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I have been to places where I have spoken and no one understands.

I have jumped feet first into ice cold water

of the Mediterranean Sea on an April afternoon.

I have seen the pope speak,

and I have heard the silent voices of those who lost their lives in a German concentration camp.

I have climbed the Swiss Alps,

And I have summited Mount Vesuvius.

I have dined in twelve different countries,

And met Olympic gold medalists.

I have sang Hava Nagila with a Jew from Israel,

And seen my own God in the electric blue water of Capri.

I have fed dogs at the Parthenon,

Swans in Lucerne,

And my soul at The Vatican.

I have made friends from all other states and nations

And built bridges between other cultures and my own.

I have seen the Eiffel tower as it glistens on a Parisian night,

And I have walked through the arches of the Coliseum.

I have stood outside Buckingham Palace

While I celebrated with Australians

As we cheered on athletes from far away countries

That crossed the finish line of the Olympic marathon.

I have belly-danced in Greece,

Drank champagne on a gondola in Venice,

And eaten gelato next to the Duomo in Florence.

I have walked the Bridge of Sighs,

Strolled through the Hall of Mirrors,

Bowed my head in Notre Dame,

And craned my neck in awe at St. Peter’s Basilica.

I have ridden bikes through the windmill speckled countryside of The Netherlands,

Donned crystals in Austria,

Written my name by Juliet’s balcony in Verona,

And wandered the streets of Amsterdam.

I have been on top of the world,

And felt smaller than imaginable next to Niagara Falls.

I have fallen in love with cities I’ve never been to,

And people whom I’ve never met.

I learned just how much this world has to offer,

But just how small it really is.

I have broken stereotypes,

Adored other countries,

And formed a greater appreciation of my own.

I have been blessed with my youth,

I have been given the world,

And I have felt true joy.

If I experience nothing else in my life,

This….this was already enough.

Lane Goodwin

If you haven’t heard about Lane Goodwin in the last few months, then allow me to introduce you to an amazing boy who has made such an impact in today’s society. Lane is a 13 year old boy who was diagnosed with a rare and fatal form of cancer. After beating the cancer twice, he unfortunately relapsed yet again and was, sadly, welcomed home to Heaven at 7:53 this evening.

"That sounds horrible!" You may say. "Why would that make you happy?!" Trust me, nothing about Lane’s suffering or the overwhelming heartbreak experienced by his family makes me happy. It is how Lane and his family used this tragedy to allow God to do his work. Although battling a disease that was surely going to end his life, Lane stayed strong and positive through the entire process, and was constantly giving a "thumbs up" to illustrate his optimism.

Cancer is not a fun thing. It is not a nice thing. It is not acomfortablething. Many adults can not adequately deal with a cancerous diagnosis without becoming depressed, yet this little boy never showed fear or bitterness. This small town story from Kentucky quickly gained notoriety through social media, until the entire nation was talking about him. The “Thumbs Up for Lane” phenomenon spread like wildfire, and photos of everyone from ordinary people to A-list celebrities started pouring in to show their support and prayers for Lane Goodwin. 

The facebook page dedicated to him and his fight with cancer was filled every single day with pictures, prayers, and heartfelt stories from thousands of people whose lives had been touched by Lane’s strength. Many credited him with restoring their faith in the Lord, helping them to recognize the tragedy that is childhood cancer, and allowing them to cherish their lives and loved ones more without taking any blessing for granted. As his fame grew, Lane and his family used the attention to help shed light on childhood cancer and to raise money for various organizations which fight against this every day. Tonight, after he passed away, my facebook newsfeed—which is usually filled with statuses of complaint regarding school, work, money, lost love, and overall negativity— was brimming with an outpouring of love, kindness, and prayers for a little boy that none of us had ever even met personally. It is no secret that I am sometimes sickened by the way society acts and how much they take for granted, but seeing the impact this one little boy had on so many around the world—it was so refreshing and encouraging to see.

Some may still argue that there is nothing to praise about this situation, and the suffering he experienced and the pain his family is now in serves as confirmation that God (or at least an all-powerful, all-loving, merciful one) could not exist. To you, I only have one thing to direct you to. John, Chapter 9:

As Jesus went along, he saw a man blind from birth.His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.

