I haven’t added to my “little known fact” list since January of 2011. It’s way overdue for some attention.
I would rather eat a Brussel sprout than a Peep. bleh. It’s like goo with glitter on it.
and again. bleh.
I have absolutely no problem, however, purchasing Peeps for the sole purpose of blowing them up in the microwave. After seeing this on facebook, we’ll be new to “Peep Jousting” this year. As Larry the Cable Guy would say, “I don’t care who ya are, that’s funny right there.”
and a fitting end to a Peep in my opinion.
I know I’m not your “fun” friend. I wouldn’t make a good Bunco buddy. I prefer conversation over television. And without exception, I will choose talking about your goals and ideas and struggles over spending two hours in a dark movie theater not talking at all. I know I’m not the first person you think of when you want to get together with someone and laugh your butt off. I know I’m not one of the friends you invite out for happy hour on girl’s night.
And I’m okay with that.
I would be completely miserable at happy hour.
For me, happy hour is like reading fiction. It’s a diversion from real life. And usually much too loud.
I can’t do it.
(I have my reasons, which I’ll get into in the next few posts, but let me start out by assuring you I’m not like this because I think I’m better than other people. You’ll see. I have “issues.”)
I know I’m different. Some would say, not normal. Some might say annoying. exasperating.
You either get used to me or you avoid me.
But when you need to talk, I’m the friend who wants to have coffee with you. I’m the friend who can handle hearing about the things that keep you awake at night. I’m the friend who wants to hear about the things that keep you awake at night. Without judgement. In confidence. And be prepared for me to pray for you. Right then and there. Out loud and in front of whoever happens to be looking. (well, not so loud I break a confidence)
Sure, we can talk about surface stuff; logistical stuff, like what mechanic we trust, what we love and hate about our phones and data plans, a good (but easy) recipe or maybe even gas prices.
but not for long.
I don’t have a lot of patience for surface talk. It’s like a magazine. Little chunks of uncommitted browsing.
I prefer books. I want to spend a little more time and dig deeper.
While there’s time. Because it’s later than I think.
FOLLOW-UP: Here are two of my “issues”:
Why I’m Not Your Fun Friend. Issue #1: Saturday Mornings
Why I’m Not Your Fun Friend. Issue #3: Death
treadmill. 5% incline. 3.5mph.
Shoulder Coach: “really? that’s all you got?”
Me: “6% incline. are you happy?”
Shoulder Coach: “for now.”
Me: “you’re gonna give me shin splints.”
Shoulder Coach: “your shins hurt?”
Me: “no. not yet.”
Shoulder Coach: “Then quitcherbellyachin”
Driving on a long straight road, more than a few miles faster than the highest posted speed limit. All the windows had to be down, the sunroof open. I would consciously make the decision NOT to tie up my hair even though I knew the result would be too many tangles to brush out. Washing and conditioner would be the only remedy.
No radio. It had to be my own choice of music – no commercials. no talking.
The music had to be LOUD. And I had to know all the words, because I needed to sing. At the top of my lungs, like nobody was listening.
Today, logic and finances and a lack of a sunroof or movable windows in my minivan, dictate no fast and aimless night drives.
But I have the house to myself during the day. The music is so loud I can’t hear the doorbell or the phone. And the cats paw at the sliding door because they want to escape to the back porch, where the sound is only minutely softer.
And that mini-van isn’t soundproof either.
I really need to clear my head. It’s a mess in there.
“Maybe it’s just my quest for creativity and difference. I’m not sure. But God is shaking me. God is stirring me.
Why? To place me in a new situation so that I have to trust Him fully. When I have my comfortable caged life, I know the parameters. I know my life. I know what will happen and what won’t. I can insulate myself from interacting with others. I can play it entirely safe. I can trust in me, not God.”
After starting over on a new book, I thought I was finished with the introduction.
I told FirstHusband I wasn’t ready for him to read it because I wasn’t ready for negative feedback.
Took two days to build up the courage.
He had some excellent constructive criticism. Nothing to edit or delete. But he did make some strong arguments for needing to add an intro and a conclusion to the intro. Thankfully, the arguments came with some good ideas.
As I expected, I’m not finished with the intro.