Hot Jesus

A little story about Easter Past. It could’ve been Christmas, actually. I’m not sure. I do remember Jesus was there. And he was most definitely not a baby. Babe? Yes.

My parents and drove an hour South to a church in Fort Lauderdale that was putting on a pageant. We knew someone who had written some of the music, so we got to be in front row.

This church was one of the firsts to bring livestock in. Maybe it was a goat, or camel. Not sure, but I remember everyone gasping and being impressed. We were transported to the golden times where things smelled bad. And just like Christmas, the music started out with depressing songs–the world suffers in darkness y’all. Then the ending songs are all triumphant, and the horn players end up looking thrilled that they have something to do.

I don’t know what churches are thinking, but when they have someone playing Jesus, they always pick the hottest guy. They know damn well no one wants to dedicate their hearts to an ugo.

This Jesus was beyond hot. And since I was on the front row…we had moments. He saw me. I saw him. His long hair and my MTV Vee-jay hair spoke each other’s language. And, yeah, I guess it was Easter because he was shirtless. But then again, baby Jesus would have been shirtless. But he would not have had abs.


After the final song and the call to get saved and the retreat of the animals (which after 30 minutes were much less impressive because we all had to breathe through our mouths), the “cast” walked among us. When I stood up so I could walk past Jesus, who was talking to people (fans?), but still glancing at me, I felt a pop. It was not my heart.

It was my garter.

What the hell is a virginal, Christian girl who attends a Baptist college doing wearing garter hose? 1) Strangely, it was a trend. White hose, white socks with fold-down lace, and white pumps. We were all strippers in training, but we didn’t realize it. 2) My other college mates and I were fending off yeast infections.

I was a resident assistant. Not only did this get me free room and board, but I was filled with knowledge at our regular RA meetings.

At one, some guy came and passed around a vile of crack rock. We were all on the look out for vials from then on. We had no idea how people used the crack, or what someone high would be like, but if they pulled out their pencils in Ocean Science and a vial of something that looked like a chalk piece fell out—well, enjoy your demerits, kid.

One girls-only RA meeting was about yeast infections. I really don’t understand it now. It’s not like it is contagious and could take the dorm population under in a matter of days.

“The main thing that can cause yeast infections are darkness and underwear that can’t breathe.”

It was then that I mentally invented underwear that had a flashlight attachment (patent pending).

Since hose were still a thing (see, there IS a devil. It’s name tis Madonna), we all were in danger of this virginal private parts plague. Thus, everyone converted to thigh-high garters.

Maybe the fear of yeast infections caused me not to “have carnal knowledge” of Jesus and his abs. Perhaps he later hooked up with Mary Magdalene (cause we all know her reputation is there for a reason!), or Judas (because all the gay boys were attracted to me [not going to think about this too hard]), or the camel (I judge not).

I wouldn’t ever talk to him. I was too busy hiking up my skirt to re-attach my garter, there in the church lady’s room where two other girls were talking about how hot Jesus was. Add a vial of crack and it could have been a bathroom at Studio 54.

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