Later, of course, the bible tells us that Jesus went on to heal the blind man, therefore effectively proving his point that God’s power is seen through tragedy. Unfortunately, not every tragedy has a silver lining that is clearly visible. However, I refuse to believe that any tragedy occurs without a sliver of goodness that ripples away from it. No tragedy occurs without some sort of lesson or purpose, even if they are never visible to us. We are not created to understand the will of God, but simply to trust in it and follow it even when we can’t see it. That is truly what faith is. Believing what you cannot see.

Fortunately, Lane’s impact was too large to be ignored. God worked incredible miracles and showed so much power during this difficult time, when society needs it most. Lane’s story, although heartbreaking, served a larger purpose that we, as humans, will never be able to comprehend, even when the evidence is all around us. What a beautiful little boy, and what a beautiful God we serve. Lane, you make me happy. Rest in peace with the Lord.

Being Humbled

Living in my comfortable, middle-class, American world, I regret to say that it is far too easy to get caught up in life and take for granted all the blessings that God has so graciously given me. I am in no way saying that I am not very grateful for all I have or that I don’t frequently make an effort to recognize my fortune and to thank God personally for his gifts, but living in a beautiful, strong house, attending a great university where I have received an above-average education, stuffing myself with enormous meals several times every day, and surrounding myself with a loving family and enjoying physical belongings to the excess make it difficult to remember just how much I overlook every day.

When I first thought about writing a blog post for today, my first intent was to write a post explaining exactly why “my life” makes me happy. I was going to write several paragraphs about my recent adventures spending time with friends, traveling through Europe for 15 full days, my family’s upcoming week long trip to Florida, my return to college and my 21st birthday that are a mere few days away. My life really has been extraordinary lately, and I am not going to say that I in any way do not still have a deep excitement for these things. It is simply that a few moments ago, I realized how lavish my lifestyle truly is and how much I have taken for granted, despite my best efforts to do just the opposite.

As I said, I returned from a 15 day trip to Europe only two days ago. The trip was incredible, and I experienced so much while there that I now have an urge to post about. These next few weeks, however, seemed to me to be rather hectic. To explain, let me give you a quick run-down of my present life.

August 13th- return from Europe

August 17th- Travel to Florida with my family for a week

August 25th- Return from Florida

August 26th- Move back to school

August 27th- First day of classed

August 29th- 21st birthday

Returning from Europe left me a mere 4 days to unpack 15 days worth of clothing and souvenirs, repack a weeks worth of clothing for the beach, pack a semester’s worth of clothing and necessities for school, get my class syllabi and assignments in order, and run countless errands that need to be done before I leave. It really is quite a bit to get accomplished in a short amount of time, and I was stressing over the upcoming loss of freedom and beginning of school work that I will soon face. I was flying around my house doing laundry, unpacking, cleaning, and pitying my small bank account when I saw something on my desk. It was a letter, presumably placed there by my mom when I was in Europe, from a little boy named Francis living in Kenya that my family sponsors. I will admit that it is an understatement to say that I have not been the best sponsor, as I have only written to Francis once in the last four years, and quickly forget about his little face soon after I am finished reading his frequent updates.

Nevertheless, I opened the little brochure and read what he had written. The brochure was a generic questionnaire for all the sponsored children to complete, with little fill-in-the-blank sections that said things like “My favorite school subject is ____” and “In my free time I like to ____” although all the answers little Francis had written were cute, one statement in particular stopped me in my tracks. There, toward the bottom of a page was a line that said “My most prized possession is_____” there, in a little scribble, Francis had confidently filled the blank with “my shirt.”

His shirt. If you had asked me what my favorite possession is, it would have taken me quite some time to decide, as I have so many to choose from. You can look around my room and see countless objects that I cherish, along with a large pile of possessions that I truly only have for my entertainment and nothing more. You could have opened my closet and seen two overflowing racks of clothing, or opened any of the nine dresser drawers I have in my room and pulled out one of hundreds of t-shirts. Although I love my clothes and make frequent shopping trips, none of these would have ever crossed my mind ad my most prized possession. Why? Because I take them for granted. I have never in my life had to worry about not having a shirt to wear. I have never been cold, unclothed, dirty, or impoverished. Clothes are expendable to me, something simply meant to portray my “style” or to impress others. I have many times pondered how poorly I obey Matthew 6:25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?” And how much I place value on insignificant, worldly possessions. Here I am, complaining about unpacking dozens of shirts and outfits, and eight year old Francis from Kenya feels such an overwhelming love and appreciation for one shirt, that he would go so far as to write a letter to me telling me just that.

