I'm not a big fan of the religious holiday. Sure having time off work is good (but not great since I don't get paid for it and I really need a pair of killer boots) but religion is kinda scary. I actually think I have some kind of religious phobia, which I thought was a freaky thing but is probably more common than I think because people talk about putting the fear of god into you.
I'm not afraid of god, I'm afraid of people talking about god. Don't use the "g" word around me unless it's in a taking-the-lord's-name-in-vain kind of way. If I'm say reading a blog and someone mentions thanking god in a totally serious manner I'll shut that page down as fast as my mouse can click. If I heard someone talking about god, I'll run away.
See my nan is a bit of a religious nut. And she's got nuttier as she's got older. With stuff like going to church and all that, it's okay because you know what you're getting in to and can plan for it (well unless you go to the catholic church - I did that one time when I was a kid to see my friend get confirmed and they passed around the collection plate twice. How was I to know? I spent the whole service freaking that people would think I was a cheapskate.)
But yeah, with church, if you rock up, you know you are getting a couple of hours of god talk with some singing thrown in then you go home and eat roast meat. With my nan, she just springs it on you, anywhere, any time. You think you're safe then suddenly she pulls out the burning in hell and taking jesus as your saviour speech.
I'm particularly vulnerable because, as anyone who has known me for more than five minutes could work out, I'm mighty fond of cussing. My dad used to say that my talk would shame a bullock driver. I dunno what that meant so I assumed it was a good thing. What that means is, around my nan, I'm so busy concentrating on not letting the big ones out - the "fucks" and the like - that often the "goddamns" slip through the radar.
Then we get the sighing and sermonising and fits of the vapours.
Some noteable religious based talks from my nan include:
The lecture on "keeping myself nice" and not losing my virginity until I get
married. Delivered to me when I was nineteen years
old. I tactfully mentioned nothing about closing stable doors. Let's
face it, by the time I was nineteen, that horse had not just bolted. It
had won the Melbourne Cup.
The one on not taking drugs. That would have been far less amusing if I
hadn't been stoned at the time. I did try to understand the difference
between smoking pot and taking a truckload of tranquilisers but it seems jesus
doesn't mind if drugs if the doctor prescribes them.
A zillion lectures, the reasoning of which I have never understood, on
wearing your dressing gown. WTF? My nan has some kind of
weirdarsed worship of the dressing gown. Like you are a no good slut
headed straight to hell if you don't wear one but you can be the town bike in a
dressing gown and the lord will smile apon you. You get extra
redemption if it is polyester, floral and quilted.
My fave nan moment though, has to be the time she decided she couldn't buy tattslotto tickets any more because gambling is wrong and a sin and all that but, since my mum was destined to burn in hell for all eternity anyway, it was okay for mum to buy them for her.
So happy easter folks and remember, jesus died for your sins.
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