I’m not a religious person, but that’s not to say that  I’m “anti-religion” per se.  I think there could be some kind of supreme being out there laughing at us as we stumble through this clusterf*ck called life; but I also could see how there is no “Big Guy” out there and everything is random.  We don’t know for sure, is my point, so I feel like organized religion (which is a man-made construct when you get down to it) can be a tad presumptive.  I tell you this not to get on my soapbox, but rather just to explain my position on religion and how it relates to the story with which I am about to regale you.  Basically, I don’t go to church, I don’t pray unless I’m about to die or sustain serious bodily injury or someone I know is about to die or sustain serious bodily injury and I don’t do nice things for people out of the goodness of my heart, as I’d prefer the tax deduction.  And yet, time and again I seem to stupidly do nice things for complete strangers.  It’s like my subconscious is secretly in a battle to be a nice person.

Rewind to a few weeks ago.  I’d had “one of those days” at work, which seem to happen every day lately, so I’d gotten home, changed into my jammies, drank two glasses of wine and settled in with Gossip Girl (don’t judge me).  The hubs was busy cooking dinner in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.  I was in that post-work, two glasses of wine, starting to get relaxed state so I got up to answer the door.  I was also thinking that the knocker was probably our contractor or my cousin or the gay neighbors, or any number of people, so I opened the door without asking who was there.

Mistake number 1.  I was greeted by a somewhat disheveled-looking man.  Before I could say a word, he started rambling about  how his mother lived in the neighborhood and she was hit by a car outside of Wal-Mart and just died.  He next asked me, of all people, to pray with him.  AND I DID.  Again, I think my state of mind was not right.  So I’m standing in my doorway, holding hands with this stranger while he’s praying.  During said prayer, he discloses that he has HIV and only needs six dollars to go stay at the homeless shelter.  Meanwhile, all I can think about is 1) SH*T – do I have any papercuts on my hands and 2)  HOW DO I GET THIS PERSON TO LEAVE?

So what do I do?  I GAVE THE F*CKER MONEY.  Mistake number 2.  After thinking about it, I should’ve just told the dude that I’m not exactly a “prayer” and shut the door in his face.  But my subconscious self, trying to be a frickin’ do-gooder, was all, “YEAH!  Let’s pray!!  Weeeee!!”  And then the stupid whoreface was all, “MONEY?  I have CASH!  I can give Mr. Random, “I make up shit about my mom dying in order to con people out of money” a few bucks!”  Meanwhile, my house is probably now in this dude’s mental Rolodex of suckers.  AWESOME.

Drex put it best when he said that secretly I must actually be a nice person.  Which distresses me greatly.  I’ve put a lot of time and effort into my bitchy persona and here I am, ruining my street cred.  Lame.