I am currently reading a book entitled “Kisses from Katie,” a true story about an eighteen year old girl who forgoes college, moves to Uganda, and through God’s will, ends up adopting thirteen children in need. In one chapter of the book, Katie recalls growing up in America, where she was continually told how blessed she was. Although I can’t quote her exact words, the chapter goes on with Katie acknowledging that while she was given a comfortable life, she was beginning to see that the “blessings” of her American life were more of a curse than a blessing. She says that since she had grown up with so much, she struggled to attach herself to God instead of her possessions. Although she had always had a close relationship with the Lord and thanked him for all that she had, she was brought to tears one night in Uganda as she watched dirty, sick little children with no home, no parents, hardly any food, and no education laugh freely, focus on the positive, and above all, give continuous thanks and praise to the Lord who had “loved and provided for them.” She marvels at how these children, having no possessions, have learned what we “blessed” Americans have not: that when you have nothing, you have only the Lord. You learn, therefore, that the Lord is sufficient, all that you need, and the only thing that you need to be happy in life. Because these children had nothing else, they had a better, stronger relationship with God than Katie had ever dreamed of.

It is moments like these that humble me beyond words. While I stress over the hundreds of dollars I have in my bank account, or how stressful receiving an education is, there is a little boy in Kenya whose most prized possession in this world is his shirt. We can all learn a lot from that. God, thank you. Being humbled and seeing your true blessings makes me happy.

Enthusiatic Sign Flippers

Guess who’s back????? Back again???

No, it’s not Slim Shady, although I think we can all be grateful for that. IT’S ME! I hope you can calm down enough from doing your happy dance to read and enjoy this post. It will be difficult to control the excitement, I know, but I trust that you can do it. I believeeee in youuuuu.

A little disclaimer before I delve on into today’s topic of happiness: Don’t pee your pants too much out of excitement just yet. First of all, that’s just a little gross and unsanitary. 2) If you’re in a public place without access to a new, DRY pair of pants, then that is just incredibly inconvenient and a very poor decision on your part. And 3) These posts aren’t back for good. Sad face. I have less than two weeks until I leave for vacation for basically the entire month of August, and once I finally do return, I immediately begin the tortuous trials of nursing school again. Not much time for internet shenanigans in there. I hope you understand.

Why did I take such a long hiatus despite having my much beloved summer-freetime, you ask? Because I felt like it, that’s why. We’ve already established multiple times that I have the attention span of a juvenile goldfish and I am constantly moving from one project to another in a desperate attempt to momentarily quell my innate, ever-present boredom. I got bored with this, and moved on to the next thing, which happened to be a combination of goldfish, babies, sewing, trip planning, a social life, and napping. But more on all of that later. Let’s get back on topic.

Sign flippers. That’s the topic at hand. We’ve all seen them. They stand out on the side of the road in 115 degree weather, holding a giant arrow advertising pizza or some arbitrary product. Usually, you can pretty much guarantee that they’re just limply standing there on the side of the road and look something like this:

And I am willing to bet that when we see them, we all have the exact same thoughts: “Haha! Sucks to be you! How is it standing out there working for the WORLDS WORST JOB?? Suckaaaaa!!!!” Then we speed away in our car complete with a new-found gratitude for the education we’ve completed, thus ensuring we will never be a fraction as miserable as that poor person dressed up as Chef Boyardee, slowly sweating to death on the side of the road.

My true colors. You’ve finally seen them. I am a horrible, mean person who considers the lowly sign flipper to be her inferior. Call me elitist, it’s true. I’m terrible.

But then, every once in a big, bright, beautiful, full blue moon, you see a sign flipper who turns your perception of the world of spinning giant arrows completely upside down. It’s that guy who isn’t just standing on the side of the road, plotting his own demise, but who is actually EMBRACING the experience. He’s got his head phones on, he’s breaking it down, smile on his face, pointing and actually making direct eye contact with people in the passing cars. He’s making an absolutely Vegas-worthy show of throwing cardboard into the air. That guy….well, for lack of better expression, that guy is a boss. Suddenly, you don’t pity him anymore; you ENVY him. You’re on your way to your boring, routine job, and that guy is out there enjoying the day, absolutely having a blast at his. It’s just not fair. Another thing that isn’t fair, that you have to eventually drive off and say goodbye to this awesome dude.

