Horrible Realization: I’m Too Old for Cheap Beer

When I was in college, I could drink like a fish.  I put huge douchey dudes to shame with my incredible ability to chug, handle, and hold my cheap liquor and beer.  I preferred nicer beer, even in those days, but I wasn’t about to turn down a few dozen free cans of Natty Light or PBR.  You just don’t do that in college.  You drink what you are given… You know, if it’s not from a very shady source.  Hell, even if it is shady, you might consider it if it’s totally free.  I mean, you’re supposed to be poor in college.  Why not enjoy cheap-ass bear?

College students love beer.

Everyone loves beer.

However, not everyone can drink cheap beer like 20-year-olds.

Once graduation occurs, and you move on graduate school or perhaps a real-life, grown-up job with benefits and a salary and everything, your lifestyle inherently changes.  It just does.  Life is very different after college.  Now, instead of just wanting to get drunk and maybe get a date or two out of some dude/lady, you are actually talking about relationships and even….  MARRIAGE.  Well, maybe just long-term or like… living together or something.  You’re still figuring that part out.  Anyways…

Life after graduation is quite an adjustment.  It takes some g.d. time, y’all.  And that’s okay.

There are many lessons a post-graduate must learn, and one of the first I learned…  Nah, actually the most obvious one I learned, was that I cannot drink the way and the crap I once could.  I’m a grown-up now, and Natty Lite ain’t gonna cut it.

When you start to get old, your body can’t handle the vinegar/acid/gasoline contained in cheap beer.  At least, the body can’t handle it at the same level.  When a body is young and virile, it can fight off the poisons of cheap beer – the pee in Busch Light or the dirt in Natural Ice.  When a body gets older, it starts to give up on dying and it wants to live.  Cheap beer wants to kill you and your body.  Old bodies know better.  They demand good beer.

Older bodies also don’t want you to make them suffer with yucky beer.  I learned this the hard way.

I have now learned, once and for all, that I am now too old to drink a whole bunch of crappy beer.  My body hates it.  My body wants to be a temple instead of a garbage can.  I must obey.

Until very recently, I was entirely immune to hangovers.  I had only once had a hangover, and it was after a week of no-sleep and then heavy, celebratory drinking.  You can read about a lot that night in the post, “When Kate and Patty (Almost) Got in a Bar Fight.”  With that one exception, I have been a total boss.  This has annoyed many people.  Understandably so…  Hangovers suck.  Now that I’m a little older, I’m starting to catch them.

After a night of drinking… we’ll say “some” beers, I have started to feel a little less-than-great the next morning.  Therefore, I must accept that I’m now too old for drinking cheap beer like a college-kid.

Damn.

So, Pregnancy Is Inevitable Now?

DO NOT WANT.

I’m pretty afraid of pregnancy.  I think a majority of sexually active women in their twenties are also quite afraid of babies appearing inside their bodies.  Pregnancy is a constant threat weighing on us 75-90% of the time.  The other 10-25% of the time we have cramps, so we’re pretty sure we are not pregnant in those moments.  Those are good moments.  Those are moments that remind me of freedom, that ring of choice and birth control, and that remind that I am NOT ready to be a parent.  I’m far too creeped out by pregnancy.  I mean, my god!  Think about it.  Pregnancy is terrifying and a constant threat.  It takes you over.  It wins.  It is very, very scary.

Why is pregnancy so scary?

Oh, I don’t know… Maybe because a parasite grows inside of you?  Maybe because it makes your boobs go crazy?  Maybe because it’s the thing all women fear before some crazy switch goes off in their head?  Maybe because your body will never be the same?  Maybe because if you have a baby, you ALWAYS have it?  Pregnancy is imprisonment, and it’s a lifetime sentence.  Did I mention the stuff it can do to your body?

THERE ARE EIGHT BABIES IN THERE! EIGHT!

You might be wondering what prompted such a vile spew of anti-pregnancy thoughts, the answer is fear.  Pregnancy is not inevitable for me.  I believe in birth control and I know how to use.  It’s a good thing, y’all.

Lately, a lot of people (mostly my mother and my boyfriend’s friends) have been really chatting me up about babies. The message seems to be: “Pregnancy is inevitable.” I mean, I get what they’re saying. Maybe I will eventually decide to do that to myself or to let someone do that to me.  They all seem to think that for me not to know or for me to deny wanting children is blasphemous.  It’s not.  Some women don’t have children.  Some women don’t want children.  Some women don’t want to make their own.  Maybe I just don’t know.  I do know that I want to avoid this question.

