Good god am I boring and apparently Jesus died for my right to be so. Clearly, my biggest sin is the dullness of dishwater, of the rambling, pointless and inane.

Actually, I don’t believe that Jesus died for my sins. It would take a rather mundane deity to give that much of a shit about such trivialities. I think he died so that the Discovery and History Channels could continually pump out stuff that M. can watch for hours while flipping channels. This week not only did I get to watch a bunch of Filipino dudes crucifying each other, but I read up on how the health ministry is looking to make sure the nails and the flaying apparatus are sterile. Clean whippings, who could say no to that?

We celebrated the resurrection and the light by eating too much at a fancy brunch. Nothing like complementary mimosas (made with a surprising percentage split of sparkling wine to OJ) and a wide variety of carbohydrates to make me feel good about the holiest of holy. Not to mention all the fresh fruit to make me regular in the name of the lord, the holy spirit and the only son.

It was kind of cute in a voyeuristic way to mingle among the breeders and watch the little girls and boys in their “Easter outfits” (apparently folks still do that) cozying up to the bunny-suited special guest and hunting around the patio. I’d be sounding all perverted and stuff watching them, except I didn’t want to kidnap any and bring them home. Au contraire.

I was too busy eating and drinking to beat them out of hunting for the plastic eggs. I know I could have slaughtered the rugrats in that game.

Even though it was an early, early (almost the earliest) Easter it could be, here we dined in the sun outside. Remind me again why people actually live in New England?

Technorati Tags: California, Easter, religion, weather