And I’ll fly to hell with my little red fluffy thong

Of all the things I have done in my life that might send me down the path to hell; I trumped it on Sunday night. It’s not so much that I am a staunch believer in much of anything, but I try not to anger any of the gods. You never know. That being said, shall we dive into the darkness?

My friend Carly was in Houston this weekend. She flew in from Boulder, because her husband was having surgery. After spending 4 nights in the hospital with her loving, but neurotic husband and her neurotic and unloving sister-in-law, I planned to come and rescue her for the night. I picked her up at the hospital and we headed out to her sister-in-laws apartment.

I sat on the couch waiting for her to get ready to go out and inspected the tiny, overpriced apartment that only an overpopulated city can get away with. The décor was Italian to say the least. Every wall was adorned with pictures of family members both old and young. There were pictures of her parents and grandparents as toddlers. Amidst the frames also hung several religious nick-knacks. On the far wall hung a painting of the most beautiful man I have seen. Damn he was hot. White shirt, wavy brown mid length hair, and brown eyes with and a piercing stare. He was peering into my soul.

“Who’s that guy?” I asked, my heart racing. Maybe it’s Nick’s cousin, wouldn’t that be something. “Who, Nicks’ dad?” she replied, unconcerned. “Shit! That’s his dad? How old was he in that picture? 30ish?” I retorted, feeling a little uncomfortable at the thought of looking at his dad with such scandalous thoughts.

Irritated she came out of the bathroom and looked at me, like the leaper I am. “You fucking nut! That picture?”

“Ya – that guy”
“That’s the man that some people refer to as Jesus. You might have heard of him with all that talk of Christmas and such.”

Ah, damn. Man, he’s hot. Feeling a little uneasy about my Jezebel self, we headed off to the bar.

We returned from the bar after several vodka tonics, and Yeager shots. By that time, I was in full on lust for that Jesus man. Who paints a picture of Jesus looking that damn good? It had to be a woman in lust, or a gay man about to burst with guilt. Carly and I spent a good hour eating Cheetos, drinking Gatorade and lusting over him.

I couldn’t stop looking at him. I felt like his tiger-eyes following me throughout the house. With every move I wanted him more and more. I felt an overwhelming urge to take that painting to bed with me. We laughed at the notion of her waking up in the morning and finding me snuggled up to his picture. I had dirty dirty thoughts of that man. Good lord, literally, I am red just thinking of it.

Is this the topper on my cake? Am I doomed to an eternal sequester based on my writhing passion of the man in that picture? Or will he be flattered and take pity on me? If there is a Jesus and he looks that good, I want to go to heaven right now. I’m ready and I hope I look good when I go. No car wreck or dilapidating disease. I’m ready to meet my lord and savior as we speak.

Whoever it was who created that artwork is truly a genius. I commend them. I also condemn them. This gives me a whole new outlook on the pearly gates!

To hell, I say. I’m going to hell.