I've been meaning to ask you something...

...Oops... I meant to say, "I've been meaning to ask you FOR something."

Ok. I can't believe I'm about to do this. So, first, here are the prerequisite caveats to anything having to do with asking for money:

If you're new here, feel free to ignore this. (And DON'T EVEN shrug your shoulders and mutter to yourself about how it just figures that a missionary would be asking for money, because this is the extreme exception to the norm on the VWM... Buddy. Anyway. Feel free to check out the stripper post, the crack-whore post, or the post where I call the church a social club, or this one, from back in the day, when a lizard got way too close to my girl-howdie. You probably came looking for one of those anyway.)

2. If you're old here, feel free to ignore this.

Please be aware that this is my least favorite part of being a missionary.

Know that I wouldn't be writing this post at all if I didn't feel like this is something I was supposed to have written months ago but didn't, and now every time I hit post on something new this little voice inside of me (or possibly outside of me) is asking when I'm going to stop putting it off.

I mentioned this not being enjoyable, right? But I really hope you understand deep, deep down that this is the woooooorst part of the whole gig for me.

*deep breath*

Ok. So you know I'm a missionary - and one of the things about being a missionary is that you have to do this thing where you go around asking every single person you've ever met if they would like to give you money. It is exactly as awful as it sounds, and goes something like this:

"Excuse me, sir-in-the-grocery-store. Didn't I see you at the coffee counter at church last week? Well, isn't that a coincidence! I just stopped you - of course to say
hello - but also, to let you know that my husband and I are missionaries, about to embark on the great adventure of being and making disciples in the faraway land of Costa Rica..... and I was wondering if you might be interested in helping us along the way.....ya know..... maybe..... somehow......"

It's kinda like selling girl scout cookies. But not. And instead of promising a box full of delicious goodies in exchange for a few bucks, we're offering a highly intangible nice feeling and, perhaps, a tax write off. I know, it hardly seems like a good deal.

But it is. I honestly believe that.

I believe in what we're doing here. And I truly believe that the people who support us financially should hold tightly to that "nice feeling" because the gifts that they give so that we can be here are changing peoples lives for the better. I know this to be true. I've seen it with my own eyes, I've touched it. It's not intangible to me. It's real. And it's worthy of every dollar spent to make it happen. (Also, I know I've been ambiguous about what it is, exactly, that we do. That's intentional, but it is by no means a secret. If you want the low-down on what we do and how we do it, I'd be more than happy to share the details of our ministry with you, just hit me up at theveryworstmissionary@gmail.com., and I'll spill.)

All of that, to say this: We need financial help.

If we lived in the states I would have taken on a part-time job at Starbucks or Big 5 or whatever, months ago. We just aren't cutting it and the reasons are plentiful:

1. A stupid budget.
We arrived here 3.5 years ago with a hypothetical budget. Turns out our hypothesis were incorrect and our budget was just stupid. Housing, gas, food, and incidentals are ALL way higher than we anticipated.

2. Rising costs.
In addition to having a stupid budget, costs have been soaring. School tuition, insurance, and general cost of living crap has been sky rocketing.

3. Effing criminals.
We've been screwed over by thieves an unbelievable number of times. We've had our house robbed, my purse stolen, two cameras taken, our car stolen, cash snagged, and a car we borrowed broken into, leaving us to replace the radio and pay for the missing roof-rack. It's gotten to the point that our coworkers greet us with "So, had anything stolen off you lately?" We're like a magnet for bandits. I'm sure you can imagine how being robbed on an ongoing basis can kill a savings account.

4. New/Unexpected Ministries
I never planned on feeding kiddos in the precario. And El Chupacabra never imagined that he'd be coaching U.S. football in Costa Rica. But we are doing these things, believing that these are opportunities to share our love for Jesus, and, more importantly, His love for us, out in the community. And that costs money, too.

So, I'm just gonna throw this out there and hope that we're all still friends afterward:

Would you please consider making a donation to our lives and ministries here in Costa Rica?

There's an easy to use, friendly looking PayPal button, right over there! See it?! ----------------->

But. If you'd like that tax write off for giving to a charitable organization, you can give through our sending agency (*who is in no way represented by the irreverent views and dirty mouth of the Very Worst Missionary*) by going HERE. Just indicate "Jamie Wright" (that's me) in the giving field and my friends over there will hook you up.