Don’t ask.  Don’t wish babies on me.  That’s weird.

I know that a lot of women talk about the magic of childbirth, but I think many women have also experienced/are currently experiencing life as someone who is deeply and violently frightened of pregnancy and children. I’m tired of people telling me that I have to have kids. I don’t know what the hell I want. I’m 23. Back off.

Why is pregnancy being discussed as an inevitability?  Or at least, why is it being discussed as a fast-approaching, oncoming train?

No.

THIS IS WHAT IT DOES TO YOUR BODY. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS. OH MY GOD.

Basically, babies come from explosions in women’s bodies.  They are scary.  They shoot out of places and things go boom.  Then they cry a lot.  They cry so much.  There is so much stuff happening.  I get that babies are cute and stuff, but wowzers.  No thank you.

The babies get inside of you and then they try to get out of you.

There is just so much scary stuff about this. For example, THERE IS A HUMAN TRYING TO ESCAPE FROM THIS WOMAN’S STOMACH.

Sometimes I have dreams about babies happening, and I wake up in cold sweat.  I don’t wake up smiling and laughing and clapping my hands.  I wake up terrified.  Sometimes I have dreams about drinking and running and being awesome and single and not having babies and keeping my body the same shape.  Those are times when I wake up comforted and happy and joyous and giggly.  Good stuff.

Sometimes I think about my life in ten years.  When I think about that life including kids, it feels messy and sloppy and loud.  When I think about it without kids, it feels messy and sloppy and loud… Wait.  I guess those are the same.

Sometimes I imagine what would happen if I got preggers right now, and while it is better than a teenager getting preggers, it’s still not my favorite idea.

Also, this:

There are just so many things that can happen.  So many babies can happen.  So. Many. Babies.

You can stop whining about how hard it is to be young now.

More and more often, I’ve been seeing articles bemoaning being in your twenties (in particular, Thought Catalog and the HuffPost Blog love making lists on this topic). I wrote a goofy version (at least I like to think so) myself–far less, well, serious and doom-y. But I’m really, really, REALLY getting tired of people bitching and moaning about being twenty-whatever in combination with one of the following:

A. Not having a job. I get that this is frustrating. I do. Having a degree that you worked hard for and that you can seemingly wipe your ass with sucks. However, there is not some sort of cosmic significance to your lack of employment. We have a shitty economy. We are, realistically, in a rec(depr)ession, and you’re pretty much at the bottom of the ladder. It is, yes, adversity that you have to work through, but plenty of other people have worked through it before you. It is not something special for our generation, it does not make you better/unique/more self-aware. You’re also the one who refuses to do menial labor because you’ve been fore fed some bullshit about it being below you for the last two decades. You annoy me. Shut the hell up already.

B. Being single. And drunk. And single. Okay, I get it. You’re lonely. And you’re verging on being a full-blown alcoholic. This has nothing to do with being in your twenties. Being drunk and lonely is not a profound experience, nor is it the special property of the young.

C. Feeling directionless and using your blog to whine about it. Blogging always straddles that strange line between making your point and getting whiny in order to elicit sympathy from total strangers. One thing that is true about many people in their twenties (but also true of many teens and even a boatload of baby boomers) is a need for constant reassurance/confirmation from their social circle. Why else would social media be so addictive and so conducive to the humblebrag?

D. Being too far or too little self-aware. It depends on who you ask on this one, but for all the time you, author of blogpost/article, are spending reflecting on being in your twenties (instead of oh, I don’t know, living them) I sure hope you’re erring on the “too much” side of this equation. Honestly, quit taking yourself so seriously. Chances are, by the time you hit your mid twenties, you’ll experience something that will change the way you see the world or yourself. That’s healthy and appropriate. Whether that’s losing a beloved grandparent, having to break off a long-term relationship, or even getting a first phone call from a collections department, all of these things can force you to crawl out of your (supposed) vodka-induced coma from part B of this list and re-evaluate your shit. It’s called life, and it is not special or particular to being a young adult.

