I heard a “shave-and-a-haircut” knocking at my door and sprang up to answer it, thinking it was the mailman with certified mail from Chicago! (aka, The Job Offer That Will Never Come!)

Instead, I found two Mormons.

In case you are playing the home game of Jenn’s Spirituality, let me remind you of a few things. I was born and raised Catholic, went to a private school and even got confirmed at fourteen (which was pretty much protocol for what my parents wanted and I didn’t know any differently). In school, we had religion every day, and there were definitely lessons learned — some good (don’t kill people) and some bad (Jesus Loves You, unless you touch yourself).  By the time I was thirteen, I actually had this question on a religion test: “What is the meaning of life?” and there was an answer, and you could get partial credit.  At this point I had also learned a valuable lesson that can get anyone through any educational institution unscathed: Regurgitate exactly what is that they want you to answer, regardless of what you actually think.  “Religion” was just another class, like history, or math, and I learned the material in the same way, without ever really taking ownership of it.

I remember being told that my faith was going to be challenged as I began my life as a young adult. (The scenario I always imagined was very biblical, like I’d be walking down the street and some radical activist would pop up out of no where and yell, “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?!” and, I, responding to this Theological Pop Quiz,  would be able to spout out the right answer and get full credit.)  Looking back, I was already challenging the Church, intuitively.  Later on I would learn that that religion teacher? Gay. And that priest? Alleged molester.  So the Church kind of had its work cut out for it, there.  Yay Catholicism. Ten years later, I am more of a Spiritual, versus Religious, kinda gal.  I’m still figuring it all out and am at peace with the knowledge that I will never figure it out, and neither will anyone else.  I believe that maybe there’s “Something Bigger,” and if you don’t, that’s okay too (unless you are my Boyfriend, and then I will drink too much wine and get really upset about it. but that’s for another time).

So when The Mormons came to my door, I had no convictions.  In fact, I thought, “Ooh, Mormons!” because I was bored, and, as always, curious.  One of them looked like a young version of the FBI agent from Prison Break, and the other one looked just like Nathan from Real World Seattle. I answered their questions painfully vaguely and let the Nathan-Look-Alike go on this spiel.  He was very hypnotic and had a very melodic voice, but I have no idea what he said. (No, inner monologue was more like, “You are one fine-lookin’ Mormon.”) The other one kept pointing to pictures in a pamphlet, and asking me how I felt about them.  “It looks like a guy in a forest looking up toward a beam of light with two guys in it…I don’t know what else to say.”

I think the whole thing I was to take away from this encounter was that I was supposed to pray to find out if I’m meant to be a Mormon? They weren’t charismatic at all.  One said he just knew that when he prayed he knew the Book of Mormon was truth, and to that I wanted to say something like, “You know what? This is totally not for me, but good for you, sugar.” Like it was kind of comforting to see someone so sure about something, when I am unsure of just about everything.  I know most of you will roll your eyes because this means The Mormons will be undoubtedly come knocking on my door again, but who the fuck cares, really.  Those guys probably get doors slammed in their faces multiple times a day, and I just wanted to be curteous (and unintentionally show the hot Elder my thong that was peeking above my drawstring pants.)  They weren’t pushy until the end, when they asked if they could come back, to which I said, “Um, do you think I could call you instead?”  (Because I play hard to get like that.)

And when they left, I did I few pelvic thrusts, because I totally scored a number.