Now (and this part might be the dumbest of all)....

I've been toying with the idea of advertising on my blog - The problem is that my blog is still super lame by blog standard. I know this because I am told (on an almost daily basis) how ugly and lame it is by blog-nerds-who-care-about-these-things. And while I'm working on rectifying the high ick factor of the VWM, I was thinking that instead of advertising, we could deal in Sponsorship. So here's the deal:

If you make a donation of $10 -or more, more would be fine- by March 15th, I will link to your blog, Etsy Shop, photo gallery, homeschool supply store, dominatrix how-to manual - whatever - with a little blurb about you, at the end of a post. I know, I know. You're like "And how is that doing me any favors?" and honestly, it might not be, but this little community had grown a lot (36,000 page views just last month) and I've noticed it's found a little bit of a voice on the internet, so it may or may not help you get your stuff out there. I dunno. Like I said, this could be the dumbest thing of all..... If you're interested, just use the paypal button and leave "Sponsor" and a link to your page in the notes.

A HUGE thank you to anyone who read this whole post til the end. You're the bees knees.

Ugh! I feel like a schmuck...

..... ..... .....

Have you ever had to ask for money? Isn't it the worst?!


Tripp Crosby thinks I'm funny.

It's true.

Tripp Crosby thinks I'm funny - he said so himself. And he's a comedian or something, so he must know who's funny and who's not. And not only that, but he's hosting me on his blog today.

Yup, it's a guest post.... *sigh*

If you've been around for any of my other guest posts, you already know that doing this makes my palms sweaty. The thought of bombing on someone else's blog is just sooooooo... *ugh!*

So do me a favor; Go read it - and then, be as generous over there as you normally are here with your comments, stories, and quips. Who knows?! If your comment is clever enough, maybe someday Tripp Crosby will tell the internet you're funny. How awesome would that be?! (*hint - It's pretty damned cool.)

So go read my post, Speedo Guy, on Tripp's blog. Please?..... seriously...Please?

Ok. I gave you, like, 18 links to get there. <---- that's another one. This could not be easier for you.

ps. If you're one of the 3 people on the planet patiently awaiting a promised guest post, please know I wrote this for Tripp waaaaay back in November when my brain still knew how to make words. So, don't quit me - I'll get it done. I hope. No, I will. I'm doing it right now.....or soon.


Carniverous Turtles, Bush Babies, and other spiritual things.

I posted this on Twitter the other day, citing it as evidence that I am obviously a worse parent than @jonacuff. He had written a post on his blog about those moments when you realize you are really screwing the pooch when it comes to the spiritual guidance of your own children. I could relate:

This is a drawing that my middle child made in Sunday School
when he was about 6 years old.
In my kid's defense - that's a weird header. "I can talk to Jesus about what He has done." I'm not even sure what that means. And I'm really not sure what kind of picture you would expect a 1st grader to draw to go with it.... Ok, probably not a giant turtle with elephant legs and shark teeth biting off a dude's head. But whatever.

Honestly? I love that picture.

Although, it's not quite as good as the picture he drew of Jesus dying on the cross with two bush babies watching. That picture was

Seriously. Like, bush babies!....
....watching Jesus get crucified with their giant eyeballs.

Odd? Definitely.

Awesome? You bet.

Yet another reason for me to think my kids are more rad than everyone else kids? Of course.

Parenting is a funny thing. Since the very second each of my children joined us on the planet, I've been convinced that no human being has ever been born more amazing, and then I've worried about all the ways in which I'm ruining them. I'm pretty sure that the single best thing I've done for their future is to have supplied them with enough material to write a readable memoir, filled with the bizarre antics of their lunatic mother. But I especially worry about what a crappy job I've done pointing them toward Jesus. I worry that my own hypocrisy, combined with my occupation, will be enough to make them call bullshit on spiritual matters of all sorts. It makes me afraid.

My son's church drawings don't exactly help my case.

But maybe the God of murderous, wrinkly-kneed turtles, and wonder-filled bush babies could also be the God of distracted, cranky Moms who give their kids cereal for dinner and forbid them to wear socks in the summertime because why should she have to wash them and fold them and put them away when everyone can just wear flip-flops, thankyouverymuch.

What a funny picture that God could paint of this messed up life, redeemed.

Odd? Yes.

Awesome? I think so.
.... .... ....

