Or: Why I think modern Conservatism should be treated with a laxative.

Oh dear God.

If ever you wanted to know the problem with the modern ‘conservative’ ‘movement’, read the posts on my local newspaper web site.

I call it the ‘conservative’ ‘movement’ because it is neither conservative nor a movement. Instead, it is a neo-facist religion bent on focusing its incredible influence and anal retentive attention on one particular amendment: the 2nd.

People, I’d have a lot more respect for you if you appreciated equally the ten amendments in the bill of rights. Of course, that would mean you would have to appreciate and accept my friend’s atheism, his daughter’s Buddhism, and all of the pagan and polytheistic religions in the nation today.

Since that’s about as likely to happen as the second coming of Jerry Falwell, I don’t think I’ll have to reassess my worldview anytime soon. However, I’m more than willing to. Please, by all means, challenge me.

See, that’s the basic difference between the ‘religious right’ (again, which is neither) and your basic sane person. Just because something challenges my worldview, I don’t feel the need to destroy it, ridicule it, bemoan it, or limit the right to exercise it.

Here’s my question for you gun lovers and those who fall into the “God gave me guns” category: why do you feel so threatened by liberals, by Buddhists, by Muslims, by pagans, by atheists?

If you truly believe your god is the all-powerful God of Creation, then you should have *absolutely no issue* with those who worship differently. After all, your god is the Awesome God, (I know you believe that because I’ve seen you singing the song), and as such, he can kick my God’s arse any day of the week — except Sunday.

It used to be Saturday, but Baptists moved the Sabbath so they don’t go to church with alcohol on their breath.

And no, the above isn’t my hatred of Christianity. I’m not afraid of Christ, so save the “Christophobe” comments. What I have a beef with are those who would label me as an infidel, a lesser being worthy of devaluing, because I do not adhere to the very limited set of rules they claim as their own but to which they themselves fail to adhere.

I’m not talking about sin and damnation, (specifically drinking booze and screwin’ your neighbor’s wife — and yes, if he’s in the room it still counts as fornication) — but rather the picking and choosing Christians seem to do. You don’t celebrate the Sabbath on the Sabbath and then gripe and moan when other people don’t follow YOUR rules. You point to people and say “You’re taking the Lord’s Name in vain. Jesus doesn’t like that,” and fail to see the irony.

Standing up for your rights requires you also to stand up for the *same* rights for others. So here’s the drill: if you, in standing up for your ‘rights’ are espousing limiting the acts, words, or beliefs of the person standing opposite you, then it’s not a right. We have a word for that. It’s called a privilege. And you should know by now that Privilege is something you’re not entitled to unless your last name is Bush or Trump.

I’m all about standing up for the protection of our eroding rights — and yes, that means even the ninny standing on the street corner wanting to marry his wife’s dead cat.

I’m not an alcoholic. I just like to drink.

Alot.

There is a very good reason why I drink, but we’ll get to that in a minute. Suffice it to say, I’m a drinker. And, as a drinker, I drink. Alot.

Usually, I either drink with friends at home (wine, mixed drinks), or at the Pub. But recently, after a spate of nightly visits to the bar with friends, I swore off alcohol and all things spirit-related until the new year — if only to prove the point that I’m not an alcoholic.

It was a simple enough plan. When I bought wine for the apartment, I only bought wines that other people like but that I know I won’t drink. Chardonnay, for example. (I’m a Pinot Grigio fan.) Or when I go out, I sit in the corner and drink cokes and avoid beer. (Which is surprisingly easy to do when one is trying to save money.)

Of course, there are reasons to drink. It relieves stress. (And I’ve been working a whole lot of extra projects lately — like starting a magazine and remodeling a house and researching funeral plans. Don’t ask.) It interjects a certain unpredictability into almost any situation. (“Hi. I’m drunk and a writer. So be warned, I’ll probably be asking a number of inappropriate questions which, since you are drinking as well, you’ll feel compelled to answer more honestly than you would if sober.”) And it makes me just a bit more honest.

Enter tonight, at the Pub. And Evil Woman.

“I like him better when he’s drunk,” she says.

Thanks, Melissa Miller, for pointing out my friends only like me when I’m drinking. So instead of getting angry, I did the next best thing. I got a beer. And then another.

The way I see it, I have two choices — either drink with them or find new friends.

Alas, the thought of having to do the work of finding new friends just makes me want to drink. There’s no quo like the status quo.

And thanks, Melissa, for the hangover I’ll most definitely have in the morning.