Chicanery

On a cold dreary night in December, I was born. Destined to be the bane of my own parent's existence, I was always compelled to rebel.

I was never the perfect daughter.

Intelligent and pretty, maybe. But there was something deeply wrong with my personality. From a young age, I wasn't normal. I didn't do what anyone told me to do.  I didn't want to fit in with the rest of them. I would never be one of them.

Sixteen and eleven months later, here I sit in this uncomfortable church pew at the Sunday morning service. Listening to that dreaded old man drone on and on about Jesus this and Jesus that. Jesus doesn't want you to be a homosexual. Jesus doesn't want you to smoke cigarettes.

In fact, I'm not sure whom is more annoying-my own parents or this boring moron. Probably the boring moron. See, the boring moron actually had control over what my parents thought of me, he has them convinced that I'm like, the fucking Anti-Christ.

Isn't that hilarious? I'm not sure what gave that away, perhaps my tattoo of the petrine cross could've provided him with such an intelligent assumption.

Well, you see, living in my life is actually quite boring, so I have to find ways to entertain myself.

One time, I decided that I was going to show this pastor this tattoo-genius right? So I lift up my shirt, mind you this poor bloke looks like he's 'bout to have a stroke, and I say to him, get this, I say,

"Father, do you like my tattoo?"

Well it turns out this guy isn't even into tattoos at all! Not even upside down cross tattoos. So the guy starts choking right and he's all like,

"Devil worshipper! Satanist! Repent!"

End of story, my parents come running in and my dad has to like, calm the poor dude down since I pretty much gave him a stroke and my mom, bless her little heart, she starts looking for this tattoo on me. Well, it turns out she can't find this damn tattoo, so now the pastor is freaking out even more than he was before, if that's even possible.

And I'm like, to myself, goddamn this is some crazy shit!

The guy's like, choking and sputtering. I'm pretty sure he might've even had a nosebleed too. This little incident got me two months worth of community service at the church. Definitely worth it though.

These are the kinds of experiences that build character.

Since I'm known as the(pick all that apply)"Satanist, Anti-Christ,Devil Worshipper, Homosexual Deviant" everywhere within a thirty mile radius, we sit in the back corner of the church, by ourselves. It could also be that nobody wants to sit by us, since my devil worshipping will, evidently, turn their children or senile grandparents into Satanic homosexual deviants. Evidently.

It's actually quite funny because I'm not any of those. I'm an Agnostic person who wanted to know why it was supposedly so horrendous and hell worthy to be gay. In the eyes of everyone around here, I am a gay sympathizer, which means I'm gay. Because everyone who doesn't have a problem with gay people is obviously gay, right?