the waitress, the monk, and yes zina

yesterday met some friends at a bar/restaurant downtown. the joint's connected to the oldest bowling alley in the united states, which is very cool. the restaurant, however, is not very cool--at least not last night. the majestic. don't go if you don't have to. the waitress will ignore you, lose your food ticket, then an hour and a half later will saunter over after you WAVE her down and she'll say: "i rushed over to tell you it's all my fault." here she throws her shapely arms up up into the air. "i..." (now she whispers conspiratorially) "lost the ticket." she giggles. "but your dinner will be ready in like fiiiiiiiiive minutes. i swear!" then she'll hurry away, ignoring bone dry water and beer glasses and tea cups, and quite frankly, she may never return.

but none of this is the important part.

the important part is this:

my friend vince (not da boyfriend, different one) told the zina story (see my nov 11 04 entry) to his congregation as a life reflection. (i think you can call a gathering of buddhists a congregation. not sure though.) he heard the story through his wife swarupa, who i finally had lunch with last week. they (vince and swa) have a new kid. and so i told swa the zina story. anyway, vince is a teacher. a monk. and i guess the story stuck with him. as it should. and i guess his buddhist talk is somewhat similar to a homily--if you know jack about catholicism.

you know, catholicism looks a lot like alcholism. but still, language is a virus and if the bug that's being passed is zina, throw away the inoculation.

she should infect everybody.