Our new puppy Belle (the ding-dong)...

So we got this puppy back around Thanksgiving.

She’s a Cocker Spaniel. That makes three of them in the house.

And, for as much as my parents complain about me being back home, they don’t seem at all upset about further crowding their formerly empty nest with canines. Shows me where I rank, I guess?

Her name is Belle, and she’s an adorable terror. She chews on everything, is constantly underfoot and is always giving these irresistible puppy eyes, for which I have no defense. But—and it’s important that you remember this, in light of the eyes—she’s naughtier than anything.

My mom insists that I don’t tell her she’s a “bad puppy.” Instead, I can only tell her she’s a good puppy who sometimes does bad things.

Which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is absolutely absurd.

You see what kind of nut house I’m living in here? ;-)

Bumbling bride-to-be...

Earlier tonight, I wolfed down a peanut butter cup Blizzard.

Eric drove me to it. He dared to tell me he was going to enjoy—alone!—the ice cream we bought—together!—the other day, which we haven’t had a chance to break out yet. So obviously I had to climb into my parents SUV in my pjs and drive to DQ.

And, besides, I deserved it. You see, Mom and I got a lot done today in all things The Big Event.

And, when you consider I don’t have a clue about what it means to plan a wedding, getting anything done is quite an accomplishment.

Here’s the deal: I’m just not That Girl. You know, the one who has had her wedding planned since first grade. That’s simply not me.

So I’ve been trying to feel my way through being a bride-to-be. But I’m still pretty clueless. In fact, one of the main ways I get by is through imitation. For example, mom and I went to this bridal expo the other day, and I could hardly focus on the vendors, through all the brides. I like to watch them, to see how it is exactly that I should be acting.

There’s a crowd of rock-toting ladies at the flowers table. Oh, well then, I’d better look there, too. Flowers must be important. Hmm, and look there—lots of Cloud Nine’s parked around the salon’s table. Don’t want to miss that one. Seems we might as well be wearing badges that say our date and colors. I’m sorry, I need colors? What? And a date? How about less than two months from now? Too soon? I needed to order a dress how long ago???

Trying to fit in ‘round these parts just isn’t easy for a gal like me.

But, alas, we did make some progress today. (Apparently, my mom has been planning on planning my wedding for quite some time…)

And I might just be a bride, yet—flowers, fancy salon ’do, colors and all.

Better than dust...

I love reading Psalms.

This morning it was Psalm 30, David's psalm to dedicate the temple. Which, interestingly, doesn't really say much about the temple at all. Hmm. Anyway, it's basically just David singing thanksgiving to God, for his repeated care and deliverance over David's lifetime. He recalls a circumstance in which he was desperate, and during which he cried to the Lord...

"To you, O LORD, I cry, and to the Lord I plead for mercy:
'What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the pit?
Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness?' "

What I love about psalms is, it's easy to get into the heart of the psalmist. As David praises God for all these things, it's natural that I look back on my life and see how the Lord has provided for me and delivered me. And that's no short list.

But I want to have the heart of the psalmist in this short passage, too. David here isn't just asking the Lord to rescue him merely so he can have more days on this earth. He's pleading for rescue so his continued life can be a vehicle of praise for the Lord, of telling of his faithfulness.

And so this morning, I'm reminded that I want my life to be better than dust. I want to use my days as a way to proclaim God's greatness and declare his faithfulness.

That's a sobering challenge to a woman who slips very easily lately into focusing on herself.

The story...

What I’ve gathered is that part of the engagement ritual involves the congratulator patiently sitting through the entire, detail-laden story of how The Boy asked, without any complaint, with much exclamation of excitement and with a grin goofy enough to match (if not exceed) the congratulateeeee’s. (I figured I’d put extra e’s there, since I sort of made up that word and I wanted to make it clear it wasn’t just a spelling error…)

So, hmm. I guess I’ll just tell the entire, detail-laden story and the rest is up to you.
When I met Eric at the high school in October, he wanted to hear more about Sudan, so we decided to get together that Sunday afternoon and talk about it. We ended up heading out to Matthiessen State Park and hiked for hours. He’s always said he knew that day that I was the woman he wanted to marry. So I guess you could say it’s a special place.

And now doubly special.

