God Has A Sense Of Humor

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks audibly and subconsciously complaining about how “boring” my life has become. I’ve whined about staying home instead of going out. I even addressed my recent friend problem here on the blog.

Thursday morning I woke up and browsed Facebook from bed, as I usually do. I saw a post about Bike Night at a restaurant and bar down the road from work where a favorite local band would be performing. Obviously I thought this event would be right up our alley and considering my recent complaints about being boring, I figured it would be a good opportunity to get out of the house. I ran the idea by Adam and he agreed so we made a plan to call up some friends and head to the bar after work.

Adam picked me up and we arrived to the bar a little before 8pm. We met up with friends and grabbed some drinks and a table on the patio while we waited for the rest of our party to arrive, which they did shortly thereafter. The band was playing and conversation was flowing when all of a sudden POP POP POP POP. The bar begin to panic and it wasn’t until Adam was shoving me under a table that I realized the “firecrackers” I thought I heard were actually gunshots.

If you want details about the shooting, you can read articles by the local news outlets, like here and here. I’ll just say, we were close enough to the crime scene to know what was going on but we did not actually see anything. And of course, I’m saddened and a little freaked out by the whole incident.

Now, there’s nothing funny about violence, especially when it ends in death. But here I am complaining about how boring my life is and finally excited to have found a fun event to attend and it’s cut short by a deadly shooting and police interrogation. There’s some irony in there somewhere.

Luckily for us (#sarcasmfont), our bike happened to be parked inside the roped off area which meant we weren’t allowed to leave. We spent hours at the bar and finally around midnight, the officers took our information and allowed us to leave. (Our friends weren’t as lucky. Their bike happened to be parked in the literal crime scene – a bullet casing apparently fell on their seat – and they ultimately had to leave it there.) By the time we made it home and took time to wind down from the excitement, it was around 1:30am.

That was not exactly how I imagined our night going. Actually, it’s the complete opposite of how I imagined it. But I’m really thankful that no one in our party was involved or injured.

Go to Bike Night, she said. It will be really fun, she said. Yeah, right…

So, as if that wasn’t enough excitement to last me for a while, I had already made plans to meet my Dad and Nana the following morning to watch them skydive. Yes, my 49-year-old father and 71-year-old grandmother (with a handful of friends, including an 80-year-old woman) jumped out of a perfectly good airplane with a wish and a prayer that their parachute didn’t malfunction and they landed with no injuries.

As you can probably tell by that description, I did not partake. I have no desire to skydive. Zero. But I came out to show them support (and pray I wouldn’t have to cash in their life insurance policies).

They received their instruction and we all watched as they went up in pairs and landed with their parachutes. Thankfully no one was injured and everyone seemed to have a great time. Nana said she would do it again in a heartbeat. I am grateful to have such a fun grandmother; I just wish she’d pick less dangerous activities to partake in. She told me I now know what she feels like every time Adam and I take the bike long distances.

Touche, Nana. Touche.

Here’s a couple of shots from the day. I can’t wait to see the video and photos taken from the air. How cute are my grandparents? I guess that’s what 50+ years of marriage does to you.









Alright, God – between the shooting and the skydiving, I’ve had enough excitement for a while. I’m certainly glad you have a sense of humor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go back to my “boring” life.

Leave a Comment