Does this post even make sense? I think I shouldn't write at night. I'm tired.


Isn't that drawing SO great?! To this day, it makes me chuckle.


I have a heart for you.

When I look at you, all I can think about is how no little girl ever dreamt of growing up to be a crack whore.

You scare me. The way your eyes dart around in your head like a frightened animal. And that thing you do with your mouth, working it back and forth, back and forth, over no words and no food. Like you just can’t stop chewing a giant, imaginary wad of gum.

You freak me out.

And you break my heart.

I see you begging for food and change at every car window. I see you stumbling out of the coffee fields, followed by some guy, zipping up his pants. I see you lapping up water out of a pothole in the middle of the street, like a dog. I see you, and I think for sure that you’re pregnant… and I see you a week later and I know for sure that you’re not.

And every time I see you, I think about how nobody wanted this for you, especially not you.

I see you and I think, “We are polar opposites.”

You are dark and brown and swirling onyx from head to toe. And I am light and white and gold. Your eyes look like the night, and mine, the day. And everything good inside of you is teaming to get out, straining against the interlinked arms of drugs and abuse that have brought you to this wretched place. This spot on a street corner where you sit in your own waste and stare off into space because you’re blitzed out of your ever-loving mind.

I watch you from my car. Where every awful thing inside of me is fighting to get out, throwing itself a against this fortress of vanity, of bleached smile and plucked brow, of a too-pricey haircut and the perfect push-up bra – every selfish intention, every malignant thought, every raging, hypocritical rant is right there under the surface, searching out the weak spots for a place to leak out and contaminate the world.

You’re a tweaker. So they spit on you and tell you to get a job.

I’m a missionary. So they pat me on the back and tell me I’m awesome.

But once upon a time - back before someone broke you and before Someone fixed me - we were both just little girls. We probably both played with baby dolls and maybe we both had daydreams of what our ever-afters would look like, of what kind of women we’d be. Probably neither of us came very close to what we dreamed as kids… I know I’m not who I thought I’d be. And I know that no little girl ever dreamed of being a crack-whore…

There you are, all wild-eyed and chatting up a fire hydrant. And as I drive past you to get to the mall, my chest starts to feel heavy and my pulse picks up and I can feel, when I see you, that I have a heart for you.

Yes. I have a heart for you.

I don’t even know what that means, except that I know it’s true.

..... ..... .....

Who do you have a heart for?


Dog piles.

I’ve been running. Kind of.

Mostly I’ve been walking, with short bursts of running if a song comes on that is really, really good. Even then, I only run until I feel sure that I’m on the verge of peeing my pants and then I go back to walking…. It’s a girl thing. (Ok. So it’s an old lady who’s had 3 kids thing.) Anywaaay. I’m sick of being flubby and I’m tired of being depressed, and this walking/running/trying not to pee thing has been helping a great deal with both of those issues. So that’s good.

The only problem is that there are fat piles of dog crap everywhere. We’re talking about insane amounts of poo in every form imaginable. Fresh poo. Old poo. Crusty white poo. Poo that looks like soft serve ice cream. Poo made of rice and beans. Grass poo. Poo that makes you ask yourself “Did that dog survive?!” Poo with little flowers growing out of it.

I think you get the idea - The side of the road is speckled with turds.

So the key to running, er, walking hastily, in Costa Rica, is to keep your eyes firmly planted on the three feet or so ahead of you, only looking up occasionally to see that you’re headed in the right direction. Otherwise you’ll end up slipping in dookie and breaking your neck or rolling your ankle on one of those hard crusty pooballs. And take it from me, that is embarrassing.

So this morning I was out there, and I was thinking about how it is just like me to get caught up in gazing at what’s waaaaay up there, on the road ahead, that I forget that I’m navigating through landmines right here and now. I fail to address the most pressing needs because my heart and mind are set too intently on the future. And that’s a pretty good way to end up in a pile of shit… So to speak.

Sometimes I see the Church doing this, too. I’ve seen folks who are so hell bent on figuring out where a poor soul is going to spend eternity that they either don’t see or don’t care about what that person needs today. And I see a lot of sad, hurting, broken people walking away from this Church that seems to care so much about whether or not they’re “saved” but doesn’t bother to find out that they’re lonely. Or sick. Or starving to death. Or that they’re overwhelmed by raising children, or financial burden, or porn addiction, or whatever. The people around us are navigating landmines that could take them down at any moment. And some in the Church want to hand them a Bible tract and say “It will all be okay, if only you make it into Heaven someday.”

