Save Me Jeebus!

Tact is something I lack.

 

When my friends and I are getting ready to go out and the skinny girl keeps returning from her room with a different outfit complaining, “Does this look okay? I am so FAT!” and everyone else is like, “You’re gorgeous!” “You’re tiny!” “OHMYGODSTAHP you are beautiful!” I’m the douche in the corner saying, “Yeah you look awful, ya tub o’ lard. Now shut up and chug because the cab will be here in five minutes.”

 

When I do P90X Plyo and Tony Horton says, “Alright, you’ve got two legs, let’s do Hot Feet on the right,” conveniently forgetting about Prosthetic Leg Eric in the back who he introduced us to in the beginning, I start laughing. At Eric. And his one fake leg.

 

However, my lack of sensitivity is most evident at Easter. There is just so much that is prohibited and deemed “unacceptable behavior” that it’s pretty much inevitable that at least three members of my extended family will be offended and our Easter dinner prayer will primarily discuss forgiving sinners while everyone not-so-discreetly gives me the eye.

 

 

Unfortunately, and unavoidably, Jesus is the reason I have so much trouble around this holiday.

 

First of all, I love me a good Jesus joke. Anything is funnier when Jesus is involved. Pouring Merlot at my winery job was particularly difficult yesterday, because all I wanted to do was say, “This is the blood of Christ” and have everyone reply, “Amen.” Am I wrong for that? I didn’t mean it disrespectfully; I was just trying to bring some life back into the room (ba dum chh).

 

 

Secondly, I feel compelled to make up for the fact that I haven’t been to church in over a year and a half by dedicating every action to the Big Guy.

“I’m off to my internship…FOR JESUS!”
“I’m going to sleep in until 1 p.m.….FOR JESUS!”
“Let’s go to Margarita Monday…FOR JESUS!” (pronounced hay-zoos)
I have caught on that maybe this isn’t okay by the reactions I receive from those who don’t know me well enough to tell me off, aka an uncomfortable half-laugh and a shaking of the head while they look down at their feet hoping I’ll just leave. Who am I supposed to devote my life to, Bradley Cooper? ….I’m not opposed.

Finally, any time I get chastised for performing a task improperly, my immediate reaction is to say, “What?? I’m pretty sure it’s what Jesus would’ve done.” And, if we’re having honesty hour here, I’m kinda right.  

 

So is my lack of discretion really that bad? If so, which level of Hell am I going to, exactly? Someone let me know; I need to figure out which SPF will provide enough protection while still giving me a healthy glow.