I have no idea why I agreed to go hiking Sunday, since it was in the single digits. And I also have no idea how I didn’t catch on that something was up. But, hiking we went. Through the snow and down into the dells at Matthiessen, the same trail we went on that first day.
And so we walked and did goofy Eric & Andi stuff, and every now and then, Eric would reminisce about that day—about what weird thing I’d done or what we’d been talking about or about what he’d been thinking.

And now I must interject a small bit of history/context. (Remember your congratulator duties…) Eric and I love the show, The Office. Love it so much that we can weave quotes into any conversation or make jokes that only we get. Well, on the show, the two main characters—Jim and Pam—are all in The Love. And Jim tells Pam a proposal is coming, she just can’t know when. So he starts teasing her, but randomly and solemnly asking questions like, “Pam, will you… get me a cup of coffee?” And in one scene, they’re walking down the street and Jim hits a knee and asks, “Pam, will you… wait for me while I tie my shoe?” So Eric just loves to pull out that one. Loves it.

So when he did it the first time that day—when his shoe truly was untied—I just gave him a “boy, this joke is getting old” groan and bounded on down the path.

End interjection.

We came to a stepping-stone crossing and Eric started to look around weirdly. And I think he was talking to himself? Something like, “Oh, I think this is it. Yeah, this is it. This is the place. Is this it?” And I realized he was talking to me. And I had no idea what he was talking about. Eventually I got that he was asking me if this was the place where he realized I was the woman he wanted to marry. And I gave him my best what-are-you-some-kind-of-fool look and reminded him that he certainly didn’t tell me of his realization that day. (He waited a few days, haha.)

I took the opportunity of his weird distractedness to rest on a snow-covered staircase at the end of the stepping stones.

And then he’s stooping to tie his shoe again. And I groan (loudly? whoops) and say, “Really, Eric, again?!” as he says, “Andi, I have two questions for you. First, will you… wait for me while I tie my shoe?”

And since—hello!—I didn’t really know the significance of the moment, I take the pause in conversation to exclaim about the status of my butt. “Man, my butt is cold!”

Which Eric wants recorded as the last thing I said before he continued…

“And second, Andi, will you… (he fetches the ring out of his pocket) marry me?”

(Question, women—will I ever forget that moment and the look on his face? Because I pray I never, ever do… Wow.)

I just sort of stared at him. Did a double take. And said…

“Are you for real?”

Which I think confused the poor guy. Because he gave me a weird look, then swiveled that little ring box he had suspended there back toward his face, to check and make sure the ring was still in there. And also as if to say, “Well, ummm… yes?”

I think at that point I snapped out of it. And got off my frozen butt and pulled him up (probably painfully, sort of by the neck?) to give him a big hug.

But then he realized I hadn’t answered. And he wasn’t going to have done all this work and not get a legitimate answer. So, he asked again. And I said absolutely I would marry him.

Then he prayed and gave the whole thing over to God.

And that’s… it. Aside from some other minute details that I simply can’t bear to bore you with. Oh, ‘cept that it wasn’t long before we realized it was freezing and made swift work of getting back to the car.

Long story short, I’m pretty much the happiest woman in the world. :)

Slacker blogger...

How can I even call myself a blogger, I’ve been gone so long?

For shame.

People keep asking me when I’m going to blog again. And I keep telling them, soon, soon. But I’d scratch things out now and then—on random pieces of paper or in margins of my journal—and then I would just never sit down and write.

But now you’re in for it. I’m going to try to open the flood gates this morning—get as much out there before I head to work.


It's been a while since I've posted any kind of pictures on here. This one has got to be one of my recent favorites. This is soon before we won--by getting the highest score--a round of mini-golf with some Bjerkaas family in Florida. We're kind of weird. But pride ourselves on winning. Obviously.

The big news...

I know what blog you’re all waiting for. And I’d rather wait until last to write this one, but I’ll be kind and just get it out there…

Eric asked me to marry him.

(I’ll pause while you all squeal and giggle. And your jaws drop because, “Wow, that was fast!” And some of you scratch your heads and wonder… “Hold on. Who’s Eric?”)

