacrament structure. But I tried out the protestant youth group with their PowerPoint presentations and acoustic guitar. It was very different from the rigid, pious practice that had become a beloved habit — Wildwood and Killearn’s lighting felt too bright and I couldn’t get excited about peanut butter-eating contests.
I was slipping away from Christianity in my early-/mid-teens but I was still trying to find some sort of footing in any of the three churches. I was trying to feel something, to believe.
It didn’t stick, but you can never fault someone for trying to believe in something — religion, love, magic. It’s worth trying.