I'm Down with Jesus

I'm still here.

On the beach.

I return home next week.

Being at the beach can either remind you that A) you're horribly out of shape when you see a tight stomached woman effortlessly race past you or B) that actually, you don't look that bad when you've just noticed that woman with her stomach practically hanging to her knees gasp beside you.

But anyhow, I'll back up some.

On Sunday, I went to church with my Grandma. Otherwise known as my Nana Jo. Oh, and her boyfriend Bill. Isn't it cute that she has a boyfriend? When I met up with her she informed me that there would be communion at church. I sort of blinked at her in confusion.

"Communion?" I repeated stupidly even though I had a vague idea of what it was. It had something to do with bread...and wine...wait...did this mean I have to go to the alter and have the preacher (reverand? pastor?) place one of those disgusting wafer things in my mouth? I had that in my mouth before and it tasted like paper and didn't seem to want to dissolve. So it sort of sat at the roof of my mouth in this funky tasting blob.

"Communion. You'll take a piece of bread and some grape juice and pass it down," Nana Jo said, probably thinking that I was some kind of heathen.

"Geez Amber, you really need to go to church more," my husband Tom said beside me. He was definately looking at me like I was some kind of heathen.

Then we all walked into the church, which is actually inside my Nana Jo's retirement home. We settled down on a pew and I made sure to keep my knees together because I was in a dress. I'm not a fan of wearing dresses or skirts because I am not ladylike and I'm always worried that I'll forget to keep my legs closed and expose my panties that I got at Wal-Mart to everyone. I remembered to do so at church because I didn't want to give all the elderly people around a heart attack. So I sat up straight and pretended like I came to church all the time.

I'm not a heathen. I know exactly what I'm doing...

I thumbed through the hymn book that was in front of me and nodded in a businesslike way as though I knew exactly what all the songs were even though I barely recognized any of them.

Nana Jo introduced me to a few of her friends and I shook their hands and said hello. I wanted to add, "By the way, I'm totally down with Jesus. Don't worry, I won't taint your church," but I thought that would be a bit much.

Then the service began and we opened with a song. Thankfully a list of the songs we were going to be singing was being passed out so I had the lyrics in front of me. I admit, I lip synched the words because no one wants to hear me sing that early in the morning. Or anytime, really. I sort of squawk and I'm always offkey so really, it was best that I really didn't sing.

You know, something about the church service was that we went into prayer a lot. Sometimes the pastor (reverand?) would start talking and all of a sudden I'd notice everyone around me had their heads bowed in prayer. It would be nice if he went, "Let us pray," at first so I'd know. Because I'd just be staring ahead dumbly and then a few seconds later I'd noticed the bobbed heads and be all, "Oh crap! and quickly lower my own head. This happened more than once.

Church wasn't so bad. The reason why I don't go is that I never quite feel uplifted enough to attend. I just nod along and am all, "Okay, yes, Jesus is good," and, "Yes, I suppose God was nice to give us his only son.."

The elderly people were sweet though. I love their names. Rose and Dottie--("oh like from A League of Their Own!" I had said to the startled white haired lady) and Marion.

The communion wasn't horrible either. It was just a piece of loaf bread that actually tasted like bread and a tiny swig of grape juice in a thimble which made me briefly feel like a giant.

(Fe-fi-fo-fum me giant who drinks grape juice..)

After church we went to the Officer's Club for brunch. Tom sort of made a noise as we entered because he sometimes gets it in his head that Officers think they're better than Enlisted which is so not true. I get offended if any enlisted person bad mouths an Officer because I'm all, "Hello, my Mom was a Colonel and worked her tail off. Hello, my Nana Jo's boyfriend also worked hard..."

Tom sort of joked when we sat down at the table, "Wow, this is a step up from the Enlisted Club. We're usually at wooden tables!"

Not true.

Just Tom being cocky.

I ended up getting a Belgian waffle with strawberry syrup. Yum. Oh, and did I mention that we had no kids with us? They were back with my parents. So it was bliss sitting there and not having to tell someone to use their indoor voices or not having to cut up their food and urge them to eat. It was just me, sitting there with my knees closed casually sipping on champagne. CHAMPAGNE!

Tom got some pancakes with boring old maple syrup. When I mentioned that he could have strawberries on top he pulled a face and you'd have thought that I said he could put anchovies on top or something.

It was a lovely brunch. After that, we went back to Nana Jo's retirement home so she could pick up a few things.

And then...

We started heading for the beach...