Have been trying to figure out this Twitter thing.

So I’m at Gwen and Mitch’s church and the pastor is your typical new church, hipster dude. Distressed Acne jeans, Fred Perry T-shirt, Vans shoes—everything that is designed to scream “humble,” “saved,” “sinner,” “not judging you,” but…uhm…actually does the opposite.

I did ask Gwen why she went there.

“It’s the closest church to home, and if you can keep yourself from excoriating his personality and focus on the nuggets of his message, it works out…fine.”

When Gwen starts using high-sounding words, I know she doesn’t like something.

“So basically…you’re saying he sucks?”

“Nat, don’t use that word! Mom hates it.”

Except when she uses it in “extenuating” circumstances…meaning, whenever she’s ticked off.

“But…you’re right.” She starts sighing loudly. Another sign she doesn’t like something. Gwen always tries to say positive and nice things. I just always say things…like when I asked one of our church members why he didn’t just tell me he was a womanizer. I mean, if I’d known I could have understood what all his smiles and winking meant. One just doesn’t expect a married church member to hit on the church secretary. Of course, Kate is still shaking her head. “Lord, does your attitude always have to go to 11?” She saw Spinal Tap too.

Gwen went on to say the church is “kind of cult-y.” The pastor wrote a book and all his messages come from it. And someone did a seriously bad job editing it. “They should have deleted everything except the Scripture verses!” as she said. I listened to one of his sermons once, and have since spent any Sunday I’m there thumbing through my Bible…or anything else…on my phone. Yes, I’m one of those. But if you want me to listen to you, say something intelligent or that’s worth my attention.

“…And—God forgive me—but the music drives me crazy. All that smoke, the flashing lights, the jumping up and down…such a bad rock concert.”

So. Very. Bad. And pathetic.

Anyway, I’m watching Pastor Hipster—can’t remember his name, Josh or Gideon or Jehu or Omri or Joab or one of those warrior names…seriously, if parents are going that route, they should pick a random generic name and wait until their kids are older so they can name themselves—and he’s saying, “You can tweet a message to me @pastorwarrior4x. I’ll read your tweets at the end of the sermon.” He should have gone with @pastorwarriorhipster. But that was probably too long.

So I can tweet a message to him? I’ve got Twitter. I could be on my Twitter and everyone will think I’m tweeting messages to Pastor Hipster.

“Is everyone having a good Sunday?” My general tweet.

No response.

Guess everyone is having a worse day than me. If you think about it, this Twitter thing can actually give you a huge inferiority complex. Ruin your entire self-esteem.

You write something.

No one responds. You feel like the entire Twitterverse hates you.

You are a nobody.

You are nothing.

Well, it’s just virtual reality. But it can make you feel like you are virtually zero. Like Facebook causes depression. Which reminds me, I haven’t seen Brad in a while. Not that he’s depressed, although I would be if I had earphones on all the time and never talked to anyone. And the goatee. I should check his FB status.

I wonder if they have a name for when you feel socially excluded. Social media is probably adding tons of money to the therapist’s coffers.

I’m so random. No, I’m not really random…the dots are all very well-connected in my mind.

“Don’t forget to tweet me about my message.” Pastor Hipster started moonwalking. Actually moonwalking. Dear God.

So I was still wondering what I should say.

“First tweet. From Brandon. Thanks pastor, your words pierced my heart.”

“Brandon, your words have really exalted Jesus. It’s to him the glory belongs. Jesus! Everyone say Jesus!”

“Jesus!” That would be everyone but me as I’m still trying to figure out what to say.

“From Della. Pastor, your message melts my heart with love.”

Ah, the in-love-with-you-pastor tweet.

“Della. Praise Jesus for you.”

And so it goes on for another seven messages. “Now for the last one for today.”

After hearing all these texts, I’ve been having second thoughts about the one I sent so am mentally thanking God…

“And from Natalie…”

Oh— (French word in church!!!). I sink lower in my seat.

“You sent him a text?” Gwen’s horrified whisper.

“From Natalie. Natalie…” I wished he wouldn’t keep repeating my name. “Why don’t you just hush so we all can get to lunch? I’m starving. Haha! Thank you in advance.”

Well it was supposed to be RUSH. I meant rush, not hush. Of course I couldn’t stand up and say that. Even I’m not that stupid, especially since a deadly silence (and possibly murderous thoughts) filled the room. I sank so low in my seat. The swirling disco lights suddenly seem to have stopped above my head—you know one of those terrestrial moments when the aliens have spotlighted you, ready to beam you away. Although, I wished that was the case right at that moment. I’m sure Gwen felt the same.

“Haha! Yes, let me hush. Hush,” he stresses and enunciates the word very loudly and clearly, scanning the church for the traitor, “so we can get to lunch. Love my sister in Christ. Good one, Natalie. Haha.” His voice sounds very tight.

I am never going to that church again.

As we left the service, I passed by a group who were “praying in Jesus’ name for God’s forgiveness on ‘Natalie’ for speaking against ‘the anointed!'”

I apologized to Gwen on our way home.

“Best tweet I’ve heard from anyone at a worship service there!” Mitch said.

“We might need to find a new church!” Gwen was in tears from laughing so hard, so at least that was good.

6:55 p.m.

I have a new follower on Twitter. Sunday Fundie. Not really new, but I never noticed “it” before. Not sure if it’s a guy or a gal. Could be either. Twitter is weird. There are guys who pretend to be gals who pretend to be guys or vice versa. Very strange. Need to tell Gwen about that.

I wonder if Sunday Fundie is Brad. Sounds like him.