Talk about a pile of crap.

So I was reading the Bible (I do that sometimes) and I was struck by something interesting. In Mark 8, when Jesus was preaching to a big fat crowd and they got hungry? He fed them.

His friends were all “Hey, Jesus, everybody’s getting hungry…. Should we cut ‘em loose?” And Jesus was like, “ Um. Noooo. How about we feed them so they don’t die. “ (Paraphrase mine). Notice what he didn’t say? Jesus didn’t say, “Yes, let them go home hungry for if they die of starvation it’s no big deal because they’ve met Me, so it’s all good. Eternity is all that matters!” No - He fed them. It mattered to Jesus that those people didn’t go hungry that day. It mattered.

It matterS.

Today matters. And how we care for those around us matters.

The people in my life who have most influenced me are those who fed me when I was hungry. They are the women who came alongside me when raising babies felt a little bit like being slowly eaten by cuddly, diapered piranha. They are the couples that have stood by El Chupacabra and me during the absolute darkest moments of our marriage. They were anonymous donors that, when we were younger and poorer, gave us a gift that kept us afloat for another month. The people who changed my life are the ones who took the time to walk with me awhile, showing me how to navigate the landmines and the steamy piles of crap and even ~because we all step in it every now and again~ sat down with me to dig the shit out of my shoes with a toothpick. So to speak.

They didn’t introduce me to Jesus and then abandon me, thinking they’d sealed my eternal fate and nothing else mattered. They helped me live in the everyday, and in doing so they developed in me a bright future.

So as I was zig-zagging between dog-logs this morning, I felt like God was reminding me of the very thing my dearest friends have taught me over the years; Live alongside people, and be keenly aware of their needs. Feed them if they're hungry and look out for the crap in their way, so that if possible you can help them through it, or even better, around it. Because if you really care about any one person’s future, eternal or otherwise, you’ll be heavily invested in their today. Dog piles and all.


On meeting an axe murderer.

Remember when I was all “I’m going to meet an internet stranger in real life and it’s totally freaking me out?!”

So, yeah. I met her… And I lived to tell about it. And not like I barely lived to tell about it, but like I totally, completely lived to tell about it. And that can make for a pretty boring follow up account to an “I’m meeting an internet stranger” story. Sorry.

But I’m honestly not surprised to report that during our visit no axe murdering occurred. In fact, I felt pretty confident going into it that she wasn’t an axe murderer at all, since I had thoroughly counter-stalked her on Facebook….. And Facebook never lies, right?

Anyway. If you follow me on Twitter you already know all of this because when I got home I posted this:

“She is totally not an axe murderer.”

Ok. So it’s not a great picture of either of us – but it does serve as proof that we met.

Here’s how it went down:

She invited us over, and in a stroke of genius, suggested that we get together with our entire families so that if either of us turns out to be a freak we could always use the excuse of getting the kids to bed on time to make a run for it”. (See why I was willing to meet her?) And then the only thing that ended up working out was for us to crash their Super Bowl party, which we did, on Sunday.

The weird but cool part: When we walked in, this lady by the door smiled and waved, so I was thinking I must know her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place her, so when she walked up and gave me a hug I was super embarrassed because I sincerely could not remember her name, but then she said that she reads my blog, and that she found out about it from a friend in, like, Swaziland, or something. Crazy, huh! (Hi Tona! *waving* It was cool meeting you!!)

The awesome part: We hit it off. April - that’s her name - April is amazing, and fun, and easy to talk to, and an GREAT hostess, and I can’t wait to hang out with her again.

The terrible part: Ok. So remember how the plan was that if anyone was a freak the easy out was “hey, sorry, we’ve gotta leave early.”?.... Yeah. Well, when she invited us over, I immediately said, “Yes! We’ll be there.” But I never bothered to check with El Chupacabra and, as it turns out, he had already committed to watching the super bowl with some of his players. So, we decided that rather than flake out on anybody, we’d flake out on everybody halfway. Which means that we had to leave the Super Bowl party at halftime… In other words, we took off early. And I still feel soooooo bad because I DO NOT want them to think that we were dying to get out of there. Seriously. We weren’t. I promise we just overcommitted.

