Flynnbox (4): Meet Braden

Whether you've been my best friend since we fought over Gerard in Mrs. LaBranche's fourth grade class or you're the mystery crew with whom I shared a Buckhead-to-Virginia-Highland cab ride on New Year's Eve, you likely know three things about me: high heels are a recipe for Neosporin, I speak faster than most Toyotas accelerate, and I adore the living crap out of my two nephews. The pint-sized comedians are products of my sister, who lives a gazillion light years away in New York. Braden will be six in August, Brennan will be four in October.

Flanked by half Flynnified DNA, Braden has an uncensored gift of gab. Consequently, he's the subject of many an e-mail titled Deep Thoughts by Braden Stroppel. By way of my sis, this one hit the Flynnbox last week:

"So being the Catholic practicing at a Methodist church (as I like to call myself) that I am, I was teaching Sunday school the other day. I read the children a story about Jesus being in a house where people were trying to see if he could heal the sick. Three male friends carried their crippled friend to this house, but it was so crowded they could not get him in. The friends persevered and climbed on the roof and cut a hole and lowered their dear friend into the house where Jesus of course performed a miracle. Braden and Brennan were in my class...

Nanny [paternal grandmother] comes over and says to Braden, "Did you go to Jesus's house today?" They both say, "No," then think a little harder and agree that yes, indeed, they did actually to go "Jesus's house." Nanny asks Braden if he sang any songs in Sunday school and he says, "No." I then tell Braden to tell Nanny what the story was about in Sunday school. Braden said, "Oh, Jesus was in a house and some guy was trying to get in so Jesus broke his legs."

Yep, that's my godson.

'Twas The Night Before Lent

‘Twas the night before Lent, and all through my Catholic veins

Not a sacrifice was stirring, gluttony paraded down Flynn Lane

My vices were hung from the bar with sloppy care

In hopes that self control soon would be there

Huck was nestled all snug in his (my) bed

While visions of spring festivals danced in my head

I’d forfeited chocolate, sodas, four-lettered words in years past

But what about alcohol—for 40 days—could I last?

Oh Oysterfest! Oh St. Patty’s! Oh start of wedding season!

Oh soccer practice! Oh patio happy hour for no reason!

Surely not all wine, maybe just no chardonnay

But who in the La Crema was I kidding, no way no wine for 40 days

What about my other tasty friend, the very proof that God loves us: beer

The same frothy treat that spawned courage to Saran Wrap a sleeping Leah Logue sans fear

Surely not all beer, maybe just no more Belgian wheats

Who in the Newcastle was I kidding, no way would I not cheat

Now wait just a minute, a good Irish Catholic this mindset not make

As guilt settled in, brewskis mentally became a holy bet I could take

So, today I bid farewell to the liquid vice behind Freshman Fifteens

Goodbye Sweetwater, goodbye Shiner Bock, goodbye TAP post-work scene

Goodbye Coors, goodbye Blue Moon, goodbye Passport Club at Taco Mac

For 40 nights I shall dream about you, but on Easter Sunday I’ll be back

With nary a Fat Tire in the fridge, the coozies out of sight

Lenten cheers to all, Irish you a strong 40-day fight!

You Had Me at Resume

As the rare singleton among social spheres of wives, fiancés and soon-to-be-fiancés, I was delighted to receive an e-mail from a gal pal titled "Found Your Dream Husband." The e-mail included an excerpt from a resume this pal came across at work. Tucked at the end of a 15-page, medical-jargon filled resume of an IRISH surgeon was the Holy Grail of perfect-on-paper.

Interests and Hobbies

Backpacking and Travel

• Attempting a red slope in Lillehammer, Oslo
• Finding a clownfish scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef
• Swimming in a thermal spa in Budapest in winter
• Standing in Plaza De Mayo in Buenos Aires, Argentina
• Indian-Pacific railway journey across Australia
• Camping in the outback in Toodjay, Western Australia
• Hiking in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt
• A Singapore Sling in Raffles Bar in Singapore
• Climbing the Dome of the Duomo in Florence
• The Beer Festival in Schuzfeld, Bavaria, West Germany
• PADI certified Open Water Scuba Diver
• Skiing
• Member of the Irish Film Centre
• Jogging and Flying [me likey that flying is last and on par with jogging]

Since hitting the Flynnbox, this list has hung in my office cube, conveniently just under my prized photo with Matt Ryan.

As with all Atlanta-based fairytales, this story has a predictable ending: Adventuresome Irish Surgeon is married.

P.S. Happy Valentine's Day