E. Whining about being broke. Your parents are paying (or stopped paying) your rent/grocery bill/phone bill/bar bill/healthcare bills (think Lena Dunham à la Girls). You live in New York/L.A./Miami/Chicago. Um. What did you think was going to happen if you moved to a HUGE metropolis and had, if we refer to part A, NO JOB? Shit is expensive! I hope your parents have already paid off the house they have in Happytown, USA because even a shitty studio apartment in some of those places is probably going to have them forking over twice as much as they did for their mortgage. Give me a break. Stop acting like they’re obliged to be paying for your dumb ass to live the high life while remaining totally oblivious to all of the benefits you do have, like parents who are not only willing but able to help you with your rent.

F. Jerking off to your own perceived intellectual, social, and cultural superiority. We get it. You have clever Tweets. Who knew so much wit could be packed into a mere 140 characters? Your Instagram photos each have the perfectly selected filter for the five hundredth picture of your cat, or the one where you’re holding up a half-drunken PBR at some skeevy neighborhood bar you like because it’s “pure” (that is, you’re the only person under forty inside of it). Your Tumblr is both thought provoking and delightfully cheeky in the 21st century intarwebs sort of way. You’ve read (and get) Derrida and Naked Lunch. You need to remind your Facebook friends how brilliant and unique and clever and unique and underground and unique and unique and unique you are. Did I mention you’re unique? And your blog, OH! Your BLOG. It is so deep and meaningful and there’s just so many feelings you need to discuss.

The biggest problem is that there’s a good chunk of “twenty-somethings” who aren’t anywhere near this obnoxious, self-righteous, self-absorbed, and arrogant.

We live on our own. We have jobs. We pay our own bills. We might have put ourselves through college. We aren’t stressing that we don’t have the newest version of the iPhone. We still don’t really “get” Twitter. We’ve (self-consciously) learned how to resist the humblebrag. We take care of our parents, financially, physically, or emotionally. We appreciate cheeky internet humor as much as the next guy, but don’t feel compelled to base our entire self-worth on it. We, too, sometimes drink to much, have a crisis of conscience and confidence, and really–really–enjoy watching Girls. We just don’t take to the virtual streets and feel it’s necessary to tell the world each passing detail of our lives, or record them in photographs, preferring to experience them without a camera lens in our face or our fingers racing across the touch screen of our phone to check-in on Facebook 24/7. And quite frankly, we’re sick and tired of getting lumped in with people who do act those ways and do those things. I’m looking at you, New York Times.

So, let’s be real. Being in your twenties, like being in any other conveniently-named age range, has its ups and downs. Sitting around pampering your bruised ego on the internet or looking for affirmation of your feelings and your self-worth from your peers, known or unknown, is a (bad) choice, not a feature of an age group. It’s okay to feel pissed off because you’re unemployed or because you can’t find a boyfriend; it really is. But it has nothing to do with your age.

NBC, you’re sucking up the Olympics like your primetime schedule.

There are lots of things I like about NBC. Brian Williams is awesome. Richard Engel is super badass. They hired Howard freaking Stern as a judge on America’s Got Talent. Bob Costas pretty much got Jerry Sandusky to confess on the air. Those are pretty awesome things.

HOWEVER. They are sucking up their coverage of the Olympics.

  • Why did I never get to see ANY footage of American men or anyone else on the rings for the men’s gymnastics events?

    Apparently, this wasn’t worth showing.

  • Why did they completely cut Gabby Douglas’s and Aly Raisman’s routines on the balance beam (purportedly Raisman’s best event after the floor routine) in primetime coverage? Yet they showed the two Russians and the Chinese woman in their rotation…
  • Every single interview goes essentially thusly: How is it winning [insert level medal here]? How does that make you feel? To which everyone responds in some variation of “It’s overwhelming; I can’t put it into words.” And if I hear the Today show hosts ask one more kid if they slept with their medal under their pillow last night, I will strangle all of them, even though I kind of love Savannah Guthrie.
  • Only showing major events in primetime kind of sucks because it’s too easy to spoil it for yourself… *frowns at Twitter.*
  • NBC can’t even keep their own spoilers under control: see Missy Franklin’s first gold medal:
  • Moments before airing Missy Franklin’s tape-delayed Olympic victory in the 100-meter backstroke, NBC ran a promo for Tuesday’s edition of “Today” that said this:

They’re waiting for NBC to show the missing balance beam routines, too.

“When you’re 17 years old and win your first gold medal, there’s nobody you’d rather share it with.”
The network had yet to show Franklin’s win when it ran the “Today” teaser that included this photograph of the teen sensation standing on the medal stand with the gold draped around her neck.

