On Our Way To Crazy

I am not a dancer. I always think, “Oh, it would be so fun to go dancing!” But I am wrong. Actually, I like being in places where people dance. I like the atmosphere and I love the people watching. But I personally do not like to dance in public. I just don’t have it in me. (Unless the song is “Jump” by Kris Kross, since they basically tell you what to do. I may not be able to dance, but I can definitely follow directions.)

I just can’t respect a guy who orders Smirnoff Ice in a bar.

I really really (really) like sangria.

My mom was on to something all those years she told me to stop popping my knuckles. My left pointer finger has suffered something of a knuckle-popping-induced injury. It’s swollen on the inside and it hurts to bend it. This does not bode well for a left-handed person.

My right hand is pretty much lazy and useless. My attempt to brush my teeth right-handed this morning was a disaster. It doesn’t know how to do anything.

I have really cheesy taste in Christmas music.

I am very sensitive to after-church lunch politics.

Football means a lot more to me than I realized. I just about had a heart attack yesterday during the Cowboys game. Thank goodness for Martin Gramatica.

I think dogs in football jerseys are awesome and I don’t care who knows it.