Isn’t that just wild? I certainly think so. I get to marry the man I’ve prayed for all these years! That’s absolutely insane. (Now I’ll pause while I squeal and giggle… again…)

Since I’ve never been much of a girlie girl, I’ve had to learn about this newly engaged thing as I’ve gone along. And in my… two full days… of education, I’ve learned that when I tell people, they want to know 1) how he did it and 2) just how beautiful my ring is. And, so, bear with me as I put my education into practice.

Second thing’s first. The ring is the most beautiful thing in the whole wide world. It’s perfect and simple and “Eric & Andi” in every way. What else do you say about it? (This part I haven’t learned yet.) Um, it sparkles. A lot.

Wow, I need some work on that one.

I’ll leave the second one for a blog of its own…

Deep, dark secret...

I’m using you.

Yes, it’s true.

Or, at the very least, it’s possible.

It’s been a long while since I’ve blogged, and though you might think you’ve suffered for not having your regular dose of Andi’s babblings, I’ve suffered more.

Turns out I’m still an external processer, and without my regular blogging-induced stop-and-process time… Well, I simply don’t process. Whoops.

I think journaling is a good way to keep yourself accountable in your walk—a good way of checking up on yourself to see if you’re acting on/growing from what God is/has been teaching you.

So, this whole journaling-for-the-whole-world-to-see thing really puts me out there. Each one of you can hold me accountable or press me about where I’m at.

And I think I’ve been missing that.

I’ve been missing…. using you? Hmm. Curious.

From the living word...

“We who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.”
-Hebrews 6:18b-20

Wow. That’s really good stuff, eh?

Bjerkaas Buffet

So, I went to Eric’s family’s thing in Ohio for Thanksgiving. (See previous post about being rejected by my own family.)

You can imagine, with my tendency to be a bit neurotic and socially awkward, that this did present itself as a bit of a reason to absolutely freak out.

(Eric pointed out that I say oxymoronic things like that—“a bit of a reason to absolutely freak out”—a lot. Huh. I’m just really funny like that, sort of. I guess.)

But I survived our Ohio adventure.

It actually was a really good time. I was surprised by how not uncomfortable I was, most of the time. Weird.

Meeting Eric’s brothers, sisters-in-law and parents was cool and all, but the best part was getting to know Eric better as I got to know them and watch them all interact.

You should know—all three Bjerkaas boys are sharp. They’ve got all these degrees and life experiences that far outnumber and outshine any of mine. I was the loser with just a bachelor’s. Not a masters. Or two masters. I felt rather boring and bland and basic, not to mention inarticulate. (Oh, and, don’t fret—the boys’ wives and parents were equally extraordinary… whimper.)

But, yeah, I got to learn more and more about how cool Eric is. Oh, yeah, which reminds me—not to brag or anything, but… I’ve got a pretty cool boyfriend.

Now you know.

And it’s hard to know, because he’s all humble and (in my conspiracy-theory-esque opinion) actually keeps his coolness secret. But secrets don’t last through a dozen or so hours in the car and five full-on days of togetherness. And they especially don’t last when family is around.

His mom was talking about all this hardcore stuff he did in the Army—stuff I’d never heard about before. (I do believe I have a regular John Wayne on my hands.) And his brothers would reminisce about visiting him when he was stationed in Germany, and about their gallivanting around Europe. And then Eric himself would do things like offhandedly mention his history of jumping out of planes.

And, even cooler, I began to see the unique strengths and… things… Eric brings to the family picture. (“Things” is my attempt to define some certain indefinable traits...)

And the biggest E-revealing moment?

When the brothers broke out this insanely nerdy Star Wars trivia game and Eric started to absolutely destroy them in it. I just sat there slack-jawed—stunned, really—as he pulled out all this ultra-geeky knowledge about movies I’ve never had the slightest bit of interest in. I’m talking obscure, obscure stuff. Wow. There just weren’t words to describe the shock/wonder that induced…

So, yeah, my boyfriend is a bit of a nerd. More than I even knew, apparently. But we both are nerds when it comes right down to it.

And, in some circles, that is also cool.

So… win, win.

And win, again—by having a really great Thanksgiving.

Thanks(giving) for the slight...

Did I tell you my parents didn’t invite me to Thanksgiving?

Yup, that happened.

A few weeks back, we were sitting in the kitchen with my brother Kev and sister-in-law Riss, and they established that Riss was hosting the big day at their house in Wisconsin, and my parents were invited. And the—my parents, brother and sisters, that is—went on to talk about details… and left me sitting there, befuddled.

