I work in the blue collar industries. Not everyone I work with necessarily has a high school diploma. This is almost never a problem. I love and respect my coworkers; BUT, I do not enjoy being trapped in a conversation with two people who warn me, without an ounce of sarcasm, to be careful on Tuesday, June 6, 2006, because it is the Day of the Beast. Pullleeeaaase. I hate having to subdue rolling eyes and holding back snorts.

Occasionally, conversations will pop up where someone will make some reference to me being an atheist, which is odd, because I’m not an atheist. Atheism is actually my least favorite religion. Some religions annoy me. Some do not. Atheism is the most annoying of them all. Atheism is metaphysical vegetarianism. On these occasions, I generally just say “Well, I’m not, but whatever;” because my only other option would be to explain where I stand on these matters, and as I find the prospect of having philosophical discussions only slightly more painful than having impacted wisdom teeth pulled out without anesthesia, I do not want to make any statement that may encourage the conversation to continue. But whenever someone makes reference to my supposed, albeit untrue, atheism, the more superstitious people in the workplace will stare at me with round-eyed terror, as though my head is about spin right off my neck, crawl down my back, and eat out my own asshole. This forces me look at Jane or Joe Whoever and reassure them that I’m not atheist and am not about to eat out my own asshole.

Of course, this is all my own fault, because I do not identify as a christian, and refuse to pretend to for the sake of simplicity. Neither of my parents identified as being christian, and I think it would be idiotic for me to have to pretend to nominally be one just because I have Europeanish ancestry. In the imaginations of the people around me, this seems to mean that I’m an atheist; and to the superstitious, that I can eat out my own asshole.

In the past, when pressed, I have tried to explain to people that I’m a materialist, but this just causes people to look at me quizzically and tell me that I’m not materialistic, which in turn forces me to try to explain what a materialist actually is. This becomes a philosophical discussion, I can feel the wisdom teeth being pulled out of my head, and I find myself at square one.

This isn’t to say that I don’t find religion interesting. I actually love reading about religion in the anthropological sense, but have no interest in the philosophical sense, or in how it relates to me, as it doesn’t relate to me at all.

Whoops, it looks like this post has become exactly what I was complaining about. Enough about my hairy navel. Be careful out there today, as today is the DAY OF THE BEAST! If you fail to watch your back, you just might find my dismembered head rolling down the street, crawling up you leg, and eating out your asshole.

*MUNCH MUNCH*