If a mirror falls off your wall in the middle of the night the universe is trying to tell you something. If your microwave tazers you or if you find spagetti noodles in the shape of Chinese characters on your ceiling, the universe is speaking.
So yesterday the universe spoke to me again. It happened after my next door neighbor, Martha, bought me a magical pair of skimmer shorts from Kohls.com. I slipped them on and began sweeping my hallway, when SUDDENLY, a light that has been burned out for a week began to flicker on and off.
And then he looked at me . . . and I stopped snapping . . . and the world sped up again.
Do I dare disturb the universe for a second chance to take photos of Obama coming out of the bathroom?
After the game my friend, Dolly Etta, saw Jack Johnson and she started doing cartwheels in the aisles. Then she grabbed my hand and said, "Let's go talk to him. I'll take a picture of you guys together for your blog."
That's when it hit me. Why my mom was always saying, "Remember who you are, and what you stand for, and don't forget to brush your hair before you go out in case you run into Jack Johnson."
And DUH! that dead light bulb wasn't winking at me, it was sending me Morse code for "better downsize your hair today, young lady!"
So do you want to see what my hair looks like when it's star struck?
So then Dolly Etta is just chatting it up with Jack Johnson. She's really got the gift of gab, that one. She was asking him what Ben Stiller is like and what David Letterman is like and what Jay Leno is like while I tried to get my tongue untied.
Finally I blurted out, "So what's Curious George like? Is he really as rascally in real life as he is in the book? Huh? huh? huh? And what about the man in the yellow hat?"
Then Dolly Etta was like, "I love your music so much." And I was like, "I love it more!" And she was like "Oh no you don't, girlfriend. " And I was like "Do to!" And then we had a knock-down-drag-out fist fight right there in front of Jack Johnson.
(More awkward pausing.)
Then Dolly Etta told him about my blog. And he asked politely if he could check it out.
But of course he won't, right? right? right?
I mean, he's waaaaaaaaay too busy to stop by here, right? right? right?
Of course he won't stop by.
But what if he does???
You know how when Jackie Robinson comes over for dinner and you look around your house and it's like you're seeing it through Jackie Robinson's eyes, and you realize your house is a mess.
Well that's how I feel about this blog.
Why didn't anyone tell me that I'm not even funny? Or that I make no sense! Or that I'm confusing! Or that I'm lengthy! Or that I need to downsize my hair! You guys are s'possed to be my friends!
(I guess Lisa has told me all those things. Thanx Lisa.)
Do you guys think Jack Johnson likes The Office? Or Nacho Libre?
If, by chance, the universe leads Jack Johnson here, and then Jack Johnson asks me to go on tour with him so I can blog about it (and meet Keane and Coldplay and John Mayer and Dave Matthews) and then Jack Johnson writes a song about me and how I want to turn the whole world right side up, I pinky promise I will reduce, reuse and recycle every single word I ever say for the rest of my life.
(But if he doesn't like The Office or Nacho Libre, I'll just ask him if my MIL can go on tour with him instead.)
P.S. Everyone meet me in April's comment box right now for family prayer. She's having a radiation treatment tomorrow and she'll be quarantined for 2 weeks.