I mean, hello? Not to take on a princess complex or anything, but—umm?—this is my first Thanksgiving back stateside and you’re not even going to acknowledge that I’m around? I wasn’t expecting fanfare or a throne or confetti, but at least an invite? Hilarious.

I intend to keep telling this story—with a growing theme of “poor me”—for years to come.

But, even though my parents ditched me, I knew Thanksgiving had to be better than last year’s. I made the mistake of opening up some of my posts from last year this time. Wow. What a different world. You can go back and read them yourself if you want, and remember with me what was going on in Lopitland then. But I can spare you the work by simply saying, compared to last year, the holidays have nowhere to go but up… ;)

 

Summon the Hedgehog....

(I actually wrote this little ditty a week or two ago, but then it got lost in the recesses of my computer... So you're getting it now... And, fyi, I'm still not really sure what this settling business should look like.)

If you know me (or, I guess, if you've been reading this blog long enough), you know I don't like to do things halfway.

In a leadership book I read, the author called it the "hedgehog approach" (or something very much like that). I like that word picture. It suits me. Basically, it's focusing on a certain thing and going after it with all your energy.

Right now, I'm hedgehogging on settling into La Salle-Peru.

My deal is, though, what does settling into a place look like? I've never really done it before. It was college—a new place each year and summer—then a quick stop in Decatur, then a whirlwind handful of months at home preparing to leave, then a mud/dung house (maybe the very definition of impermanent?) in Sudan. And then, bam, I'm here. And staying. (Yeah, still funny…)

So, what is settling in, exactly? I mean, outside of hanging picture frames. Or buying an area rug. Or stocking up on stuff in bulk.

'Cause that's all I can think of, and none of that is really an option. My mother sat looking at me mournfully the other day, when I dared to set up a little table for my computer in my nephew's room, which is what they call what is really my room—the nomenclature pointedly and purposefully unwelcoming. So picture frames are certainly out of the question.

I'm suddenly wide open to take responsibilities and make on-going commitments. To get involved. Yea even to get employed (Lord willing!). To belong—whether it is at a church or in a group of friends or at the Y or a Scrabble club.

And that's exciting. That's big. That's something to hedgehog toward.

But it's also a bit overwhelming and I don't know what it should look like here.

And that might be reason enough to concede to something as simple as picture frames and area rugs and jumbo-sized boxes of… whatever.

Change of Plans. (?!?!)

I think I’ve talked with a lot of you in the past few days, but I figure it’s high time to drop a blog about my really recent and kind of giant change of plans.

So, last week—after a lot of counsel and prayer—I resigned from Jesus Film and Campus Crusade.

I know, you’re probably thinking, “What in the world, Andi?!?!”

Welp, here’s the dealio: I’m staying home to see about this boy.

Like I said, I met a wonderful fella here who loves the Lord. And who, apparently, doesn’t mind having me around. So I’m going to just go ahead and do that—be around.

And see what God has for me.

Or—well—us.

And, yeah, that might be a bit crazy.

But, surprisingly, you all have been less surprised than I expected. In fact, that a good number of you apparently saw this coming well before I did alarms me.

Am I so hardheaded?

To be sure, getting to this point, to make this call, did take a pretty impressive working by the Holy Spirit in my heart. And it didn’t come without a fair share of trashing and squirming about. But finally I was forced to rip my eyes off the Jesus Film and focus them instead on Jesus himself—exchange my plans for His.

And so I resigned.

I’m settling into La Salle-Peru, settling into this new path God has for me, settling into trusting the Lord to give me the grace to serve Him faithfully, even here.

Through this whole thing, I’ve fallen more in love with the fact that God is so good as to allow His people to learn more about His character at every turn in life.

I’ve learned that sometimes He will lead you so far enough down one path, just to show you it’s not the way He wants you to go. He’ll test your faithfulness and willingness in one direction, only to turn you around and bless your steps in another direction.

And, I’m just amazed that my God is so sovereign in men’s hearts as to be able to take the thing I wanted least—yea, even my worst fear: to be tripped up on the way to Jesus Film, to be “stuck” at home for any significant amount of time —and to change it into the thing I want most, the thing that’s best for me. And turn that same “unwanted” thing into an answer to focused, fervent prayer.

