End of the month confessions 2: Church or lack thereof, optimistic views on the living conditions in hell, alcohol, rare meat, vomit and 8 shits

Posted: August 30, 2010 in End of the month confessions

My friend got married recently and it was basically a full mass ceremony.  It was beautiful.  She looked beautiful.  The church was beautiful.   And during all this beauty that surrounded me, I realized how I am the farthest from being religious that I have ever been in my life.  I recently referred to myself as a spiritual atheist, and I am sticking with that term for the time being.

While we were waiting for the wedding party, I was sitting down in the church, talking to a friend Eric, who I only get to see on a every other year or so basis. During the conversation in the church I had no regard to my vulgar language which I have come to accept in my life as acceptable.

“Fucking this, fuck that, this fucking guy, so on and so fourth”

After catching myself acting inappropriate in this church (by the church’s standards, not mine), I mentioned to Eric how I was optimistically thinking that the living conditions in hell, aren’t as bad as the reputation that the church had given it.

“Maybe Hell is just this place that you go to, that is just not as good as Heaven.  I mean if Heaven is as awesome as I hope it could be (if it exists), then I would really really like to go there.  But, if Hell is as good as I optimistically hope it to be (if it exists), and if I don’t make it into Heaven, it might not be all that bad to go to Hell, and I am sure there will be plenty of people we know there….”

I declined the free food the church offered because I was not in the mood for any “Body of Christ.”  I declined the free booze as well.  It is not often that I pass up free food and free booze, but I seem to do so on any occasion I get when I make my rare visit to a church.  I don’t know, maybe its all the bullshit that I think that the Catholic Church has put people through over the years, or maybe its because I am not confirmed, but when they offer me free food and free booze, it just never seems enticing to me.

My mother grew up with a strict Catholic mother (my grandmother, obviously).  Every time we would go to visit my grandmother she would ask:

“Did you go to church before you came to visit me?”

Depending on the time of the year, we would visit my grandmother on Sundays or we would have sporting events to get to.  When we were to visit my grandmother, it was expected by her, that we would go to church first, and then come to visit her.  The problem was that my mother had a “falling out” with the church.  On top of this she felt extremely guilty if she was to ever lie to my grandmother about attending church, when we had not.

The reason we stopped going to church had to do with an argument my mom had with one of the priests.  The argument was over the clothing that we were wearing to church.  We had baseball, soccer, and basketball in our lives when we were children.  The most convenient way to do church and sports on Sundays were to go to church dressed in our sports uniforms, so right from church we could leave, and go to one of the most likely three different sporting events that my brothers and I had to go to.

The priest basically told my mother that we needed to dress appropriately for church, or that we should not attend.  One would figure that God should not care how we are dressed when we are honoring him or her, but the priest thought otherwise.

So at this point in our lives something totally awesome happened, we stopped going to church, kind of…………

Since my mother hated to lie to my Grandmother, she came up with a little scam, which made my mother feel a little bit better about her mother asking her about church.  Everytime we would go to visit my grandmother, we would now drive into the parking lot of church.  We would sit in the parking lot for 30 seconds or so, and then my mother would say “So now if your Grandmother asks us if we went to church, we can say that we did….”  I never complained once about this, and I thought it was one of the best things my mother came up with in regards to us, and church.

I got to visit my friend Ali and her husband Adam this weekend in New Jersey.  I seem to throw up violently every time I hang out with Ali.  I can’t say that she makes me drink more than I should, but I found myself at 3:30 in the morning leaning on her fence as I vomited up all the good quality Omaha Steak burgers and hot dogs we decided to grill up at 2:30 in the morning.  As the vomiting came to a close, I feel like I stayed leaning on the fence for what felt like a good five minutes, when I suddenly found myself in a moment of clarity.  This was not the alcoholic’s moment of clarity that one sometimes exhibits when they realize that enough is enough, “I have to stop drinking and get my shit together, pronto.”  This moment of clarity was more or less a drunk guys sudden good feeling, which occurred after getting all of that bad shit out of my stomach by means of violently vomiting.  For one, the burger was top notch, but I know for a fact that I was playing russian roullette by choosing to cook and eat mine at a tasty medium-rare.  But for some reason after all the throwing up, moaning, groaning, drooling, and self pity I exhibited on that fence, all the bad feelings went away and I felt fucking great.  Not great enough to start drinking again, but good enough to join the group and and have a normal conversation about what I just went through on that fence.

I find myself from time to time blaming the food that I have eaten to cause me to be sick, rather than the unnecessarily large volumes of hard alcohol in which I have consumed that evening.  After my friend Andrew’s wedding is a prime example.  I vomited 3 times and I took 8 shits, the day after he got married, I must have lost 10-12 pounds that day.  I had a medium-rare steak the night of his wedding, along with a large quantity of hard alcohol.  The first vomit of the day comes with a story.

We were on a resort in St. Thomas.  The morning after the wedding I walked down the stairs of the resort to get some food to make me feel better.  There were at least 50-60 steps I would say that one would have to travel down, in order get to the area where the pool is located, as well as a place to get some food.  After around three bites of my morning food, I realized that it was only going to make me feel worse.  I started to get a “watery mouth”, which is a phenomenal gift and sign from your body telling you that “You are about to vomit……hard”.

So I was initially walking up these 50-60 steps in order to go back to my room in order to vomit, when I realized that there was no way I was going to make it back to my room.  I did not want to vomit in public either, so I decided to start to run up the 50-60 stairs in order to find some place to vomit in private.  By the time I made it to the top of the stairs, I was completely out of breathe.  I was still far from my room, and I was close to a maintenance door which I tried to open.  It was locked.  I was out of breathe.  I vomited all over the ground in front of the maintenance door, all the while I was gasping for air as hard as I could.  Try to really visualize this scene.  I am violently vomiting, all while I am violently gasping for air, but it is very hard to breathe in air because vomit is coming out of my mouth and my nostrils.  The noises I made during this fight for oxygen while vomiting, must have sounded like nothing that any species has every come close to sounding like.

Everyone from the wedding went to the island next to St. Thomas the day after the wedding.  Instead I went to my hotel room and proceeded to throw up two more times and take 8 shits.  Once again, I blame the food, not the alcohol.

This is what Andrew Michaels is doing now……..

  1. jen says:

    I love that your mom had you sit in the parking lot. Classic.

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