acknowledgements
to the man beside me & the woman behind me at mass this morning:
please don't sing at the top of your lungs. contrary to what you may believe to be true, both of you have voices that could curdle milk. christians generally believe that god is around at all times, so there's really no need to try and "aim" your voices toward heaven. i'm sure he can hear you just fine if you sing quietly to yourselves. he probably even heard me cursing you out over & over in my head to try and drown out the sound of your god-awful voices.
when we're praying, stay on pace. just because you can recite the nicene creed at top speed, it fucks me up when i'm trying to follow along at the rate that everybody else is going. you don't win a prize for finishing first, so slow the hell down. there is no 'i' in team.
to the man, specifically:
cut your damn fingernails. i've had the displeasure of sitting next to you once before, and i see that after a few months, you still haven't gotten around to finding yourself a nail clipper. now, because it's a custom at our church to hold hands during the our father, the people who sit next to you have no choice but to accept your hand, crusty, thick, yellow fingernails and all. and please don't squeeze my fingers with your nasty ass hands. that's just gross.
to the lady, specifically:
why the hell can't you ever remember to turn the ringer off on your phone BEFORE you get to church? maybe if you used a slightly smaller purse, perhaps you could find your damn phone a little bit easier (because it always seems to ring during mass) instead of rummaging through that suitcase that you're currently carrying.
and to the big guy, up above:
help them, please. and help give me the strength not to kill them if i have to sit anywhere near them again.
please don't sing at the top of your lungs. contrary to what you may believe to be true, both of you have voices that could curdle milk. christians generally believe that god is around at all times, so there's really no need to try and "aim" your voices toward heaven. i'm sure he can hear you just fine if you sing quietly to yourselves. he probably even heard me cursing you out over & over in my head to try and drown out the sound of your god-awful voices.
when we're praying, stay on pace. just because you can recite the nicene creed at top speed, it fucks me up when i'm trying to follow along at the rate that everybody else is going. you don't win a prize for finishing first, so slow the hell down. there is no 'i' in team.
to the man, specifically:
cut your damn fingernails. i've had the displeasure of sitting next to you once before, and i see that after a few months, you still haven't gotten around to finding yourself a nail clipper. now, because it's a custom at our church to hold hands during the our father, the people who sit next to you have no choice but to accept your hand, crusty, thick, yellow fingernails and all. and please don't squeeze my fingers with your nasty ass hands. that's just gross.
to the lady, specifically:
why the hell can't you ever remember to turn the ringer off on your phone BEFORE you get to church? maybe if you used a slightly smaller purse, perhaps you could find your damn phone a little bit easier (because it always seems to ring during mass) instead of rummaging through that suitcase that you're currently carrying.
and to the big guy, up above:
help them, please. and help give me the strength not to kill them if i have to sit anywhere near them again.
posted by rach at 4:02 pm
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Word!
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