An Interview With Satan

I'm sure we all have a good answer for this question: What is the most ridiculous argument you've ever heard in church? Let's talk about crazy displays of disunity.

White Elephant Gift Exchange 2009

I'm a hardcore white elephant gift exchanger. I know I probably need therapy or at least a new hobby. Yet for this admitted prankster the white elephant gift exchange shines like a floodlight in a deserted Dollar General parking lot. For a few fleeting moments it's as if Santa is just asking to be depantsed in the name of universally lame gift giving. (Enter The Snuggie, The Shamwow, The Slap Chop.)

On Saturday our Sunday School class amassed for a Christmas party. Now let me be frank. I did not attend this yearly event because the food was delicious. My attendance also had nothing to do with the fellowship (though I must say the "I'm Gonna Get You Sucka" analysis did make me more than a little chortle tipsy). The reason I attend this event is because I spend months configuring the perfect white elephant gift. (The balance of embarrassment, sarcasm, and shock is delicate. Personally, I think it's some kind of gift.)

As I wrote last year there are tremendous ways to sabotage such an exchange. This year however, I took my own advice, threw caution to the wind, and gave away this little gem, note and all.


The Baby Making Date Night Kit!

Contents include:
1 regifted $25 Red Robin gift card (unused)
1 Colt 45 Malt Liquor 22 oz. beverage for 2
1 red bottle opener
1,000,000 possibilities

That's right. I said "Malt Liquor" and "Sunday school class" in the same post. (You are welcome.)

When the Colt 45 made its grand appearance eyes popped like bottle rockets on the 4th of July. Though I can't prove it I think there was a whole section of folks who weren't offended but were pretty sure someone was gonna have some 'splainin' to do to some elders.

For other reasons I can't quite figure 3 whole people yelled at the top of their lungs, "STACY SMALL! YOU BROUGHT THAT, DIDN'T YOU!?"

Now, a note on white elephant gift psychology. We all know the point of the game is to leave the party with the least crappy gift. The conundrum with the Date Night Baby Maker is an inner struggle with moral depravity. One might think to himself, "Red Robin gift card? For $25? Not bad. But I must claim the Satan water to get it. Am I ready to reveal my inner wino?"

A friend sitting next to me said, "What is the difference between beer and malt liquor?"

"Trashiness," I replied.

She tilted her head to the side to let that sink in. I tilted my head to the side as I evaluated how I knew the answer to her question. (If you are reading this while enjoying a nice malt liquor I appologize sincerely. No joke at your expense to be sure. Cheers.)

You will be happy to know the Date Night Baby Maker made the rounds that evening. It finally found a place to call home with one of my friends. She leaned across the table and said, "I'm always looking for something to do with the kids when my husband works late." I think she meant taking the kids out to dinner, but who am I to judge? I'm the kind of person who brings Colt 45 to an otherwise Christian outing.

What's the worst (or best) white elephant gift you have ever given? What will you be taking to your white elephant this year?

Bohemian Rhapsody

As a child The Muppets terrified me. "Why do people laugh at the Swedish Chef?" I wondered. "He doesn't have eyes. I can't understand what he is saying. Why won't someone help him?" For a 4 year old it was all too much. I'd lay in bed and pray my Holly Hobby sheets would protect me from Pigs In Space. Though my sensibilities are less delicate today my opinion of The Muppets hasn't changed. That is, until I saw this. Bohemian Rhapsody, perhaps one of my favorite (albeit shockingly twisted) songs sung by the various creatures who forced me into therapy. Pure genius, even if they are made from asbestos, Yak hair and Hawiian Punch.

Don't miss my husband's cameo at 3:46.

Where's your cameo? Which character are you? (I pop up at 3:59)

Dear Reader,

Jon Acuff once said, "The best way to overcome writer's block is to write about writer's block until the ideas begin to flow."

