I Am Entering the Cult Compound. If I'm Not Out by Friday, Contact the Deprogrammers
I'm attending my sister-in-law's bridal shower Thursday night at 7 p.m. CST. Her "church family" is throwing it for her, at the church.

Now, I am clearly not anti-religious. I'm not even irreligious. I am Catholic. Now, I'm neither prepared nor inclined to defend everything or anything my church has done. I know they've been assholes at times. I just received some divine intervention when I needed it, and I would feel awfully ungrateful if I didn't acknowledge it, and the Catholic Church is what I know because that's how I was raised.

But this isn't about the Catholic Church. This is about a group of fellow Christians, which includes my sister-in-law, who give me the heebie jeebies.

My sister-in-law adopted her faith from the family for which she nannied. I think they indoctrinated or brainwashed her, but that's speculation. She met her fiance through this church, all of her friends are through this church, and she still lives with this wacko family even though she's long since moved on with her life and has a job of her own.

I don't use the term "wacko family" lightly. Hell, you should see mine. But these people, these incredibly wealthy people who own an oil refining business which allowed them to build a mansion/compound where they house at least two non-blood related adult females and I sense they wish they could attract more, are bizarre. I have more stories about these people, including another starring my hero, God, again voiced by a pissed-off Samuel L. Jackson. I'll save those for another time.

I just want you guys to know where I am tomorrow night in case they kidnap me. The last shower I attended in my sister-in-law's honor scared me. It was a Personal Shower (guys, that's where you give/get lingerie and fancy underwear) held in the scary mansion. They started with this long rambling prayer asking Jesus to help plan the wedding, like he was a celestial puppet-master or something. Then we had to go around the room giving marital advice, which, from the church people, all seemed to involve a "Christ-centered marriage."

Now, I'm not sure what they mean by that. But it's hard enough getting in the mood when Ubergirls leave Mr. Potatohead in my bedroom and he's staring at me through those blue-rimmed glasses of his. If Jesus is in there, too, it's all over for poor Dilf.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

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Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

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