Honestly, how thrilling, how praiseworthy, how awesome is that? Gets me pretty excited about my God—my Abba, Father.

So, that’s it. That’s my news.

Sometime really soon I’ll get out my last prayer letter, to the same effect. (Probably this blog, nearly to the letter, to be honest.) And I’ll get you the details of my resignation (official sometime in December, as I understand it) and of what to do if you’re on my financial team and all that good stuff.

(Gunning) For the birds...

I came upon a whole rafter of wild turkeys out on 71 this morning.

It reminded me of when we’d chance upon a family of guinea foul on the road out of Sudan—when we hadn’t eaten meat in a long time—and everyone would hungrily (and sometimes loudly) cheer on Daniel as he pushed on the gas and tried to hit one just right, so we could have bird for dinner in Loki.

 

I felt a similar excitement rise in me today when I saw those fat turkeys. Especially with Thanksgiving so close at hand.

 

But I remembered in plenty of time that such behavior/thinking is not OK in the U.S. of A.

 

I’m so adjusted.

Subbing: my personal social experiment...

High school kids are so mysterious. Intriguing in a way.

They talk about the most bizarre things. Treat each other in the strangest ways. Esteem (and exalt, really) peculiar stuff. They'll strike up the strangest conversations with me--about anything, really. Especially about Africa--they ask great questions.

I'm kind of a people watcher, so you can imagine how much fun this whole thing is for me. I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what exactly is going through these kids' heads--why they say the things they say, why they feel so compelled to act the way they do. When students are particularly naughty or show such little respect for their fellow students or me as human beings, I spend a lot of time ruminating on what anger, missing thing, insecurity or uncertainty that's all rooted in.

And a lot of time wishing they knew Christ.

("Wishing" is a deliberate word choice. I'm still developing my discipline of turning that wishing into active, fervent prayer.)

But some of it is fun. I get to be a fly on the wall, especially in my old high school. I get to hear all about how it's pasta day, a reason for excitement at LP that--it seems--is older than the students are. (Pasta was "exciting" back in 1997, too.) I get/have to hear about so-and-so and so-and-so. I hear echos of my own classmates, as these current students complain about the same teachers we did.

And, interestingly and recently, I've got to hear from the girls about how attractive the LP faculty is. Oh yes. A group of girls walked into "my" Spanish class last week gushing about how hot Mr. B is.

I found it super difficult to keep a straight face and not gawk or burst out into laughter. The poor things didn't have a clue that their precious, hot Mr. B is my Eric. Haha. Oh wow. I did manage, however--in the conversation they started with me, in which they were urging me to check out for myself the famously attractive teachers of the math hallway--to ask if perhaps the likes of Mr. B and their other favorite faculty eye candy wasn't a touch too old for them. Doesn't matter, apparently. They're just that hot. Wow. (Said opinions, of course, further extinguish any concerns I might have had about ol' Mr. B being too old for me...)

So, wow, that's definitely my new favorite subbing story. And one I try to tell as much as possible in Eric's presence. Obviously.

:)

Back to the basics...

Yesterday, at OHS, I subbed for a chem teacher.

The students watched “Charlie Brown and the NASA Space Station.” A Snoopy movie.

This is advanced chem, might I add.

(To their credit, though, the kids were also working on some sort of molecular equations... but, still...)

But that I simply got to show this movie—for four periods, with increasing enjoyment in each showing, to be sure—afforded me a lot of time to study.

I was able to work through the entire Affirmation of Faith from Desiring God, a quality ministry that’s blessed me with good spiritual eatin’ since I first became a Christian. I was going through the Affirmation of Faith—basically a boiled-down, straight-forward “Here’s what we believe” from DG—for a couple reasons, but really came away with a firmer hold on and deeper understanding of my own faith.

It’s really just a compilation of the basics, you see—and it was just so great to get back to the basics.

And get back to meditating on the basics.

Rejoicing in the basics.

Savoring the basics.

Good stuff, indeed.

Real Sex.

Subbing at the high school can be kind of boring--I've told you this. So I bring a book to read, for when I'm not grading Eric's papers.

Generally, I'm reading something obviously Christian, so I don't mind the kids getting a peek at the book's title. But things got a little crazy with this last book I'm reading--a book my friend read and loved and suggested.

