Phone Call To Jesus

Several weeks ago I was driving in my car to see a client who lives about 20 minutes south of me. I was driving along the 215 here in Las Vegas when I saw a billboard with a picture of Jesus hanging on the cross. This startled me. What on earth could this billboard be advertising? There was some generic catch phrase, something like, Jesus is there for you and a phone number. What are you trying to tell me, Billboard Jesus? That if I call this number, you are going to be on the other end? I doubt it.
I called the number. "Billboard ministries, this is Pastor Joe!" So peppy. So friendly. So not Jesus. I immediately hung up having no desire to chat with Pastor Joe. I am sure he thinks bad things about my religion. Those types usually do. I didn't think much about it until a few days ago.
I have been getting calls regularly from Pastor Joe. I never answer (I've named the number in my phone, Jesus. Which is fun when I am scrolling through my contacts and see Jesus there.) But, he always leaves me a nice little message and then 6 or 7 minutes of gospel music. I want to scream. Please stop. Please. Stop. I understand the motive. I do. But, really Joe. No thank you.

The Rules

Today I went to a movie with a five year old little boy. We were going to see Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince. As we sat in the theater and the lights started to dim, I felt my heart start to race. I was getting so excited to see this movie, I have been eagerly anticipating this for well over a year. I looked at this little man with hope shining in my eyes and gasped, "I am getting so excited! Are you excited?" He looks at me with disappointment and says, "Of course. But, shhh. You are not supposed to talk during the movie."
I didn't know what to say. I quietly apologized and thought to myself, this little boy was raised the right way.

I Think I Might Have a Problem...

It Was Time.

Hair

Dyed my hair. Just a little bit blonder.

One, please.

When I moved to Maine almost 4 years ago I decided that I wanted to feel okay about doing things on my own. Going out to eat, going to the movies, just even leaving my house. I used to be the type of gal who wouldn’t do anything by myself and I decided that if I was going to move all the way to the other side of the country, I could go to a darn movie on my own. In Maine I worked as a nanny on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. This left me loads of time to start doing things on my own. I started slowly, a Tuesday matinee. I remember being so nervous as I walked up to the window. I hung my head in shame as I bought one, only ONE ticket to see Employee of the Month. What I realize now is that I should have hung my head in shame in even considering a movie that pairs the worst comedian (Dane Cook) with the worst human (Jessica Simpson). The gal at the ticket window didn’t even bat an eye she handed me my ticket. My confidence soared. I walked through the halls of that theater in Portland, ME a new woman. I could do this. I really could. I took a deep breath as I prepared to walk into the theater, prepared to be judged and ridiculed by all those couples, people who had people to do things with. People who had friends. I really shouldn’t have worried. I was the only one in that entire theater. In fact, not counting a very uncomfortable viewing of the Last Kiss with an old pervert in the back, I never had to share a theater my whole 3 months that I lived in Maine. It’s very easy to be confident of no one judging me when there really never was anyone there to do the judging. After being fired (let go, laid off, call it what you want, it always feels like someone is telling you that they hate you and want you out of their face as soon as possible) and consequently, homeless, my sister was kind enough to take me in. I packed my things and moved the 270 miles down the east coast to Ridgefield, then Danbury, Connecticut. It was in Danbury that I was at the height of my alone movie watching career. If ever a free afternoon presented itself, I was sure to be at the movie theater. It was then that I even started attending movies alone at night. I would walk into a packed theater and think nothing of sitting as close to the middle as I could with my enormous Cherry Coke. I felt great being there with no one but me. Since this started almost 4 years ago, I’ve never looked back. Now, on weekends when everyone wants to go see the latest Zac Efron movie, I am secretly pissed at the idea of attending a movie with friends. Why can’t I lust after Zac on my own? Why do I have to make a decision about the quality of the movie just seconds after the credits start to roll? I love my friends. I am glad to have them. I even like going to movies with them. I just LOVE going by myself. One please.

Guys...

I just really like corndogs.