Sometimes, when I’m driving and listening to the music of someone like Led Zepplin, The Doobie Brothers, U2, etc., I picture myself as a character in an independent film in one of those long driving scenes.
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When men over thirty wear shirts or sweatshirts with more than one Disney character on them, it creeps me out.
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When I go into a public restroom to wash my hands and someone rustles in the stall like they’re just about done and ready to reveal themselves, I frantically try and get out before they do. It’s kind of like a little contest, if I see them, I lose. I hate losing.
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If I don’t practice remembering the books of the Bible in order, I get them mixed up. And, for some reason, in my head, I always feel like I’m going to get caught and someone will say, “Wow, you’re a Christian and you don’t even know the books of the Bible,” to which my clever reply will be, “No, no I don’t.”
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My oldest neice is pumped for Christmas. She loves to count down the days. The only problem is that she won’t really be home on Christmas so it screws up the whole Santa deal. Now, we talk about the meaning of Christmas a lot–so the whole Santa thing is a sideshow, for sure. Last night she asked me again, “how’s this going to work with us not being at our house and Santa coming…” And, everything inside me wanted to free her from his boxed up Santa-prison and yell out, “It’s all a LIE... the reindeer, the elves, the whole sordid milk-and-cookies-chimney-sliding-fat-man-story…” but, instead, just another clever response–”Uhmm, how many days till Christmas?”
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