The VERY BEST part: Both of us liked both of them. You know what I mean? The worst thing that can happen when married people hang out with other married people is that you don’t like both halves of the other couple. Like when you love the wife, but your husband thinks your friend’s husband is moron. Or the two husbands get along great, but you think his wife is a filthy, wretched, scandalous ho-bag. It’s just bad when that happens, and ultimately it’s a friendship wrecker. So I was praying that we would both like them both – and we did! Yay!!

The whole thing made me very happy.

I'll probably never stop being surprised by the fact that anybody reads this blog. Never. But I'm even more amazed that it has opened up these pathways into the real world, into live relationships, into hugs and smiles and cups of coffee. I gotta say, my running list of "internet peeps I'd like to meet someday" feels a lot more legit and less creepy, now. I probably want to meet you. Unless you're a weirdo....Or an axe murderer..... But the rest of you? Yes.


This should be interesting.

Today is a first for the Very Worst Missionary.

Today, I'm going to meet someone whom I've connected with through this blog. Like, in person.

Is that weird? I can't decide if it's weird or not....

But I'm honestly very excited. The thought of having a new friend within arms reach fills me with all kinds of.... warm-fuzzies or whatever. And I think I'm also nervous or something, but maybe "nervous" isn't the right word. I'm not sure, really, because there are very few things in this world that make me nervous. I guess anxious is the best word for it. I'm anxious. Are those the same thing? I have no idea. And I'm babbling because I'm anxiously nervous.

I mean, I'm still working out this whole virtual village thing in my head. While I understand that the people I "meet" here, in internetland, are real people.... I also understand that every one of us has the benefit of thinking about what face we're showing to the world by carefully choosing the words, photos, ideas, and even the quirks that we hit post on. And, yes, my family and friends and plenty of other people that know me in real life read the VWM, so I feel pretty confident that I represent myself and my family in a fair and honest light. But still. There's just something about meeting someone new based solely on the things I've put here, in blog posts and photos and links to funny crap. Ya know?

So look, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I only post exceptionally good pictures of myself. Like, exceptionally good. Like, so amazingly good they hardly even resemble my real life face kind of good. I think. I don't know. But yeah, probably.

Oh, and you don't have to hear my voice when you read these words. That's a total plus for you, the reader, because I have a really annoying voice. I know this because whenever I call my sisters, they say "Oh, I thought you were Mom"..... So there's that.

Also? I'm kind of a bitch. And being kind of a bitch is one of those things that translates pretty well on paper, like it's aaalmost charming. But being in the same room with someone who is kind of a bitch can go either way - It's a love it or hate it personality type.

So while part of me is stoked to go and meet someone new, and hopefully begin to kindle a new friendship, the other part of me is 100% sure that I'll walk in the door, and she'll size me up and say something like "Oh, look at you!....Propagating a lie on the internet."

So I just want to throw a few things out there, right now:

I have wonky teeth.
I pick at my thumbs.
Sometimes I talk with food in my mouth. And sometimes I yell at my kids for talking with food in their mouths while I have food in my mouth.
I make funny faces when I talk. Also, when I don't talk.
I'm not that funny in real life.
I talk too much.

There it is. The icky real me.

I think what I'm trying to say is, "I'm on my way over, prepare to be disappointed." Glad we got that out of the way.

It's funny, because there are some days that I feel so confident in who I am, and to Whom I belong. There are some moments in which I seem to understand my value apart from what humanity thinks of me. And then there are days like today, when I am so completely convinced that I will never be.... good enough.

The clear difference between those days depends on who I'm asking for the answer.

1 Samuel 16:1-13
".... The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”

I hope, whether you know me only through these pages or if we ever get the opportunity to meet in real life, that you'll see my heart. But if you can't? Well, then I dunno.... I guess that's your problem.

Have you ever taken an online relationship "live"? More importantly - Was it awkward?



Well, kiddo, today is your 13th birthday.

I’m ready for it.

The truth is, you’ve pretty much been 13 since the day you were born, when you slipped into this world against my will and much to the chagrin of the doctor who rushed into the room a few seconds too late, throwing his arms in the air and proclaiming, “This is NOT how we do this!” But you were already out, so you gathered your very first breath and replied to that doctor with a wail that undoubtedly meant, “Screw you! I’ll do what I want.” You weren’t crying so much as yelling on that chilly February afternoon.