It’s a book that's turning out to be a surprisingly honest, refreshingly different look at Christians and chastity--how we should talk about sex, how we should teach about chastity, and how we as a church body need to/can nurture singles in pursuing a chaste lifestyle. I’m actually quite impressed with the author—a Christian woman who wasn’t married at 21 and actually has a sexual history, who doesn’t gloss over the fact that sexual desire is real, who doesn’t simply spout clichés and who has so clearly poured over the Text and other teachings with a critical eye.

Anyway, it’s a good read. I think this would be a valuable teaching tool, were I ever to get back to campus ministry. But that’s not really the point.

The point is I was reading it at school, like I said. And that’s normally not a problem, like I said.

But the title of said book happens to be—in shiny red letters printed on the ultra-black spine of the book—“REAL SEX.”

No one has ever given a second glance at any book I’m reading. No one has ever cared. But all of a sudden--though I was careful not to flash the title and actually ended up covering it with electrical tape, just to avoid any confusion—everyone is curious to know what I’m reading.

Students casually ask me. Teachers, unprovoked, chum up to me in the hallway while I’m working lunch duty, tip their chin at my book and want to know.

I sputter a bit. Probably turn a light crimson. Make a super awkward face. Hem. Haw. Fidget. “Errr, it’s a Christian book.” About what? “Ummmm… Welp, it’s actually called ‘Real Sex: the naked truth about chastity.’ ”

Wow. Laying it all out there. Awkward moment.

So, long story short--now I’m the substitute teacher reading the sex book.

Excellent.

Just excellent.

still kmandie...

 

Together again.

 

Minnesot-ah.

So I took a spur-of-the-moment trip up to Minnesota last week, to see KP. She’s been uber-sick for what seems like forever, so I was hoping to bring some cheer. Instead, I brought my own bug and spent a day and a half of my two-day stay on cold medicine, loopy as anything. Figures. Haha.

Still, it was good to see my Kimmie. I really miss having her just a mud wall away, always there. Life’s so busy and wild these days, I worry my most important people will get lost in the shuffles—theirs and mine. It’s hard to even connect on the phone anymore. I’m working so hard to “be where I’m at,” but sometimes it seems you really do need to be in two places at once.

(Disclaimer: I know this isn’t an earth-shattering idea for any of you—it’s simply about life, as is most of what I write on here these days. But I’m just putting the pen to the paper—it’s what I do. And I guess you’re welcome to be a part of that…)

That’s why I got in the car and drove the seven hours to Cambridge, MN. I figured that’s about as far as we’d drive to get mediocre potatoes in Sudan… so no big deal.

And in an amazing twist, we actually got to reconnect with Pattie, as well. She’s from Texas, but was randomly about an hour away from KP. How sweet is that?

Imagine, Kim and I tearing out of the mall doors and into the parking lot to give Pattie Chapatti her welcoming hugs. We were tempted to actually tackle her, but thought better of it—what, with all the wet pavement and people watching and all.

All in all, it was a good, quick trip, despite being sick and all that driving. Staying out at KP’s farmhouse with her folks felt like coming home. Being with the roommates, understanding their struggles and being really understood, and swapping stories was—now that I think about it—just what I needed.

My teensy-weensy, blogworthy someone...

My mom’s been poking at me the last few days, questioning my transparency on the ol’ blog, because of one teensy-weensy thing I haven’t exactly mentioned yet.

And, yeah, I guess, to be honest, it’s not all that teensy or weensy.

He’s actually kind of a big deal.

Nearly a foot taller than I am, at least.

So, meet Eric.

I ran into him one day not so long ago in the halls of my old high school—he’s a teacher, not a student—and haven’t been able to shake him since. And I don’t mind. Not really at all.

There you have it—transparency. I hope you’re happy. I’m not one to admit easily to myself that I’m excited about a fella, let alone to the entire blogging community. So forgive my foot-dragging on the intro. (Mom.)

He’s a godly, godly man—you don’t find many/any of those in younger models around the Illinois Valley—and absolutely great to be around.

Not too shabby. Not too shabby, indeed.

You even get a picture. (I’m amazing even myself.) I like that one up there ‘cause my Dad’s in it—and, honestly, how weird is that? We definitely hang with the ‘rents a lot. So cool.