Beware of drunken men wearing hairshirts!!!
Okay, so the subject line may be a little, uh, "extreme", but last night was an interesting evening. A friend of ours has two daughters, one of which had a birthday yesterday. Instead of a party, they got a room at the local Holiday Inn Express and invited our little ones to come over there and go swimming. Sounded like a fun time, so we decided to go. Oh! Earlier we'd gone shopping at Barnes & Noble and my love bought a couple of books on voodoo. Not that big of a detail, but the books figure into a thought process I had later in this story.
Well, we got to the hotel, got the girls changed (the Mancub was still in Ohio at this time) and went down to the pool. While the kids played and splashed, we adults (my yummy wife, and our friends) all sat down at a table to have adult conversation and whatnot. Before I proceed, let me describe the pool area. There's an inground pool with a hot tub attached to it. The place also has a mini-gym and a sauna, but they don't figure into this particular tale.
So, there we are all enjoying the pool scene, when this guy walks in carrying a 22 oz. beer (Miller something) and his swim suit. He goes and changes and walks back out with his beer and heads toward the hot tub. The guy was hairy, very much so. He was wearing a bear pelt on his back. Not literally, but damn, he was one hairy bastard. He sees this boy from Punkin's class who'd come to join in the festivities, and tells him to stop splashing in the hot tub because it is for quiet relaxation. He sounded a little crabbish, but we just watched the scene to see how it developed. Myself, I was going through my mental technique catalogue to find an appropriate joint-lock for Senor Hairyback.
After doing what looked like floating in the hot tub, he tries to speak to the kids. First, he scares Baby into quietness with his attempts. Then he wishes Baby A. (she's not really a baby, but I like to tease her) a Happy Birthday. Then he proceeds to tell the kids how everyone has forgotten about God (Christian variety, he meant Jesus of course) on Easter and that there neither was an Easter Bunny nor a Santa Claus.
Right. Now as adults, we know the deal regarding bunnies and fat men in red suits. But as a witch, those two days of the year that he was going on about, mean something different to me: the co-opting of pagan celebrations in order to force the unenlightened yokels to follow this religion of St. Peter. So I say to Sir Hair-a-lot, "hey, what right do you have to start saying things like that to other kids?" At this point, the hairy, drunken man, with his thick, chlorine-enhanced water matted fur turns his philosophy on us. At the time, I wasn't trying to bait the guy into a debate on if god was real or not, I just wanted him to stop laying his beliefs on our kids. For the sake of shortness, I'll just lay out, to the best of my memory, some of his more salient observations: 1) Pope John Paul II (whom he calls J.P.) was a horrible man who represented the Anti-Christ, 2) Mother Theresa, in cahoots with J.P., does not deserve canonization, and they only way to God is through his brand of Christian, pseudo-Catholic beliefs (I say pseudo, because he apparently rejects the idea of Papal Infallibility).
He also tried very hard to find out where my ideology came from. At first, he asked me if I was a Fundamentalist (Christian). When I commented that St. Nick may have had origins in early pagan beliefs, he wondered if I was a pagan. Together, we agreed that I was a humanist. Apparently, we four adults sitting at the table were a new thing to him; usually, when he goes on his rants in front of strangers, no one tells him to quiet down. Before I forget, when I initially suggested he stop crushing the beliefs of kiddies, he says: "Oh! Should we get started on pornography?" To which I say, "I don't think that is appropriate conversation to have in front of children." The funny thing is, the lady of the couple whose children we were celebrating with is a dancer at a local "Gentlemen's Club."
Now, my whole point of saying something to the guy in the first place was to tell him to stop telling kids he didn't know that what they thought and believed was wrong. He took it the wrong way, but as my sweetie pointed out that he was drunk and what I got is what you get from hairy, drunks. Okay, she didn't say hairy, but the guy was a beast! Sorry, I can't let that go. This cat was saying that because you couldn't see Santa or the big Bunny that they must not exist. I said that the same thing could be said for Jesus. But he countered that I couldn't see Babe Ruth either, but I am not denying his existence. Normally, I would have torn his faulty logic to pieces, but he was drunk and overly hairy and I may have angered the dude.
The whole time this dude is going on, the kids are behind him in the pool making faces and doing mocky things to him. And I was perusing one of the voodoo books to possibly find a "remedy" for this guy. Unfortunately, no one present had black candles or parchment...
So after entertaining this man's attempt to enlighten us for about 15 minutes, we all left to go back to the room for cake. On the way to the elevator, Baby A.'s mom informed a hotel staffer that the guy was wallowing around in the hot tub drunk and that they may want to be sure that he doesn't drown.
