Assholes Anonymous

It seems the Fundamentalist Police have a warrant out for my arrest. Anonymous has filed a complaint against me for rebellion, alcohol consumption, cursing, crude references to sexual activity, and trying to destroy 40 years’ worth of ministry. For a complete list of the charges, go to http://graceadams-sandpapers.blogspot.com/2010/02/combatting-assholiness.html

She’s right. I’m rebellious. I haven’t washed my hair in three days, and I left my bed unmade this morning.

As for the boozing and bad language, I plead guilty as charged. In fact, just so everyone knows how bad I am, in the past week I’ve had two beers and a glass of cabernet. I’ve said “ass” six times, “shit” twice, and “hump” four times.

Just so we’re clear, I only said the word “hump.” Since I’m not married, I didn’t actually hump. That could get me stoned.

But trying to destroy 40 years’ worth of ministry? I’m not guilty of that. First of all, I wouldn’t do that. I love the church, and I love my family. Secondly, it’s impossible. Thinking I could single-handedly take down that institution is giving myself way too much credit. I’d have to have an ego bigger than my ass to think I was that important. (Dang. I said “ass” again).

Basically, Anonymous wants me to shut the hell up because, in her words, she’s feeling very protective of my brother, seeing as how he must feel so betrayed over the breakup of MY marriage.

This woman drives a tricycle.

She has, however, graciously offered to drop the charges if I will see a counselor on the other side of town and only write things she considers helpful to humanity.

My counselor in Roswell will happily confirm my presence in her office more than fifty times in the past two years. Good thing I sold my soul for money, or I wouldn’t be able to afford the expensive therapy.

And here’s a helpful hint for humanity, something my therapist has been trying to hammer into my head: Don’t let people like Anonymous stop you from telling the truth. For the first thirty-five years of my life, I tried to live up to the impossible standard of being perfect so that no one would ever say the preacher did a bad job of raising his daughter. Quite frankly, perfectionism doesn’t work for me. I’m human. That’s my truth.

Unfortunately, Anonymous appointed herself the judge and jury in my case. She won’t appreciate my truthfulness. And since I’m so unrepentantly trying to hurt my brother, who she feels the need to protect, I’m screwed.

I hope there’s enough spandex on the planet to cover her tricycle-riding ass.

And I hope they serve beer in hell.