Don't mind me

I'm just nursing a bad mood I've been in ever since Sister Chandrika (who hasn't made an appearance in these pages for quite a while -- guess why) submarined our plans of fevered protesting around West Hollywood this past Saturday night. For those of you out of the loop, last weekend was the LA "gay" "pride" "festival," when West Hollywood capitulates to the demands of the The Left and declares citywide parking amnesty, an open invitation to lesbians from Diamond Bar and beyond to flock to our fair city and block our driveways with their Subarus. While I don't get much out of the Sunday parade (I consider the act of forcing myself to watch 2+ hours of gay church groups waving rainbow banners more masochistic than the entire oeuvre of Robert Mapplethorpe), Saturday night is usually pretty hopping. The plan was to protest a restaurant for dinner (most likely Cha Cha Cha, but possibly Marix, since we like to flirt with the head valet), and then take our Outrage to some watering hole and preach the Gospel of Christian love to the fudgepackers. Sister Chandrika claimed Satan was cursing her with an allergic reaction to her anti-inflammatory drugs (a likely story, as The Dark One is particularly cruel to our fair sister in this regard), so Jesus and I got some gelato and brought it to her place, where we protested The Da Vinci Code on pay-per-view (the less said...). While I enjoyed hanging out with her, it was really no substitute for bringing Testament to the fairies, so I have this sort of unscratched itch for Witnessing, plus the sense of having missed an opportunity to really do The Lord's work in an environment rich with potential converts. I guess I can let it go now that I've bitched about it. Normal programming will resume shortly. Praise Him!