Monday Morning Confessional

I make my confession – make yours!

I confess that in the car on the way to have pizza Sunday afternoon, I sang Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” at the top of my lungs with my two boys. I confess that for the first time in my life – I have now heard somebody else butcher the words to “Living on a Prayer” worse than I do; two somebodies, actually. It was nice. “Take my hand and we’re going somewhere… did you say underwear?”

I confess that I have a serious aversion to folksy wisdom.

I confess that I love to watch Tim Tebow win pro football games. I confess that, although I enjoy watching him play immensely, I’m not sure I can handle another week of his fans posting on their Facebook about how God made the Broncos win because he wants to vindicate Tim Tebow’s overt shows of religiosity. Somebody just suggested that he had 316 yards passing on purpose because it represents John 3:16… people, please… Maybe he only ran for 65 yards because God wants him to read Matthew 6:5?

I confess that it bothers me when people confuse the words “jive” and “jibe.” Jibe means to be in harmony or accord. Jive is a kind of a dance move, or a way of BS-ing someone (made famous by the immortal Bee Gees, i.e. Jive-talking). If two ideas are opposed to one another they do not “jibe,” as opposed to “jive,” which would mean they don’t know how to dance.

I confess to taking far too much delight in other people’s weakness, as though there is some corresponding benefit for myself in their having issues. This, I know, makes me weaker than they – weaker than the weak… that’s me.

I confess that I feel a serious organizing binge coming on. I feel as though all of my spaces are cluttered – my closet, my office, my home office, my car, the desktop on my computer, even my clothes (which I sadly keep on one shelf in the closet. It’s nasty.) I confess that organizing my space makes me feel better about my life. The inverse is also true.

I confess that I don’t feel very comfortable in my own clothes right now. I confess to feeling hopeless about the idea that this can change anytime soon.

I confess that I believe that there is this point in life when continuing to conform to fashion trends just feels like I’m trying too hard to stay hip or relevant. I confess that in order to see this point, for me, I must now look in the rearview mirror. Still I went into urban outfitters for the first time in my life last week to try and find some jeans that make me look like I’m not trying too hard. I confess to trying one pair on – with both of my boys in the dressing room with me – and thinking there is no way possible that a person’s legs can be this skinny. Apparently the designers of these jeans had a different body shape in mind when they designed this particular pair of britches… for instance, someone w/broom handles for calves. I confess that my oldest said, “Yeah, those are pretty tight, dad.” He’s eight… I confess to wanting to hurt an eight year old last week. “You think, really?” I said, my words covered in sarcasm & shame. I’m pretty sure I looked like Olivia Newton John in the final scene of Grease… I hear Dockers makes a nice pair of pleated denim pants…