I really do believe in God. I do. Believe it or not, I was raised by extremely spiritual and religious parents. I went to church every. single. sunday. I played the Virgin Mary in the Christmas play (stop snickering, asshole). I taught Bible School, Sunday School, and accompanied the children's choir on the piano.
Fast forward 20 years and there I was...not going to church on Easter, the most important Christian holiday ever. Sleeping in on Easter. HAVING SEX ON EASTER. I'm pretty sure that's some kind of sin somewhere in the bible. So Jesus is all "Dudes, I'm rising. Check out my tomb. What? It's empty? Holla!" and I'm all *snore*.
Of course, I totally lied to my parents and told them we went to church. Because I totally was going to and intention is like, almost as good as actually doing something. So Saturday night I was all "I don't want to go to church" and Captain Carl was all "Fine by me" because Captain Carl is a heathen who doesn't believe in Jesus. Oh, he does believe in a higher power of some kind but he can't wrap his brain around the Jesus thing, I guess. Whatever. I'll wave at him down there in hell when I go to heaven. *pious face* My point is that I had no one to talk me out of talking myself out of going to church. So basically it was totally not my fault that I didn't go.
And then my parents called and were all "Happy Easter!" and I was all "Yeah, happy Easblah..." and then I was all "What did you do today?" and they were all "Oh we went to church with your older, better sister and she sang in the choir for THREE services so she got saved like, 3x more than you did probably. What did you do?" and I was all "Oh you know, stuff and eating and easter stuff mumble mumble."
Oh well. The Easter Bunny still managed to find our house, despite our being fresh out of moral compasses.
No, he did not wear the ears in bed.
Yes, I kind of wish he had.
Lady Podcasts and Smooth Jazz
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