2/10: Check Out These Door-To-Door Jesus Freaks
8 p.m.
• So I reserved a room for a March out-of-town excursion, and the hotel chick gave me the price, which was of course “before taxes.” For those that don’t leave their parent’s house, hotels are like cigarettes when it comes to taxing. Local governments don’t want to tax their constituents, so they jack up taxes for out-of-town visitors, and if someone is going on a business trip to that area, it’s not like they are going to sleep in their rent-a-car before the big presentation the next day. For a laugh, I like asking how much a room is “after taxes,” which often results in the hotel employee answering in a nervous tone. What the hell am I going to do? OMG WHY ARE THERE SO MANY TAXES GWAAAR! Well, actually, I’m sure there are people out there who probably do such things. I guess hotel executives figure if they quote a customer a price “before taxes,” that will make their establishment more appealing due to the “lower” rate and by the time the weary traveler arrives, they would be too exhausted to bitch about the taxes added on to their room.
12:30 p.m.
• Well this was an odd way to start out the day. First off, I woke up at 7 a.m. because the cats were walking all over the bed trying to get one of us up to feed them. They get fed twice a day – once when we wake up, once before we go to bed. During the workweek they get their food at around 5:45 a.m. and then at around 9:30 p.m. However, when it’s the weekend, we tend to wake up later, but Dessa, JJ and Max have none of that. Well, maybe not so much JJ, because all he does is mill around in the room where they get fed; Dessa and Max do the dirty work. They have pretty much learned to not even try with me because I generally don’t wake up for anything, so they focus their efforts toward the better half. Dessa either wakes her up with the old “sniffing the nose” trick, and if that doesn’t work she’ll chew on her hair. Max is less creative; all he does is go up to her face and meow, although I think he’s discovered a way to get me up. What he does is walk over on my nightstand and start knocking shit down to the floor. Now the actual knocking of objects (usually just my contact lens case and deodorant) don’t actually wake me up, but rather the long fur from his tail that is hitting my face does the trick (I sleep on my side facing my nightstand). I vaguely remember this morning. I felt Dessa and Max walking all over us, and while Dessa was doing her thing, Max was knocking my contact lens case over. All I remember is hearing Mrs. kkk say, “Alright I’ll get your food; Jesus Christ,” and me reaching for the squirt bottle to spray Max. I looked at the clock to see that it was 7 a.m. and went back to bed.
I don’t know what the hell happened to me or what I was dreaming, but I woke up at 11:30 a.m. Normally I don’t get up so late (although I used to; good times), but when I did I was sore all over. I was also dreaming, but I can’t remember what it was about. All I remembered was that I was back in high school as a senior and our one class had split into groups, and this one girl, Wendy Welsh, began reading/singing this story about one of those Chronoicles of Narnia books. She was reading this from a fill-in-the-blank test score sheets where you fill in answers to multiple-choice or true/false questions. I didn’t have one of these sheets and had no idea what the hell was going on. And the song/story she was singing? I have no clue. I’ve never read any of those hippie books, except for the “Lion, Witch and Wardrobe,” and that was when I was a kid in a Christian grade school. So this story could not even have been related to the whole Narnia thing, although that lion was involved, along with those beavers. That’s all I remember from this dream, and when I woke up, that made-up song Wendy was singing was still in my head! When I got up, I looked at the clock and it read 11:30. I went to the bathroom to do my thing, when suddenly the doorbell rang. The cats scattered, and I finished wiping. I threw on my sweatpants and shirt, both lying on the floor by my bed, and trudged toward the door, not knowing what adventures were in store for me.
I opened the door, and there it was – two Jehovah’s Witnesses. Good Lord. I could barely keep my eyes open from the bright lights and cold, biting wind going through my screen door. They asked me if I would like this literature about how “Religion is dying,” and I said … shit, I can’t remember what I said. I’ve never dealt with these people before, but I’ve heard stories. I wasn’t in the mood, or in the form, to say, “Get the fuck off my property you wackos,” either. So, due to the fact I had just minutes ago gotten up from bed and had most of my hair sticking up and that funky crap in my eyes, I had an ideal get-out-of-Jesus-Freaks-line. “I’m battling a cold and took a bunch of medication last night.” I then coughed toward their direction. They made a remark about how cold it was, gave me their pamphlets and left, but not after I shook the one’s hand. The hand I wiped my crack with just minutes ago and forgot to wash.
What has this got to do with anything? Haven’t got the slightest clue. Sorry. I’ve washed my hands since then … or at least I think I did. If not, I guess I’m typing in my own filth.
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