Well here’s my latest little adventure…I’m one of those people who has to have a certain amount of control over my environment to be happy. When that gets disrupted, it fucks with my Chi, as I like to say. As a songwriter, I often spend long hours working on tracking my music in my home studio. I was in the middle of recording a new song and had already started over twice, and really had it going good this time when….
…there was a knock at the door. My dog, Giz, went to barking, (‘Cause it fucks with his Chi, too) and I stood up quickly, tried to lay my guitar down, ripped the headphone plug out, tripped over the guitar cord and muttered an impressive selection of profanities. I checked through the window–some dude and a younger girl. Seemed harmless enough, but hell, the recorder was still on and I HATE being interrupted!
I opened the door and said “Yes?”
Referring to a card in his hand, he says, “Are you Jud? Jud Ba-eely?”
First of all, i am female, and i don’t know many females with the first name, “Jud.” I wanted to say, “Do i look like a Jud to you? But instead countered with: “No, Jae Baeli. (I gave emphasis on the pronunciation of my last name, Bay-lee). “Who’s asking?”
He said, “I’m blah-blah from the First Baptist Church, and–“
I could feel the steam forming in my ears. This makes me so mad. It’s like door to door spamming. I kept wishing for a delete button or a block-this-person switch, or even a trap door beneath my stoop. I said, “Do you have any idea how rude it is to just drop in on people? I’m in the middle of something and you have really fouled things up.”
He says, “I’m sorry. We were just wondering if you attend–“
I interrupted him again. “I was in a training session with my sex slave, and about to make an offering to Satan, so I don’t think we need to continue this.”
The look on his face was enough to give me some satisfaction as I closed the door in his face.
I guess this makes me sound awful, but I really hate that shit. I don’t want anyone cramming their religion down my throat. If I want to go to church, I can find it–it usually has a huge steeple on the building and lots of singing inside. I’m no pagan or anything, but it’s just such a rude thing to do, in my opinion. And knocks on my door have a way of scaring me. My heart rate climbs and my blood pressure soars. Not sure why. So as is the norm in these situations, I began to shake, and then I couldn’t continue recording because I was so shaky. I am so mad, now.
So there’s a part of my “dark side” for ya. I’m probably going to burn in hell.