I responded, "No, Silly, the best way to overcome writer's block is plagiarism." No one else agreed with me. It was one of those "Jon is handing out sage wisdom" moments and I was just being a ridiculous. Go figure.

Here I sit with the opposite of writer's block. Right now I have ideas spinning through my head a mile a minute.

Since September life has not made sense. It started with my dad having a heart attack around the middle of the month. A few days later as I laid down highway miles traveling to his heart surgery, Dan called. A raspy, tearful voice, barely recognizable to me, demanded me to pull over. "You need to come home, Stacy. My dad is dead."

"NO! NO! NO!" Over and over I screamed. The patriarch of our family, our "go to" guy, our protection in the storm was gone. Hit head on while riding his Harley, he died on impact, taking a piece of me and the rest of the family with him into eternity.

My husband's brother's wife and I often joke that we would have married either of the boys just to get into the family. When I married Dan, the love I shared for his parents really sweetened the deal. In fact, at our wedding, Dan's dad, David, made a toast to me. He raised his glass and simply said, "Stacy today I'm proud to be called your dad." It's my favorite memory of him.

We have lost so much. Together we have been grieving, remembering, and moving on. It's a slow process. The art of letting go seems contorted, after all, we're not made to know how to handle death. We are made for eternity. For those of us in Christ, when we lose a member of the body, we can't help but long for heaven.

In the midst of losing Dan's dad, my dad had a major stroke. His personality changes and lack of ability to communicate leaves my heart raw. He isn't recovering quickly. Unfortunately his diabetes slows the process considerably. He is my daddy. Watching him suffer doesn't seem fair.

Faith aside, there is a real sense that I am grieving the loss of two dads. One is with Jesus in eternity. The other is still with me and the goal is to try to determine how to communicate with him in a way he understands. This is my greatest longing.

I wish I had and super spiritual insight to bring it all home. But in writing this to you after a long absence this is as honest as I can be. Right now I don't have many answers. I never set out to have a perfect blog, but I did promise myself I'd always be real. Part of that reality is that I have missed you. Your friendship transcends the screen.

I did have one very good thing happen in November. My family and I met Jon and Jenny Acuff. Even though they did not pay for our lunch we had a good time. We gave them a Stacy From Louisville gift bucket. Bucket, you ask? Why yes, a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket filled with items made in Kentucky. Of course this included Maker's Mark Bourbon. (You can make whiskey anywhere, but true bourbon is only made in KY. You are welcome.) And who doesn't want bourbon without a Gettin' Lucky In Kentucky Shot Glass? Dan and I even signed it for them. Seems a shame I don't have a photo.

It is my hope to get reacquainted with you. Thank so much to those of you who have sent me Facebook messages of encouragement - and messages telling me to get back to the blog already. It all means so much.

Let's talk again soon,
Stacy

A Lesson On Forgiveness

Toward the end of Sunday service, the Minister asked, "How many of you have forgiven your enemies?"

80% held up their hands.

The Minister then repeated his question.

All responded this time, except one small elderly lady.

"Mrs. Neely?; Are you not willing to forgive your enemies?"

"I don't have any." She replied, smiling sweetly.

"Mrs. Neely, that is very unusual. How old are you?"

"Ninety-eight." she replied.

"Oh, Mrs. Neely, would you please come down in front & tell us all how a person can live ninety-eight years & not have an enemy in the world?"

The little sweetheart of a lady tottered down the aisle, faced the congregation, and said:

"I've outlived them bitches."

King of Pop

The first cassette tape I ever had was Thriller by Michael Jackson. I was less than 10 and very confused by Billie Jean, but I played it loud - from my ghetto blaster. (The term "ghetto blaster" horrified my mother. "We don't say 'ghetto' in this house," she said. "We say 'poorer part of town'." As if I wasn't already confused enough over the true gender of Boy George, now I had to say 'Poorer Part Of Town Blaster'. ) I remember walking through Penny's with my mom begging her for a knock off red leather jacket. The most I got was white socks that I could hopefully hose down with glitter hairspray and wear them with my grey parachute pants. Even then I was fashion forward.