We knew right away that you had a chip on your shoulder, and we loved it. You were a really cool baby.

When you took your first steps in your 8th month and looked at me like, “WHAT?! Of course, I can walk.” I knew you were up for a challenge. And when you took off running just a few weeks later, I felt confident that you would be testing the laws of physics for the rest or your life. And you have been. I’m sure that’s what you were doing when you threw that karaoke machine off the upstairs landing… and when I found you, literally, swinging from the chandelier in the dining room… and when you put a D-cell in an electrical outlet and started a fire at school… and when you kicked your little brother out of a second story window….and when you shoved a watch-battery up your nose….

You’ve been testing the physical world around you, questioning authority, and pushing the envelope in every way since forever…And that, my beloved son, is what being 13 is all about. So, you’re practically an expert.

Oh, and you’ve already proven that you’re amazing, so you can check that off the list of “things to do when you’re 13”. I honestly couldn’t be more proud of another human being than I am of you. You’ve seen more, done more, taken on more and given up more, than almost any other 13 year old on the planet - and you’ve made it look easy. Because you're just awesome like that.

I want you to know that I’ll be praying for you every day this year. (Don’t roll your eyes!)

My prayer is that you’ll keep asking all those very good questions you’ve had about who exactly God is, and who you are in relation to Him. I hope you’ll keep wondering about what it really means to be a Christian. And I hope you’ll keep talking with us about why the answers you’re getting aren’t really that satisfactory. I pray you won’t put up a false pretense of fake Christianness because your parents are missionaries and you feel compelled, but that you’ll come to a place of peace in understanding that the God we followed here is real. And, most of all, I pray that you’ll be the recipient, this year, of Faith, Hope, and Love…. but mostly Love.

Happy Birthday, Dylan! You are so gonna rock 13!!


Cats can't break dance.

I saw the most horrible thing today. I think I’m traumatized.

And I want to tell you all about it except that I don’t want to completely gross you out and, also, I don’t want you to think that I’m a horrible, lame person** because…well…

Ok. What happened is that I was driving down the road when the car in front of me swerved to avoid something, and as I got closer I could see that it was an animal - but not like a normal animal, because this critter was wildly flopping around, again and again, in a perfect circle. And as I squinted through the dust on my windshield, I was like, “What the hell?! Is that cat…break dancing!” - and for a split second, I totally thought there was a break dancing cat in the road and I was like “How COOL is THAT?!”…

Then I saw the blood.

And I realized that the poor thing was ~surprise!~ not break dancing, but, in fact, dying. It quickly became obvious that the little guy had been hit by a car and was in some kind of terrible, spasmodic fit of death. It just looked like break dancing.

In the seconds that followed, as I sped closer to the gory scene, the following crossed my mind:

Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

I should do something.

What? What should I do?

Ok. Just…drive around it.


Don’t look at it! Doh!! You looked. Why’d you do that?!?!

Why would a cat be break dancing? Cats can’t break dance! You’re so dumb…

And then something crazy happened. I looked back in my rearview mirror to see the truck behind me take aim and drive directly over the cat, putting an immediate end to its windmill power move, and all its other moves, too. The show was over.

Now that is a guy who knows how to make a decision. Seriously. The guy behind me didn’t waste any time - He saw an ugly situation, weighed his options, and acted. Honestly? What he did is probably what I should have done. It sounds gross, but it was likely the kindest and most compassionate thing to do. It just never crossed my mind to run over the mortally wounded cat…again. (And I’m ok with that because that is aaaall kinds of oogy.) But I do like the idea of being a “survey and take action” kind of person. Too often, I fall into the category of “analyse the crap out of crap, then come to an irrelevant conclusion” - which is exactly what you see when you look back at my thought process throughout today’s tragedy; “Cats don’t break dance.” Perfect. Just what the poor, smooshed kitty needed to know.

But the whole thing got me thinking about how I’ve been over-thinking some decisions that need to be made. I’ve been putting off some work that needs to be done because I’ve been worried about silly little details that don’t much matter. I’ve been swerving to avoid some messes instead of dealing with the cause, head on…*ahem*…So to speak.

So there you have it. I’ve been inspired to take action by the guy who steam-rolled a break dancing cat.

**I told you you’d think I was horrible and lame.

What about you? Are you a quick-thinking, action taker? Or a thoughtful put-offer, like me?