  • Local coverage of the Olympics is nonsense. It’s like a giant masturbation fest for local news sportscasters who are all running amuck in London. I feel awful for Londoners; I felt particularly awful when our local sportscaster thought it’d be hilarious to ask everyone in the vicinity of Big Ben what time it was in an effort to get them to look at the giant clock. That’s worth a fork in my eye.
  • NBC decided it made more sense to cut a tribute to the victims of London’s 2005 terrorist bombings. They showed a clip of Ryan Seacrest’s interview with ass kissing of Michael Phelps instead.
  • Ryan Seacrest. Enough said.

    NBC: sucking up the Olympics since 1964.

Everyone Poops…

Everyone poops, sometimes even while they’re at work.

Where I work, there seems to be outrage about people pooping.  Because it’s at work, pooping is crime.  What?  Why?  Look, I am not a fan of walking into a recently defiled restroom area, but sometimes people just need to go potty and I feel good about that.  We’re all here for 8 hours.  What if someone suddenly realizes they need to go at 10:00 AM?  Are they really supposed to hold it until 5:00 PM?

One of the women I work with came back from a bathroom break in horror – her eyes were blank, her face had lost its color.  She was in shock.  When we inquired, “What happened?”

She said, “Someone was going #2 in the bathroom.  Oh my god.  I want to barf.”  Most of the other people around us agreed that what she had just been through was truly horrific.  She was consoled by their outrage and genuine sympathy.  How dare a person poop in a public restroom?  How offensive?  How outrageous?  They were all so offended.   No one stopped to think that maybe that pooper was not excited about having to go #2 at work, but sometimes the body does what the body wants.  Have these people never dealt with a bought of unwanted gas?

Meanwhile, I was thinking, “Sure, I don’t want to experience that, but it’s a bathroom… so… it doesn’t seem all that weird.”  Someone pooping in a bathroom is not novel to me. It’s normal.  That’s where we’re supposed to do that.

I just don’t understand why this society is in denial of poop (by the way, that would be a terrifying name for a river…).  We all do it.  It’s going to happen.  Chill out.

It’s just not healthy to hold that in all day.  It’s not like people are maniacally planning to ruin other people’s bathroom experiences, they are just people who got to work, and thought… “Oh crap, I have to poop.”  Then, they poop.  They poop at work.  They are trying to be discreet.  They are trying to be quiet.  They run down to that weird bathroom in the basement.  They don’t want you to know.
No one wakes up in the morning and decides they want to poop at work.  That’s not a thing.  People don’t do that on purpose.  You don’t decide when to get hungry, when to sneeze, when you’ll need to pee, or when you’ll need to poop.

They call it “Going to the bathroom,” for a reason.  That reason is because it’s stuff you do in a bathroom.  That’s where they are.  Get over it.

Politics of Pooping: Dating Edition

Pooping scares people.  That’s why people’s pooping patterns can tell us so much when dating…

The Politics of Date-Poop

  • If a man poops in your apartment, the first time he is there, he is not interested in dating you long-term.
  • If a man poops at your place right before he leaves to go home, he is an asshole without proper manners. Just wait 10 minutes until you get home!
  • If a man discusses poop in front of you within two weeks of knowing you, he considers you a dude/bro, and he does not want to date you.
  • If a new girl in your life discusses poop in front of you (if she’s a new mom discussing baby poop, she’s not crazy, just annoying… although, how did you dating a new mom…), she’s probably a weirdo.
  • If a chick poops in your apartment without major stealth measures within two months of knowing you, she is not interested in sleeping with you.  Girls tend to be pretty weird about poo.
  • If a first date discusses bowel patterns, you need to run. RUN.
  • If someone wants to involve poo or poo-talk, you also need to run. RUN!
  • If a date says, “Sorry I took so long in the bathroom…. There was a line.”  Believe them.  They are trying to maintain their dignity.  Just don’t make eye contact and move on.
  • If your date is a potty-mouth, you may proceed.  Well, if you’re fine with hearing every goddamn thing they say…

On Marriage Equality

First, let’s get one thing straight (pun intended), this issue is Marriage Equality, not Gay Marriage.  Calling this issue “Gay Marriage” implies that gay people are getting something special – like a Big & Tall store which is a special place for big and tall dudes.  People have the right to choose who they love.  Americans are allowed to get married, if they are both consenting, unrelated, free-willed adults… but only if they are of the opposite sex.  Wait?  Don’t we all deserve the freedom to marry whoever we would like (assuming we want to marry an adult who also wants to marry us)?  Don’t we?