As we headed up in the elevator, I kept thinking to myself: God deliver me from your followers" and wondering if I could find the room where the unapologetic pot-smokers were staying. I really could have used their method of enlightenment at that time.
Well, we got to the hotel, got the girls changed (the Mancub was still in Ohio at this time) and went down to the pool. While the kids played and splashed, we adults (my yummy wife, and our friends) all sat down at a table to have adult conversation and whatnot. Before I proceed, let me describe the pool area. There's an inground pool with a hot tub attached to it. The place also has a mini-gym and a sauna, but they don't figure into this particular tale.
So, there we are all enjoying the pool scene, when this guy walks in carrying a 22 oz. beer (Miller something) and his swim suit. He goes and changes and walks back out with his beer and heads toward the hot tub. The guy was hairy, very much so. He was wearing a bear pelt on his back. Not literally, but damn, he was one hairy bastard. He sees this boy from Punkin's class who'd come to join in the festivities, and tells him to stop splashing in the hot tub because it is for quiet relaxation. He sounded a little crabbish, but we just watched the scene to see how it developed. Myself, I was going through my mental technique catalogue to find an appropriate joint-lock for Senor Hairyback.
After doing what looked like floating in the hot tub, he tries to speak to the kids. First, he scares Baby into quietness with his attempts. Then he wishes Baby A. (she's not really a baby, but I like to tease her) a Happy Birthday. Then he proceeds to tell the kids how everyone has forgotten about God (Christian variety, he meant Jesus of course) on Easter and that there neither was an Easter Bunny nor a Santa Claus.
Right. Now as adults, we know the deal regarding bunnies and fat men in red suits. But as a witch, those two days of the year that he was going on about, mean something different to me: the co-opting of pagan celebrations in order to force the unenlightened yokels to follow this religion of St. Peter. So I say to Sir Hair-a-lot, "hey, what right do you have to start saying things like that to other kids?" At this point, the hairy, drunken man, with his thick, chlorine-enhanced water matted fur turns his philosophy on us. At the time, I wasn't trying to bait the guy into a debate on if god was real or not, I just wanted him to stop laying his beliefs on our kids. For the sake of shortness, I'll just lay out, to the best of my memory, some of his more salient observations: 1) Pope John Paul II (whom he calls J.P.) was a horrible man who represented the Anti-Christ, 2) Mother Theresa, in cahoots with J.P., does not deserve canonization, and they only way to God is through his brand of Christian, pseudo-Catholic beliefs (I say pseudo, because he apparently rejects the idea of Papal Infallibility).
He also tried very hard to find out where my ideology came from. At first, he asked me if I was a Fundamentalist (Christian). When I commented that St. Nick may have had origins in early pagan beliefs, he wondered if I was a pagan. Together, we agreed that I was a humanist. Apparently, we four adults sitting at the table were a new thing to him; usually, when he goes on his rants in front of strangers, no one tells him to quiet down. Before I forget, when I initially suggested he stop crushing the beliefs of kiddies, he says: "Oh! Should we get started on pornography?" To which I say, "I don't think that is appropriate conversation to have in front of children." The funny thing is, the lady of the couple whose children we were celebrating with is a dancer at a local "Gentlemen's Club."
Now, my whole point of saying something to the guy in the first place was to tell him to stop telling kids he didn't know that what they thought and believed was wrong. He took it the wrong way, but as my sweetie pointed out that he was drunk and what I got is what you get from hairy, drunks. Okay, she didn't say hairy, but the guy was a beast! Sorry, I can't let that go. This cat was saying that because you couldn't see Santa or the big Bunny that they must not exist. I said that the same thing could be said for Jesus. But he countered that I couldn't see Babe Ruth either, but I am not denying his existence. Normally, I would have torn his faulty logic to pieces, but he was drunk and overly hairy and I may have angered the dude.
The whole time this dude is going on, the kids are behind him in the pool making faces and doing mocky things to him. And I was perusing one of the voodoo books to possibly find a "remedy" for this guy. Unfortunately, no one present had black candles or parchment...
So after entertaining this man's attempt to enlighten us for about 15 minutes, we all left to go back to the room for cake. On the way to the elevator, Baby A.'s mom informed a hotel staffer that the guy was wallowing around in the hot tub drunk and that they may want to be sure that he doesn't drown.
As we headed up in the elevator, I kept thinking to myself: God deliver me from your followers" and wondering if I could find the room where the unapologetic pot-smokers were staying. I really could have used their method of enlightenment at that time.