Sign flipping, if done correctly, is an absolute art that can be incredibly beneficial to a business. If two pizza companies send sign flippers out right across the street from each other, and one is just standing there like a wet noodle, while the other is doing backflips and a full breakdance routine with his giant cardboard pizza slice, who do you think I am going to go to to order my delicious pie? That’s right, enthusiastic guy. I don’t even care if I’m not hungry. I want to be served a big helping of Happy with a side of Fun.

Enthusiatic sign flippers of the world, this is for you. You keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll keep making me happy every single time I drive by. Heck, one day, I’m gonna jump out of my car and do a little dance right beside you, just to show you that I appreciate you. Enthusiatic sign flippers, YOU make me happy.

My Mama

I look like a tiny alien.

So, my mommy’s birthday was two days ago and I was too busy stalking Tim Tebow to write a blog for her, so mom, forgive me for being late :)

Sometimes, I sit and wonder just what I did for God to want to bless me so much. While there are people out there who will never have parents who love them, I somehow ended up with TWO parents who love me beyond words, and never let me forget it. My mom and dad have provided everything for me in life without ever batting an eye and I am just so BLESSED to have them.

My mother is the best woman I know. She is the strongest, most loving person you will ever meet. Not only is she the cement in our family, but she has given me everything in life. She has surrounded me with every animal imaginable, which, despite the fact that I am not as animal-crazy as her, is really pretty cool. She loves my father, my sister, and I, plans all of our family vacations, and just brings LIFE to our family. I am so sad that I didn’t get to celebrate her birthday with her this year since I was at school, but there are just a few things that I want to tell her:


I just want you to know how much I love you. I know that sometimes i’m a little impatient when “the aggravator” comes around and pokes me with sticks at the lake or kisses my neck when she knows I hate it, but I can’t imagine what I would do without that, or you, in my life. From the day I was born, you have loved me unconditionally and always made sure that I had every opportunity in life. I am so in awe of you and if I grow up to be half the woman you are, I will be pretty amazed. Thank you for doing the best thing a mother could possibly do for her daughter—educating me and raising me as a die-hard UK fan. Thank you for putting up with my incessant complaining about swimming for so many years, and forcing me to do it anyway :) Thank you for all the trips that you have planned, and all the memories we have made there. Thank you for playing along with “Mr. Drawer” when I was little, and making me cinnamon toast for breakfast all the time. Thank you for always letting me play with the microscopes at your work, which is one thing that I loved so much, it may have led to my future career as a nurse. Thank you for always taking me to pick strawberries, and for making me a lasagna every year for my birthday. Thank you for putting up with my grammar corrections, all the rocks I used to bring into the house, and for watching Jurrasic Park for the 480th time with me every time it is on tv. Thank you for reluctantly keeping a real Christmas tree in our house for 18 years so that I would enjoy Christmas. Thank you for insisting that we have family dinner together each night, and for cooking us a full meal every dinner (even if I have taken that over lately….thanks for letting me do that too, by the way. I love that you let me cook so much and dirty every dish in the kitchen.) Thank you for loving dad, for providing me with an example of how to build a lasting, loving marriage, and how to make your children feel like they are your world. Thank you for being my model and for showing me how to be a strong, beautiful, fun-loving, hard-working, classy, Godly woman. I love you so much, I can’t wait to see you in a few weeks, and I hope you have a wonderful 29th birthday ;) YOU make me happy!


Betsy, green jello, your pumpkin seed, and Nene

Singing Bike Guy

This is some next level radio right here.

Now, most things that I post on this blog tend to be one of two things: a subtle sort of happiness, or incredible hyperbole to illustrate some otherwise embarrassing form of happiness. Those aren’t bad things. I prefer to point out the subtle forms of happiness most often, to show that happiness can truly be found in ordinary, everyday life.

Sometimes, though, God’s sense of humor shows through and he provides me with a little “happiness miracle,” if you will, that is just so outrageous, soin your face,that there is absolutely no way to ignore it. I was lucky enough to experience one of these moments just a few days ago.