Second, let’s celebrate the fact that the 9th Circuit Court in California overturned Prop 8: meaning they ruled that California cannot ban gay marriage (marriage equality).  Prop 8 Decision!  More on the decision HERE and HERE!  This deserves a few major YAYs!  I’m so happy, proud, excited, and relieved.  This shouldn’t be so hard.  This should be simple.  Gay people should have equal rights to marriage in every state.

Bigots hate.  Hate is evil.  The gay community does not deserve hatred; they are humans (the regular kind) and they deserve every single right a straight person has.  People deserve to be treated like people.  American people ought to be treated as if they are American (again, the regular kind).

Ever wonder why there isn’t a straight community?  It’s because they don’t have all that much in common, and it’s also because they aren’t being denied their rights, so they don’t have to unite.  Not all gay people are the same; shocking, right?  Just like not all people are the same.  WOW.  Yet, they still deserve the same rights.

I’m just so sick of hearing people argue about Marriage Equality.  It shouldn’t be open for argument.  This should be a cut-and-dry equal rights decision.  Of course gay marriage should be legal.  Of course it is simply marriage.  Of course we should all have the same rights.  This is America, right?  Freedom of religion… Freedom from religion…

Arguing against marriage equality because a religion doesn’t endorse homosexuality should be a clear false start.  This isn’t a “Christian Nation;” you are welcome to be a Christian in America, and most Christians realize that accepting and loving their fellow humans is a major part of their religion, and so they don’t attack gay people.  Don’t hide behind a religion, you’re not a Christian, you’re a bigot.  Also, religion doesn’t mean a thing in American government.

A few more things:

1. How is a straight marriage threatened by a gay marriage?  Straight marriages seem fine even through all the mail-order brides, arranged marriages, divorces, cheating, abuse…  People still get married.  Marriage will be fine.

2. Why do you care so much what gay people do?

3. Gay people also feel love…

4. How would you feel if the government took away all marriages?

5. How do you feel about inter-racial marriages?  That’s a no-brainer, right?  Of course people of different races can marry!  Think about it!  We left that up to the states and it turned out SO well.  Wait a second…

Finally, in 50 years, I believe strongly that we will look back on our nation’s past and hang our heads in shame that people in this country resisted Marriage Equality.  This is a civil rights issue.  Someday, this will seem like it should have been so easy because it should be an easy decision to make.

Imaginary Person #1: Should gay people be allowed to marry?
Imaginary Person #2: Are they consenting adults of sound mind?
Imaginary Person #1: Yes.
Imaginary Person #2: Oh, well, then… Duh, YES!

I’m tired of being ashamed of our currently bigoted country.

Ten Things I Hate About Community Laundry

10. Somebody’s always using the machines. It doesn’t matter if you thought doing your laundry at 4am might “beat the rush”–somebody is ALWAYS using them.

9. I’m pretty sure my clothes are never really clean. I mean, with the number of bachelors living in the building whose mothers never explained how to measure detergent, it’s a safe bet that these things are all gunked up on the inside.

8. $1.50 to wash and $1.50 to dry? Jesus Christos I’m spending a lot of money on this!

7. When you actually do get a free washer, chances are somebody JUST started drying their clothes. Which means get ready to waste a half hour waiting for that to finish and another half hour waiting for Joe Blow to come get his stuff.

6. There are always those impatient people. Or nosy people. You know the ones I mean–who literally cannot wait five minutes after the washer/dryer has finished to drag your clothes out and put them on top. But you never can catch them in the act to call them out…

5. Then there’s you–patient you–who waits a half hour for somebody to get their crap, and when they haven’t come for it, you take it out of the washer/dryer and are just finishing throwing your stuff in when they waltz down to the laundry room and proceed to give you the stink eye because you moved their stuff.

4. The dryers are always littered with cat hair. And I’m allergic. Do the math and you wind up with clothes fresh out of the dryer, me covered in hives, and immensely pissed off. And itchy.

3. Why must somebody always leave a pair of underwear lurking around the laundry room? And nobody ever claims them. Unless you have that one weird guy who lives in the corner studio and [likely] collects stray women’s panties. Eep.

