On a Supposed Right to Fuck and Wear Skirts

I'm a pedestrian again. It's not so bad, really. I have to wake up a little earlier, and cut back a bit on my news habit, but I can do it. All I have to do is dress a little warmer and make sure I have some good tunes for the walk, and I'm set. Of course, I miss my ride, but when you're living in the Midwest, you have to deal with the final inevitability of winter. It's like death, taxes, and loose bar women; you can't avoid it without traveling hundreds of miles.

I used to laugh at pedestrians. They had to get up earlier and walk oh-so-far while I got to sleep in and leave my apartment five minutes before class. Things seemed much clearer on my red and black throne, and the women looked that much more salacious at 50 in a 30. Now, I'm one of them and I feel as if my throne and been usurped by marauding Keds and Airwalks.

Nothing like a trio of Eva Cassidy, Grandaddy, and M. Ward to set the mind straight. It's been one day, and I don't miss my sleep or my news, much. But, I suspect in a week, you'll find me crawling on the pavement, gibbering and foaming. Little kids will wander from far, carrying sticks, and congregating around me just to poke merrily. Ah, CNN, why must you be so inaccessible?

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I do enjoy my interpreters. They have to suffer my philosophy classes with me, which is rife with egotists and pseudo-intellectuals. Yes, I'm aware you've read Ayn Rand. No, I don't jerk off to her picture every night. No, I don't think she's the second, third, or even tenth coming of Christ. Yes, I think she's intelligent, but her ideas make her a real dickwad. Yes, I think she makes Ann Coulter look like a playboy bunny. Yes, I've read this and that. No, will you please leave me the fuck alone?

One, J., is forced to endure the most. I have six classes this semester. She interprets four of six. Three of them are philosophy classes. We spend a lot of time together. I like J. She's easy on the eyes, and fun to be with. Also, she's an Apostolic Christian (A.C.). That shouldn't mean anything, but I am a religion junkie, and having a new and exciting approach to G-d makes me chitter wildly.

We've had some interesting discussions on the nature of Christianity, but two subjects stand out: dating, and clothes.

Apparently, Apostolic Christian females are supposed to only wear skirts, and tie their hair in buns. When J. wears pants, the girls from her Church instantly turn catty and purposely ignore her greetings (Sisters in Christ, indeed). The idea of a moral mandate for skirts isn't new for me. Judaic culture requires women to do some pretty funky things (which includes head shaving). We are, due to constant media exposure, also aware of the modesty requirements for Islamic women. But, I've never understood why modesty requirements require skirts.

I asked J. about this once. She said that the bible required that women dress such. I asked her to exclude the Old Testament from her argument, because Paul wrote that Christianity had evolved past the need for Leviticus (hence, Christians don't need to sacrifice, nor do they need to cut their foreskins). This left us with only the New Testament. I've only once come across any specific references to female modesty during forays in the New Testament. This reference comes to us, courtesy of Paul's second letter to Timothy. He writes, n like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; 1 Timothy 2:9.

Yep, nothing about skirts. I told J. that I was surprised that the church would even encourage skirt-wearing. It seems to me that skirts allow easier access than pants, if you know what I mean, and there's nothing modest about that.


J. also enthralls me with discussions on how her church dates. Bear with me folks. This is pretty fucking fascinating. Apparently, all the women have to do is wander around aimlessly, and eventually, one of the men in the church finds it in himself to propose. Badda bing, badda bang, badda boom, wedding bells. This is classic. The A.C. method is slightly above clubbing a preferred woman and dragging her back to the cave. When I mentioned that to J., she laughed and assured me that there was an actual courtship. Rings didn't spring up randomly and profusely.

The A.C., like many churches, encourages singles groups. These singles groups go out, have dinner, and generally initiate mass courtship procedures that culminate in someone getting a ring and poontang. The single's group is a way for everyone to find out what kind of personality the other has. If there's a bit of chemistry, then you know there's going to be a ring forthcoming. It's kind of cute, I think, in a Junior High way.

Here's the thing I don't get. J. is cute. If I think she's easy on the eyes, then you better believe me. I have good taste in women. There have been mistakes in the past, but generally, I find nice ones. J. is also 26, and I believe, has never been kissed. She's also a virgin.

Isn't that a fucking shame? Now, if she were one of us (just a slob, like us), she'd be disillusioned, very well laid, and sassy like a bad HBO Chick-Show. Is that a bad thing?

I asked J. what happens if you decide there's chemistry and get married, but eventually the person turns out to be a complete wacko and lousy in bed to boot. J. was insistent that the social group weeds out the weirdoes, but I remained skeptical. Some people are fine in large groups, but once you get them alone, they turn psycho. Other people are fine in large groups, alone, but are a real bear to live with. See, you gotta run the dating gamut to find someone. I'm convinced of that. J. politely disagrees (which is probably why she's 26 and unlaid). But, you know, the A.C. has a real low divorce rate. I'm thinking this is because women are extremely oppressed. Timothy says it's okay (1 Timothy 2:10-12).

Bring me my club. I see a gallivanting redhead that needs my lovin’.