It was just your typical afternoon. I had just finished class, and was reflecting on one of the always enjoyable topics we had just discussed (which in all honesty, probably had something to do with either death, human feces, drug overdoses, or some combination of the three…) and was generally just questioning why in the world I chose the major that I did. (That’s not true. Although I do frequently question this choice when I am awake at two a.m. writing a 27 page paper on electrolyte imbalances caused by end-stage renal failure, I absolutely do love that I chose to be a nurse, and wouldn’t trade it for the world.) Anyway, I can’t say that I was necessarily in an overly blissful mood that day. That is, until this little bit of “WTF” occurred. And just in case you’re wondering, WTF stands for “wonderfully timed funny-ness.” Of course.

I was walking up the massive steps that climb the massive hill leading to my fortress of a dorm, when I heard something strange. I listened a little closer. What is that? The sound had some odd cadence and tune to it, but it was coming toward me and growing louder at an incredible speed. That is when I saw it. That’s when the bike burst around the corner of my dorm, heading downhill at a break-neck pace. Atop this bike was probably the most joyful, ecstatic boy that you have ever seen. His hands were in the air instead of placed firmly and safely on the handlebars where they should be whilst descending down a hill of such size, and he had a look of such childlike, innocent happiness about him that you couldn’t help but smile when you saw him. And smile I did, but that wasn’t the reason that I burst out in laughter. The reason that I burst out in laughter wasn’t due to his speed or dare-devil no-handlebar-stunt, but because this guy was singing—I mean actually belting it out at full volume—as he sped down the hill. I don’t recall what exactly he was singing; I was too caught off guard for it to really register, but I’m fairly certain that it was some kind of opera…or maybe gospel music. I don’t know. All I really know is that it had some GREAT vocals.

This guy had no shame, turning dozens of heads as he came to the bottom of the hill and pedaled off throughout the rest of campus, until he was out of eye—and ear—shot. He was having a true “joy ride.” I don’t know what made this guy want to do this, but I’d like to think that he was just enjoying the beautiful day and was sent by God to bring a little extra joy to everyone’s lives. If so, then mission accomplished. Singing bike guy makes me happy.

The Alot

Now, although I haven’t done a full post on it yet, I have mentioned once or twice how being grammatically correct makes me happy. Please don’t judge me right now, because I know that this blog is FILLED with typos and incorrect grammar. I also know that I am not the god of grammar, and that I do make mistakes. I’m not trying to be a hypocrite. You just have to understand that when I post these blogs, I type very quickly, and usually am too lazy to proofread before I click submit. If you ever speak to me, though, or read a paper that I actually turn in for a grade, you will see that I take my time to make everything as grammatically correct as possible. The thing that has the power to drive me to madness more than anything else in this world is when people blatantly REFUSE to use even the most basic of correct grammar when they write. More specifically, I hate it when  “i hav 2 reed sentences lyke disssss” on social media websites. I understand that we cannot all speak perfectly, but to willingly appear unintelligent is just ignorant.

That is why when a friend sent me this link —>

I lol’d for days. This is exactly what goes on in my mind 24/7. I have to find some humorous reason for why people find it necessary to write incorrectly. WHENEVER SOMEONE USES ALL CAPS WHILE TYPING, I just try my hardest to visualize the person on the other side of the screen listening to music, and yelling everything that they want to type at the top of their lungs .

The Alot, though, is a whole new level of combat against bad grammar. The Alot is genius, if you will. Although I can see why people struggle to remember that “a lot” is actually two separate words, it still kills a little piece of me inside every time I see it written incorrectly. I just want to take a red pen, draw a line through it, and write it correctly so that the person will always remember. If I did that, however, I’m pretty sure that I would have no friends. So that is why the Alot is so useful. It helps me to get past my frustration and actually draw some humor out of the situation. Likewise, when you adopt the concept of the Alot, it is pretty fantastic to visualize all the different Alots that must be created in order to combat people’s grammatical inaccuracy. “The Alot of crap,” the “Alot of homework” and “the tired Alot” seem to come up pretty frequently. 

So to all of those out there that struggle with grammar: fear not. As long as I have the Alot by my side, I actually derive some joy from your mistakes, rather than the brief moments of rage that used to swell up inside of me due to your blatant disregard for the English language. It makes me happy Alot.

The Number 8

No, I have not died, although at this point, I do believe I am very close to having an aneurysm. At least I’ll die happy.