2. Meeting someone in the laundry room is always awkward. It’s as if everyone has agreed that washing and drying clothes is a deplorable chore, and we must not make eye contact when we’re doing it, lest we spontaneously combust from our immense shame.

1. NOBODY EVER CLEANS THE GODFORSAKEN LINT FILTER. WHY? WHY MUST I SCRAPE YOUR FUZZ EVERY TIME I WANT TO DRY MY CLOTHES SO AS TO NOT RISK A DRYER FIRE? WHY???

Please Don’t Ask Me About Jesus

It happens at least once every year. Somebody asks me something about Jesus.

Have you accepted the LORD Jesus Christ as your personal savior?

Can I pray for/with you?

Do you believe in God?

Do you call yourself a Christian?

These are complicated questions. And they’re really personal questions. Sometimes they are asked of me antagonistically, and, like most other people, I resent those kinds of interactions. More often than not, however, I think they’re asked in order to get me to “come home” to God. Or something.

I think I hate these kinds of questions mostly because I don’t have an easy answer for them. And although I happen to think that that’s just fine, the person/people asking never seem to think it is.

Take today, for example. I was approached by a young blonde woman and her two friends. “Hi!” she said, cheerily. I hesitated. I was in my university’s student union and had already been approached by a guy selling candy bars for some club or camp and a girl who was looking for her backpack she claimed she’d left at the table where I was sitting (and I’m pretty sure she thought I nabbed it). I just didn’t want to deal with anyone; I was busy getting work done.

“Hello.”

“My name’s Heather!” she stuck out her hand, and also introduced her two friends, an Asian girl about my height, and a slightly shorter brunette. I shook her hand. I was still hesitating somewhat. What did they want? I didn’t want to donate to something. I don’t make enough as a grad student teaching assistant to afford to donate to anything right now except the “keep Kate sheltered and fed fund.” “What’s your name?” she prompted.

“I’m Kate,” I answered. “Are you…” I paused and scanned their faces, “advertising for something?”

“Well, actually,” said the blonde, “we’re just telling people about our Bible reading club…”

That was when she lost me. I hear “bible,” “Jesus,” “God,” or “Christian,” and I immediately start panicking and looking for a way to get away from whoever has just begun talking to me. It’s nothing personal; it’s just that every religious person who has ever approached me has tried their darndest (and I mean their DARNDEST) to get me to declare my unabashed love for the big JC, or something. I’m never disrespectful, but I’m firm. I just don’t feel it’s necessary to share my own religious insecurities and ponderings with complete strangers, to be perfectly blunt.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my religious identity and for a long time. I was raised Catholic by a mother who converted when I was five and an Episcopalian-turned-atheist/agnostic father. I’m now dating a Jew, and we’ve talked about conversion. I don’t know exactly what possessed me to stop the blonde midsentence with the words, “Oh, I’m Jewish,” but I did it.

Now the accuracy or inaccuracy of that statement is up for grabs. However, I’m headed to temple tomorrow morning, so I think that at least lends some veracity to it. At any rate, it wasn’t anything these girls had said to me up until that point that made or makes me angry. It’s what they followed my statement with.

“Oh, hereditary or practicing?” asked the Asian girl. My brain scrambled. “Both,” I lied. Only about the first half. But really, what kind of question is that? It seems a little personal for a stranger to be asking me what ethnicity and religion, simultaneously, I lay a claim to. What right does she have to even ask? She should have left it at whatever I said and moved on to greener pastures.

But then came the real kicker. “Well, thanks for telling us the truth! Have a nice day!” The blonde was bubbly as ever. I wished them good luck and turned back to my work. It didn’t dawn on me until a few minutes had passed that she was implying I was a liar. So maybe I kind of was. No one I’m blood related to professes Judaism. But I am actively thinking about conversion and I am going to temple tomorrow. So maybe it’s a trade off. Besides, the question caught me utterly off-guard.

BUT STILL. How dare you passively-aggressively imply that I’m a liar?

This isn’t the worst interaction I’ve had with evangelicals. Not even close (one time I ran into a guy who literally would not take no for an answer and followed me down the block. Then he wanted to add me on Facebook. I gave him a fake name: Kate Johnson. He had the audacity to ask whether I was telling him the truth.)

Christians who are forward about their faith don’t have some sort of monopoly on truth-telling. Why imply that everything I say is a lie? And furthermore, even if it is, did it ever occur to y’all to quit asking me incredibly personal questions? Yeah. That’s what I thought.