Today is Friday, which is a big deal to YOU poor working class slobs. We retired folk live adventurous lives of freedom every day. I thought I would attempt a stream of consciousness download of my typical retirement Friday. That way you poor working class slobs can see what you are working towards when your job is outsourced to India (as mine was in 2004).
Let’s see, the day started out with me giving my customary greeting and snuggles to my dog Chandler, who awaits my appearance outside the bedroom door. I’d let him sleep with me, but he takes all the covers. When I complain, he reminds me that he has huge fangs.
In my jockey shorts (the rest of me may be feeling the pull of gravity but my butt is still tight enough to crack a walnut) I sat at the PC reading FACEBOOK. I had sent out a shocking private piece of gossip to one “Friend” and was awaiting a response. I got my payoff later in the day when the person responded “I’m shocked”).
Chaos ensued around 10 a.m. when I suddenly realized that the bug spray man was coming today. The house must be spotless before he arrives. I don’t mind if he finds rats taking a bubble bath in the kitchen sink, but perish the thought that there is dust on the tables or fur balls from my dog rolling across the tiles. So I and my jockey shorts scrubbed the floors (with my dog trying to smell parts of my anatomy that are better left unsniffed).
Then I attempted to go to the Temple of Prosperity (Wells Fargo Bank) to get some old fashioned paper money for a haircut, but the path was blocked by my doubts (in Unity terms). Actually, putting all the Unity metaphor shtick aside, there was literally a big hole in the street gushing gas or water (hard to tell since they both smell the same in Anthem). Evidently, in building a new Mormon “Ward” center in Anthem the righteous workers in yellow vests had smashed into the existing pipes and turned Main Street into a postmodern art fountain. Hundreds of people stood around and applauded. People in Anthem are easily entertained. Give them each a flashlight and they will stand motionless for hours just flashing the light into the sky, waiting for the Rapture.
So I sat in my car for about an hour listening to Valerie Crabtree on CD annoyingly promote herself on her UNITY FM program for the first 10 minutes of the show, then finally offer some spiritual instruction for a successful life. 1. Constructive Thought 2. Faith in God 3. Listen for Guidance 4. Act on Guidance 5. Thank God. 6. Repeat until it works.
Upon returning home, a friend called who wanted to download the last 3 months of her psycho analysis. When the conversation shifted from having a hot toddy (my contribution to the call) to inadequate potty training (the caller’s obsession) I suggested that she fax me the doctor’s notes instead. I hated to sound callous, but the bug spray man always calls before he arrives, and so I must leave the line clear.
I actually read some of Emilie Cady’s views on DENIALS for the class I am taking next Tuesday at Unity. Emilie tells us how to deny any power to “appearances”. For example, if you are up to your neck in alligators, you don’t deny the presence of the alligators, but Auntie Em says you should deny any POWER to the alligators (even as your fingers float by, followed by your arms, etc.). Auntie Em says we can ignore appearances because we are each an eternal manifestation of God, even if that manifestation has been chewed down to a stump by powerless alligators. There’s a picture of Emilie Cady in the book, and she resembles Granny Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies. Could it be? She also resembles Barnie Fife in drag – remember the episode of ANDY GRIFFITH where he got in drag as a little old lady in order to place bets with a bookie working out of Floyd’s barber shop?
I got a personal invitation to attend an all-night gay dance party at a huge gay dance palace (5 floors, 40,000 square feet) in West Hollywood, where 2 top gay models would appear to arouse the jaded crowd of LA boys. For those straight people who don’t know, gay top models are extremely handsome and have more muscles than a statue in the Vatican of Hercules. Yes, this ridiculously misplaced invitation took me momentarily into memories of the rather shallow land of youth, steroid induced muscles, and the most handsome young men on the planet, dancing with each in dry ice clouds until the roaster crows!
I suspect there is a 20 year old Will Christie who is wondering what happened to his invitation in the Phoenix area. The days of taking my shirt off and dancing into dawn with hundreds of my “tribe” are over for little old me. I could make a charitable contribution to send 1 gay teenager to the nearest gym to pump iron (which is the only way he will get his invitation to join the so-called White Party Circuit), but I decided to cut back on such urgent causes this year.
Speaking of the gay world, I was also offered the opportunity to spend $19.95 for a calendar featuring erotic poses by Rodiney Santiago (he has a FACEBOOK Page so check it out) a top gay model. Each calendar came with a written guarantee that the model sat on the calendar with his naked butt before it was sent out. Great! I can imagine ordering such a calendar and then upon receipt needing to spray it with Lysol. You can’t be too careful these days. If a man has a furry butt, I’m concerned about lice!
Then another friend called and told me he had piles. I asked him why he needed to share this information and his response was “When I heard I had piles, I immediately thought of you”. He insisted this was a compliment because he claims I smell like Preparation H on a hot day. I defended myself, telling him that it was just my natural masculine musk scent!
Then I began to channel my inner evil Queen of Hearts. I sat at the PC yelling “OFF WITH THEIR HEADS” while deleting a few FACEBOOK friends who have not lived up to expectations, e.g., no messages of slobbering adoration, no dedications to me in their soon-to-be published books, and no one to tell me that I’ve got this spirituality thing down pat and should move on to napping 20 hours a day. Actually, when I first began my FACEBOOK page, some of the people I removed insisted on filling up the news page with hundreds of pictures of their newly born baby, each picture looking exactly the same (like a ripe melon with Mr. Potato eyes and lips). If you are going to inflict hundreds of pictures of your baby on FACEBOOK, at least change the pose, have him balanced on his head, put him in the dog's mouth or dress him up as an alligator.
Finally 4 p.m. arrived, the time the 3 reruns of GHOST WHISPERER are on TV. At that time, a hush descends upon the house. Chandler my dog curls up at my feet with a big sigh, and for 3 hours I watch to see who is going to be sent into the light by a pretty girl who wears a lot of low cut blouses that show mucho Grande cleavage and her handsome stud of a husband, whose major role on the show is to take his shirt off and kiss the pretty girl every ten minutes. He’s every girl and gay guy’s dream of the perfect husband, a really hot looking guy who just takes his shirt off and kisses you every 10 minutes.
Soon I must retreat to bed. I don’t like going to bed, any more than little kids do. I have such weird dreams. Last night I dreamed I looked in a mirror and was Carrot Top, the comedian and magician. I woke up clutching my Howard the Duck doll in fear of what my therapist would make of this.
So there ends a typical Friday. Was it worth a blog post? Do you still want to retire?
Note: On a serious note, I've made the best of my retirement by being a Unity Chaplain for 4 years and a Hospice of the Valley worker for 3 years. Due to illness in 2010, I had to drop both service functions. My goal is to find new ways to serve in 2011 that won't disrupt my GHOST WHISPERER watching schedule (unless someone buys me the series? Any wealthy philanthropists out there?)
Love, Will
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