Monday, August 24, 2009

You Know You Are Screwed When The Monks Refuse To Bless You

It started out as a simple road trip across the Indiana border. Jason had said that we needed to get out of town and chum some new waters. He was probably right. With the college kids coming back into town, getting a decent beer in this berg was going to be a task. I had already grown tired of watching the sunset from my porch, getting lost in the coming chaning of the seasons, only to be interrupted by the sound of some drunken frat boy puking in my neighbor's lawn as the music of Enya creshendoed in my mind. "Sail away, sail away, sail away".

With GPS in hand, we set a course for a little dive bar in Terre Haute. We met up with old friends and made some new ones. I was served beer in a bottles that looked like they had been created in a deformed glass blowing machine. We sang kareoke (badly). As the night ended, we found ourselves at a Denny's pondering our next move.

Halfway into drunkinly arguing with his Moon Over My Hammie, Jason had a revelation. "We suck", he said.

It was a simple statement, one that I could not argue with. "I agree that we do have the stench of epic fail on us lately" I said as I over-peppered my scrambled eggs.

"We should go to a temple or something and have a bunch of monks bless the fail off of us" Jason said.

I immediately thought of the Ba'hai temple in Wilmette, IL. I lived near it once and was always awestruck by it. I suggested that we make a trip up there sometime in the next few months.

Dave, who had been uncaracteristically silent this whole time offered another option. "I know of this monestary outside of Cincinatti. I could get in on some of that bless-the-failure-off-of-us action. I bet they'd do it. And there's great Chili Five Way out there".

I felt, as the only sober and sane one at the table, that I should offer some kind of counter-argument, but my words had failed me. I knew that there could be no stopping this. I sat silent in tacit agreement hoping that the tip jar known as Destiny would be full enough to get us to where we were going.

Some four hours later, we found ourselves at the doorstep of the Monastary of Saint Claire. We pounded on the door and were met by a guy with a vague resemblance to Friar Tuck. A curious look was cast upon each of us as we silently processed what was confronting us.

"Dude!" Dave exclaimed, breaking the silence. "I didn't know monks could be chicks!".

He was right. The monk who answered the door was indeed a female. We had stumbled upon a monastary of sisters, not brothers. "What my friend is saying", I offered, trying to be the voice of reason, "is that we'd like a blessing. We feel a little out of God's sight these days, you might say. We'd like to have the...uh...sisters...gather around and pray for us to receive a little guidance".

The sister shook her head and said matter-of-factly "We don't do that. We pray for the needs of the church and the needs of the world".

"I thought monks weren't allowed to talk" Jason said under his breath.

We were invited to pray in the chapel or share service later, neither of which any of us felt comfortable doing. In a last ditch attempt to elicit a blessing from the sister and wrest a win from the gap-toothed jaws of defeat, I faked a sneeze. The sister just shook her head. Not so much as a "God Bless You" or even a "You're So Good Looking".

And Chili over spaghetti noodles is the Devil's work. Of this, I am convinced.

2 comments:

  1. Man.. should have said something! I'm in Dayton and have holy water and blessed candles :) LOL

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  2. I'm just sitting here laughing and feeling stupid cause everyone is looking at me wondering what is so funny!

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