I’d be happier if you were going to build a house for the homeless.

My life, morals, values, and opinions do not align with those of the popular culture’s religion in my neck of the woods.

Duh.

But I feel like I’ve done a decent job of accepting that this is indeed the popular culture and I am to respect that in places like work, school and other public forums like the Wells Fargo I frequent.

This weekend for Pride I will be wearing my Rainbow Brite costume, each month I give money toward the Human Rights Campaign, and I love Barack Obama unconditionally.

Today, we had a “monthly mingle” at work. We are usually treated to cookies or some other small goodie and it is a generally nice 20 minutes of social time honoring those whose birthdays fall in each month.  

Today, those with May birthdays shared their monthly treat and social time with a senior partner who is leaving to serve an LDS mission in England for three years.

Exactly what budget did the 20-plus helium balloons, streamers, giant British flag table cloth, (catered) tea sandwiches, ice cream, chocolate covered biscotti, and scones come from?  Who was able to socialize while the music blared and he was wished a very public, “God speed”?

Back up for a second: I am fine with God being talked about here, with folks going on missions, with scones. I am not fine with blatant favoritism and the expectation that we should all be A-OK with the fact that this man and his wife are going to another country to spread what they think to be God’s words.

As a non practicing anything, I can’t say that I am personally, deeply offended. But what about those whose faith clashes with the Mormon faith? What about those who deeply feel the words of God are something else entirely? We are supposed to be happy and (this is a direct quote, here) consider this man and his wife “extremely deserving of this honor”. Honor?

So, if I went around, door to door in Italy, preaching that all  humans should be treated equally in the eyes of the law, or that “God” actually finds women to be the superior sex, will I get a freaking spaghetti cook off in my honor?

Am I overreacting?

Restaurant Workers in Latex Gloves. Discuss.

Does anyone else question the latex gloves (or sometimes the cheap, oversized sandwich baggy looking things) that the 15 year old making your Subway sandwich is wearing? Or, let’s not be restaurant chain-ist; the waitress I had today at a very nice Italian spot near my work.

Here’s my question: are you wearing those to protect me? Or just your hands?

She has them on, my six inch wheat in her hands, “what kind of cheese”? American, I answer.  “Hot or cold”? Hot, I say. She then takes those gloved hands and opens up the microwave, then puts  my six inch turkey on wheat in there.

“What do you ladies want to drink”? She says as she carries the water carafe in her plastic baggied hands. The same carafe the non-gloved barista just filled behind the counter.

I don’t get it. What is the point of putting the gloves on if you’re going to touch every stinking surface of the eatery AND my food?

Can someone shed some light? Please?

Colon Cleanse. Bear with me.

Again, MIA, I know. It’s been a rough several weeks with finals, our beloved dog passing, and the addition of our new pup, Sadie.  Molly deserves a post of her own (which I will likely get to sometime next fall) so I won’t go into the sad (yet heartwarming) details right now.

This post is about a colon cleanse! I’ve been reading The Bloggess’ new book: Let’s Pretend this Never Happened, and I just read a hilarious chapter about how she overdosed on laxatives. Seriously, people, go get that book! I started it three weeks ago and am purposely only reading a few chapters a week to savor every single word. She is a great writer, who is also plagued with anxiety disorders which  makes her as brave as she is hilarious.

Anyway, the chapter started with her wanting to try a colon cleanse since a friend of hers did one and lost a few pounds. Although she thinks that makes her sound crazy, I think it is a brilliant idea! I Googled the shit out of colon cleanses and which ones are the right ones and voila, I should expect my order for Colopril early next week.

Side note: The title of this post originally said, “Bare with me” and so I Googled that and found this hilarious gem:

“Bear with me,” the standard expression, is a request for forbearance or patience. “Bare with me” would be an invitation to undress.