The OCD Chick is so much more than just a bizarre lady who can’t say that number between 5 & 7 and who has to repeat the word “gumball” 21 times while shampooing my hair so that God won’t kill my daughter’s cat.
Oh yeah. I’m a big ball of diverse talents.
I’m a writer, a Mother, a friend, a helluva twirler, a Realtor, a fake blonde, a rebel, a cook, a terrible singer and believe it or not… but why wouldn’t you…I’m an ordained minister.
You may call me the “Reverend OCD Chick”, or even “Your Holy OCD Chickiness” if you prefer.
Did I become ordained many years ago while surfing the internet in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep?
Yes, I did.
Does that make me any less a minister?
Probably.
But in the land of RV’s & Milo’s, my late night online ordination does give me the legal ability to marry people who want to be married. And believe it or not, some people do want to do that, no matter how hard I try to talk them out of it.
This weekend I brought together a man and a woman in holy matrimony. It wasn’t just any man and woman either. It was a man and woman who are occasionally very Goth, very renaissance, very different.
Not that there is anything wrong with that. They are merely lovely people who would rather pierce something in a sensitive area than to ever be seen in clothing from Old Navy or have a tan.
Out of all the fascinating people who were in the wedding party and/or in attendance, and believe me when I say there were a few attention-grabbing people present, there was one at whom I couldn’t stop staring no matter how I tried.
He was a vampire.
That’s right. An honest to goodness, I ain’t even making this up, vampire.
He showed up for rehearsal with a pale white face, jet black hair nearly to his waist and long, silver fingernails. He was dressed all in black clothing and wore nearly a floor length black overcoat. It was vampire casual. When he smiled, his mouth looked as if he may have just had a quick hit of O negative in the parking lot.
I was strangely enthralled.
Later when I returned for the ceremony, he was in his vampire finest. He wore a black suit with a white ruffled shirt underneath open to reveal his pale chest. His hair was slicked back and pulled into a pony tail. On his little finger, he wore a silver “ring” for lack of a better word, which had a long pointy thing that I’m guessing vampires use for either helping to open a vein or getting pickles out of a jar. In his right hand he carried a black walking stick that had a skull on top.
Sounds bizarre, huh?
Well here’s what's even more bizarre. Remember those old black and white vampire flicks where a perfectly normal looking red-blooded woman would beg the evil vampire to bite her so she could live forever in the netherworld with him?
I totally get that now.
No matter where he went, I stared. While Mr. Man was doing his best to get as far away from this guy as he could, I was figuring out ways to stand near him. When he asked me whether I would hold his cane for him, I think I may have even answered, “Yes, Master”.
At one point, he walked over to me and actually said these words, “My Darling, you look lovely this evening. I must photograph you.”
I nearly passed right out.
Thank goodness Mr. Man and Deputy Pretty were there to look after me or I really think I might be sound asleep right now in a two bedroom coffin in the basement of his castle.
Or with my luck, sound asleep in a two bedroom mobile home where he lives with his parents while he works nights at Jack-In-The-Box.
Yeah. That seems about right.
Copyright © 2004-2006, Sherri Bailey
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