Yesterday Ben, Kiesha and I went to the cemetery to leave flowers on my grandparent’s grave. We were walking around when I looked down and noticed which tee-shirt I’d put on that morning. Talk about poor planning. Who picks a shirt with a girl shooting herself in the head to wear to the cemetery? Me. That’s who. I’m an idiot. I have got to start paying closer attention to the little details in life.
Last night while hanging out at very, VERY young guys house, his roommate walked in. He started to introduce me to the roomie, and everything froze. Shit. This could totally be the end of a good thing. I’m so weird about this, well, and everything really… If he introduced me as someone he’s dating I’d feel too much pressure. Did I mention I’m a total lunatic?
And then I heard the magical words I needed, “This is my friend Sarah.”
Bingo. We’ve got a winner.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s done everything right so far. Three tickets to see Wilco: one for me, one for him and one for whomever he’s dating at the time. Calm down, Internet! That’s what I wanted.
In fact the only thing he’s done wrong is being born in the wrong year, and I can’t be too hard on the boy. His age is really his mom’s fault, not his. Seriously, how selfish of her. Is it really too much to ask that she be doing it four years earlier?
My brother was out of town yesterday so I picked up his four-year-old twins from daycare. I knew it was going to be a good night when I walked in and Hannah started jumping up and down and told her teacher, “That’s my aunt Sarah, she’s a total rockstar.”
As per usual, the ride home consisted of Jesus talk. These kids are just as obsessed with him as I am. So much for the Jesus talk dying (Puntastic, no?) down after Easter.
“Aunt Sarah, we have to take a different road home.”
“Why, buddy?”
“Because Jesus brought a big, yellow pipe and left it on our street.”
“Um… why would Jesus leave a pipe in your street?”
“Aunt Sarah, the road is broken. Some big tractors came and dug it up, and then Jesus left a big, yellow pipe to fix it with.”
“Did this Jesus guy have a hard hat on?”
“Yes.”
“Buddy, I’m pretty sure that was a construction worker, not Jesus.”
“NOOO, it was Jesus… I just know it.”
“Seriously, buddy, I know for a fact Jesus is not a construction worker. Grandma told me he was a carpenter.”
Silence. Oh heavenly silence.
And then… in an amazed tone he asks, “Grandma knows Jesus?!”
Fuck.
I wanted to tell him that his grandma is obsessed with Jesus. And not in the fun/blasphemous way I am, but in the “Jesus is the Savior” kind of way. I’ll let him figure that one out on his own.