But I was never a fan of the crotch grabbing. I do not endorse such behavior. Just so we're clear.

Today I'm saying good bye to the King of Pop. His music was a real force in my life. For that reason I'll never forget him.



Did Michael Jackson's mucic influence you? What song was your favorite?

Don't Read My Site Today

If you haven't ventured to SCL today let me help you out: Prayer Requests. So far well over 40 people have listed some pretty heavy issues that need intercession. Scroll through the comments, pray for someone. If you want to you can try to contact that person and let them know you care.

Thanks so much guys!

For the Kingdom,
Stacy

Chikety China & Morgan Freeman

I know it's kind of multiple personalityish of me to throw random clips on my blog without much explanation. What can I say? Sometimes you gotta go with your gut. In this case I gots a hankerin' for some chikety China the Chinese chicken. Apparently I'm not the only one. Morgan Freeman, who is the jam, has a voice that rocks my casaba. Second only to James Earl Jones, I'd watch PBS if he'd explain it to me. But it gets better. What do you think of this:



Now let's compare it to the original. But, first, I must say I could boogaloo my sweet tuckas right into eternity dancing to this song. Not that Christians are supposed to dance, or like music that sounds like it's sung in a nervous fit of Lithium withdrawl. I guess we all have an Achilles Heel and this is mine. Do I apologize for planting it squarely in your head and annoying the crap out of you while you're trying to concentrate on your work? No, not at all. (In the video I'm the chick with the blonde hair.)



What song get stuck in your head? What's your favorite song ever? (Besides pipe organ hymns, of course.)

Joke of the Day

Two old men are sitting on a bench in a city park. They're bored.

One says to the other, "What should we do today?"

The other replies, "How much money do you have?"

They both rummage through their pockets and come up with $4 and some change.

The first one says, "We can't do much with $4. Maybe we should just go home."

The other, excited, replies, "No! Let's go buy a box of tampons!"

"Tampons! What are we going to do with tampons?"

"Haven't you seen those TV commercials? With tampons we can run, and hike and swim, even go dancing. We need some tampons!"

Your turn. Leave your joke in the comments section.

My Ricki Lake Show Prank

My junior year of college I called the Ricki Lake Show. They were looking for show ideas and people willing to guest star. The recorded prompt instructed me to leave a my name, contact info, and a general message. Game on.

In my best white trash voice I said, "Ricki! I need your help up in here. My husband wears boxers that are full of tiger stripes. His pajamas used to be his dad's and he died 13 years ago. Ain't that freaky? His briefs got holes and stains, too. WOOH! And the gas! I NEED YOU RICKI! Please give my husband a bedroom makeover!!" Then I left my mom's name and phone number, being sure to ask Ricki to call me back ASAP.

Several days later I got a call in my dorm room. It was my mom. The conversation went something like this.

Mom: (all business) Stacy Ann! What did you do?

Me: Hi Mom! What's going on? (innocently, of course)

Mom: Did you call the Ricki Lake Show?

Me: The Ricki Lake Show? That show is such trash, Mom. You should just stick to Oprah.

Mom: This is NOT funny. A producer from the Ricki Lake Show just called me, asking about your father's underwear habits.

Me: Really? Did you tell the truth? (at this point I'm barely able to hold it together)

Mom: Do NOT call strange TV shows and give them our phone number. I have no desire to go on national TV and have your father get some sexy makeover.

I don't remember how the conversation ended. I think I had to promise not to ever do it again. I kept that promise, too. I never called Ricki Lake again. But Jenny Jones, well, that's another story.

To this day all I have to say to my sister is "Ricki" and we both bend over laughing like it just happened. But we only try to do that when it's a holiday because some stories are too good to not include the entire family, don't you think?

Surely you've made your share of prank calls. Tell me about your best ones. How old were you? Who was the victim? Details, people. I need details.