Warning: This post contains confusing religious messages and delusions of grandeur.
I don’t want to make anyone feel inferior here, but sometimes God talks to me. I don’t actually hear his voice, which I imagine sounds just like James Earl Jones, but sometimes he sends me little messages, like a spiritual IM. I’ve noticed that I receive more messages after a Venti beverage, which may mean that these are just caffeinated delusions or maybe Starbucks is adding an extra squirt of Jesus in my cup. I’m not here to question. Sometimes those messages are clear, sometimes they’re confusing as hell and sometimes they freak me the f*ck out, but regardless, I take them and shove them in my little bag of crazy to figure out later.
Take this morning, for instance, I decided to add to the world’s most pathetic Christmas display happening in our yard with a trip to the local hardware store, because nothing says “happy birthday, Jesus!” like an inflatable Santa and icicle lights.
I think Jesus kicked over our tinsel tree in disgust.
As I was driving, sipping on my Starbucks green tea, I heard Charlie Sheen’s response to the statement made by the kid from Two and a Half Men about the show being filth and forcing him to be an incredibly rich, conflicted 19-year-old telling bad jokes (I’m paraphrasing here, but you get the idea). Anyway, Charlie believes that the kid’s outburst is yet more proof that the show is cursed and he referenced the Heaven’s Gate cult (the cult where everybody committed suicide while wearing Nike tennis shoes) in his statement.
I love Charlie. He makes me feel so sane.
A tweaker, a Seventh Day Adventist and a closeted gay man walk into a bar…
Anyway, I get to the hardware store and on my way inside, this person emerges from a convertible Jaguar with a handicap placard, who was so disturbing that I violently averted my eyes and nearly veered right into the pole holding the handicap sign in front of the store. In my defense, let me just say that I am absolutely unphased by most handicaps and disfigurements. Sadly, I’m not as adept at handling really bad plastic surgery. I’m not proud of my reaction. I tried to play off my tactlessness, hoping that the person would interpret my rudeness as confusion and joy at my hardware store arrival or a mini stroke.
I say “person” because at first I honestly wasn’t sure whether I was looking at a man or a woman or just a composite of a plastic surgeon’s patient files. Imagine if a wax statue of Donatella Versace melted into a wax statue of Mickey Rourke and then went hardware shopping. This person’s face was stretched and plumped and then generously spray tanned into a look I’ll call Timeless Alien. His (I checked for breasts, that’s how I know) hair was bleached white blonde on top and left dark on the bottom in a classic boy band style and he wore a red and black Nike warm up outfit as if he’d just emerged from rehearsals as Siegfried and Roy’s new stage partner. Given that this is LA, the land of celebrity, I did wonder if he actually was a celebrity like Siegfried or Roy or Melanie Griffith.
Anyway, he was very friendly, chatting up all of the women in the Christmas lights and ornaments aisle and I felt very badly about my reaction. Really I was so overcome with guilt that I could barely manage to grab the last inflatable Santa on sale. I did manage, but I want you to know that there was no joy in it.
Then it struck me. This was the second time that craziness and Nike had been combined in the past half hour. This was a message from God.
Messages are everywhere. Here we have a bedazzled @ss message.
But what was the message? Vanity is its own handicap? Appreciate what you have? Shop locally, age gracefully and watch out for chemical spills? Don’t smoke meth and then visit a plastic surgeon?
If I had another green tea, I’m sure that I would unravel this parable. Of course, I’d also stop blinking and then my heart would explode, so I’m going to hold off on enlightenment for now.
Instead, I thought I’d share the message with you on the off-chance that you were looking for a message from God and hadn’t had the time to make it to your local Starbucks or hardware store. Consider it an early Christmas gift. Ho ho ho.
Sorry I didn’t get you a card.
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I think you have here is a case of “Just do it!!!!” maybe being a little bit of a dangerous motto. Maybe. If knives are being thrown at your face. Bless his, unfortunately facially disfigured, heart.
Maybe that is my message! I wish you had been there. Then you could have told me if he was actually Meg Ryan or someone famous. I’m too much like Mike to figure it out on my own.
You didnt take pics? With todays phones….ALWAYS get pics. I do….and usually send them to my daughter….and tell her I passed them her phone number….But that is the wicked mom in me…perhaps you are purely caffinated and not caffinated AND wicked like myself. 😉
I really wrestled with the desire to take a picture, but I was too overcome with guilt to do it. Damn guilt.
Hilarious! I love that bedazzled velour track suit!! I mean, of course “Jetsus” (seriously – isn’t that what it looks like?!) would want you to glorify his message by shaking your booty in someone’s face, or, hey!, just taking a seat on the ole’ stained sofa with his sparkly-ness to catch up with the Kardashians. I think the Pope could totally rock this look…
The Pope could use a little bedazzling. Now that you mention it it does look like Jetsus. Is he the space age Jesus? Maybe he was the Jetson’s messiah.
My “messages” from above usually arrive just after lunch and involve the nearest barstool. Quite often there’s one that needs holding down — does that count?
According to my father, who would never have lied to me except when answering the question “are we there yet”, the answer is yes.
“an extra squirt of Jesus in my cup”—loved that!
I don’t understand the desire to make one’s face look like a plastic mask. Droopy eyelids? Go ahead and fix them; one needs to see, after all. Unhappy with something that’s bugged you for years? Fine; take care of it. But keep having surgery after surgery until you look like you’ve been embalmed by a blind, inexperienced mortician? Seems a bit excessive to me.
Funny post!
Thanks! I’ve thought about the things I’d like to have done from time to time but seeing someone like that immediately makes me resistant to the idea of any kind of cosmetic work.
There are many “interesting” looking post plastic surgery folks around here. I never thought to look for spiritual messages in their frightening faces though. You have taught me. I shall go forth and look for spirituality amongst my plasticized neighbors! Amen!
If you are filled with enough caffeine you can find spiritual messages in your own toilet. And there very well may be messages in the toilet, but I still cut out caffeine this week so I wouldn’t end up on our roof thinking that I was Jesus and Spiderman all rolled up into one.
Timeless alien. Something about that phrase sears an image to my brain that I can’t shake, no matter how many tequila shots I do.
Love this post, as usual Kellie. You are one funny girl.
=)
Thank you, Stacie. I can’t get his face out of my mind either. Nor can I shake the feeling that he was a celebrity and I just haven’t placed him. I wish I would’ve had the balls to walk up and ask him but I’m a coward.