You see, the reason that I may have an aneurysm is because for the last week or so, my blood pressure has been slowly but consistently climbing to an all-time high, which peaked today at 8:23 pm at around 683/512. No, I’m not exaggerating.

What was going on at 8:23 pm, you ask? If you actually have to ask and can’t tell by what you already know about me or the wonderful picture atop this blog, then I have a great amount of pity for you, you poor, simple-minded creature.

At 8:23 pm, the University of Kentucky began its final battle in the quest for number eight against those dumb Kansas Jayhawks. Thankfully, although not entirely surprisingly, the “rock, chalk, Jayhawks” were blocked, they choked, and fell to the Wildcats by eight points. Eight. This is UK’s EIGHTH national title. Half of our EIGHT national championships have occurred in years ending with the number EIGHT. The 2012 Wildcats accomplished the greatest season in their history, winning thirty-EIGHT games. Mackenzie had EIGHT heart attacks while watching them play this season. The number eight is a powerful number.

I wish I could put into words how ecstatic I am. I just spent the last five minutes thesaurus-ing an adequate synonym for the word “ecstatic” to describe my current emotional state, but none of them seemed to do it justice. The closest I came to it was the word “delirious” because I am literally delirious with joy right now.

I love this for the team, who fought tooth and nail all season to prove that they were in fact the best team in the nation. I love this for the players, both past and present, who have made Kentucky what is has always been, and helped paved the way to tonight’s win. I love this for Coach Cal, for winning his first ever national championship, for restoring pride back to UK basketball, and for finally being able to silence those critics who claimed you could never win a national championship with such a young team. I love this for my mother, who is more delirious than I am at this point and who raised me right, teaching me to hold my head high and to cheer on my CATS through a win or a loss. I love this for my sister, who attends UK, as she gets to be a part of such a wonderful season. I love this for me, as this is the first national championship in my lifetime that I can consciously remember (the last one was in 1998, when I was only 6 years old.) I love this for all of the fans, who have supported the program, team, and players through even its darkest days when, just four short years ago, we could not even make it into the tournament, under the “guidance” of He Who Shall Not Be Named. I love this for the state, which tonight, was returned to it rightful place amongst the greatest state in the history of college basketball. I love this day. Everything about it makes me happy.

My apologies

I offer my sincere apologies to all those who have felt slighted due to my lack of posting for the last few weeks. I may be making excuses here, but when I created this blog, I had the intention of posting something new each day. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to take into consideration how much work this thing called “nursing school” would require. I have stayed up, studying, until 2 am five days of the last week. That is a norm for me now. Although I still have many blessings to be thankful for and have no way run out of things that make me happy, I regret to say that this blog must take a back seat to my studying at the moment, seeing as my studying is directly responsible for the care of my patients and my success in prolonging the lives of the patients I now treat. I will post as often as I can, but between school, clinicals, studying, my job, church, trying to have somewhat of a social life, and the few moments of sleep I get, please forgive me for my sparse posting. Now that I have made this (overly) formal apology, please continue to count your blessings, stay happy, and continue to follow my blog, because if I can remain hopeful that there is, in fact, a light at the end of this tunnel, then you can be assured that one day—hopefully soon— my focus will return to this blog.

Tonight I feel like going for round two of “Mackenzie’s All-Time Favorite Commercials in the History of Forever.” If you recall, my all time favorite commercial has already been posted—the dancing elephant. This, however, is a close second.

As unfortunate as it is, I am currently sitting in my living room being forced to watch UL in their hideous construction worker orange uniforms actually showing that remember know how to win at least one game. I know, I know; it is pretty miserable. But, as I was watching the game, I heard one of the team’s bands play a familiar tune. I listened more closely, and recognized the song “We Want the Funk.” Suddenly, my mind shifted to a much happier a time (not involving anything related to Louisville) and I remembered this little humorous commercial.

I think that this commercial came out about 4 years ago during the Superbowl, but I’m not sure. All I know is that the first time I saw it, I sat there laughing hysterically for a full minute before I regained my composure. Something about these boys—the third boy, in particular— and their awesome dance moves just brightens my day. It’s hilarious. I love these weird, coordinated little boys, and their absurdity somehow reminds me of myself. 

This is another one of those commercials which I make a point to go watch every once in a while. It just cracks me up. this commercial makes me happy.

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