4 girls congregate in circle, talking so that I can only hear S’s and T’s. They are all wearing a short jean skirt with a frilly tank top with mid-riff sweater. you know the sweater, you’ve all tried one on, took one look in the mirror and said “i look like an ass”.
well, they looked okay on these girls because these girls are shaped like hangers. hangers always have the greatest looking outfits.
they all giggle, coo, hair toss, tug at various sections of clothing and girl 1 walks away. girls 2, 3, 4 all wave and say goodbye as #1 goes out the door smiling.
2, 3, 4 rehuddle and laugh uncontrollably, I distinctly hear “skank” and “you’re way better looking than ….”and then they each take turns walking out the door mocking the way girl 1 walked out.

??????

I am reading a book by Eric Weiner; The Geography of Bliss. The author travels to different cities around the world investigating levels of happiness. So far I have learned that Iceland and The Netherlands both are very happy places to live in. People here claim to have, for the most part, overall contentment. He does a fun job of explaining the atmosphere of the people and giving the reader a feel for why these people act this way.
In Switzerland it is illegal to flush your toilet after 10pm (according to this book anyway).
I’m not sure if this is a way to conserve water or to quiet the hysteria of midnight flushing–or what the consequence may be for rebellious flushers sinking their 1AM doodoo. Is this a crime the regional forces would come hunt you down for or is it something that causes your neighbor to have to give you ‘a look’?
Are there toilet police?
Also, I found out that one of the decisions that usually results in the most amount of satisfaction and happiness is …..breast implants.
I’m still not finished reading this. It has kept me occupied for days and is actually quite enjoyable. I like the statistics and little known facts and now I know that if I should decide to move to Iceland and get a boob job I probably won’t run into any depression.

How about you? Where were you when you were happiest?

The past couple of days have been crass to me. Without going on and on by bemoaning the plethora of events that zapped my inspiration and energy, I’ll just tell you that I had to run, yes run, up the stairs to my bedroom at 6pm yesterday so I could hide under the covers. I was afraid the universe would tackle me with another blatant attack.
It’s up there, the Universe, leaning over Itself, staring through opera glasses to judge–is that Amy down there lolly-gagging and smiling? Is she trying to be happy???

**BOOM** **ZAP** **POW**
all street lights fail, beer bottles explode, internet connection down, dishwasher dead, credit card unpaid, pants don’t fit, boyfriend clueless, spider on KITCHEN table skitters toward me…

I’m not joking. all incongruousness vied me within about 2 hours. it was literally like someone with power saw that my day wasn’t flawed and they Had to put a stop to it. well, my unflawed wagon is fixed. it’s totally fucked up now. thank you.

5 Things in my bag:

a pen to cross off to-do list items
my free credit report (never use freecreditreport.com)
BC pills–I never remember to take them so I carry them everywhere
my camera–i never know when I’ll run into brad pitt
a check for $46.31 that I’m veritably unable to actually remember to cash

5 Fav things in my bedroom:

I could try to make this interesting by saying stiletto heels, lube, a ceiling mirror, a sex swing and me–but I sold the heels on Craigslist, the lube got thrown away when i moved because i didnt want my mom to find it whilst innocently helping me, ceiling mirrors are only in by-the-hour hotels and I forwent leasing that room for this lousy condo, I did just see the sex swing at the Hustler store in New Orleans but I couldn’t justify taking it on the plane with me.
so the bedroom? it’s not the most interesting place.

5 Things I’ve always wanted to do:

take a sex swing as carry-on luggage
eat a giant steaming pot brownie for breakfast
beat up a one of those Paris Hilton type girls at the mall and then watch a crowd of people clap about it
buy a steak dinner for a homeless person
write a book that has a quirky cult following

5 Things I’m currently into:

not liking Hillary Clinton
Goodreads
taking the bus (gas is $4.19 a gallon and climbing)
Heroes–unfuckingbelievable, but good like pot in a brownie–i’m guessing.
Frutezia, it’s $8 wine–tastes like alcohol induced Clearly Canadian. delicious.

That’s it for 5 Things. I think after being tagged I’m supposed to tag others but I’m not really one to participate. Was I tagged? I don’t know.
Sorry it’s almost Tuesday.

I have a slight case of exaggeration. here is the back-story.
Call it what you will; luck, karma, fate, destiny, God, chance, life, good, evil, tea leaves…..
It hates me.
“Unfortunate” follows me as if I’m eating a pile of crunchy Jinx and dropping a fat crumb trail. I don’t walk around tempting the gods by stating obvious facts so that they can be jinxed and then thrown at my wallowing self. But yes, yes, I did in fact get excited about a random expectation.
-My stimulus package.- That money owed to me by the governments… (sorry. i’ve fallen prey to the “everything is plural” phenomenon) I even made a public comment on my Twenty Something Blogger site regarding my surprise that this so called money exists and that maybe I’ll be a believer since others were receiving this fabled money. how stimulating.
**PIANO COMES CRASHING OUT OF BLUE SKY ONTO HEAD**
I am notoriously known for getting the shit end of the stick. I try not to make a habit of picking up shitty sticks but again, it’s like I have a posse of them trying to hang with me.
I should be grateful that the United States Postal Service even considers me alive. I had to fight for this right. They killed me off when I moved and my mail service discontinued. All my Netflix movies were leaving their Netflix queue but being mysteriously returned by someone who was NOT ME! The post office said i was deceased. They took the liberty of putting a yellow sticker onto the bottom of envelopes coming to me that simply said “deceased”.
I was now:
“Stick it in my ass” Jones
151 wehateyourlife Court
Die, MI 66666
DECEASED

After I convinced them that I didn’t die, I just moved up the street, not into a cemetery but a condo…they finally stopped breaking the news of my untimely death via a yellow sticker on the front of my mail envelopes.
No one seemed alarmed when they found out, in this manner, that I died. Most people nodded and went about eating their Cheerios. Thanks Friends. Their expectations of my finality was laid to rest. excuse the pun. yay.

this is just one little story in the unique collage of karmic repercussions I’ve managed to survive. Anything from getting a brand new car without working brakes to being chased up a flight of stairs by an astonishingly quick midget to having my car stuck in the driveway of a fraternity house across the street from the office i worked in….(no worries aye….Jeff, the husky, red-bearded and incredibly hostile Facilities guy drove it out “no problem”. In the meantime my car is doused in cheeseburger remnants and slime from Nick and I, who grappled, with soggy, greased fingers at car parts to hide in as we slid down a hill of ice where we thought we’d plunge to our death. But THANKS Jeff for just driving it on out like it was a horse heading to his barn.)
Here for a while the waters have been calm. I’ve been chugging along at a miserable pace but nothing disturbingly inconvenient has surfaced. (i’m going to fucking pay for writing that out. the universe isn’t one to let me get away with these types of naive statements. Seriously, just ask my butt.)(I like to kid about anal rape. I know it isnt actually a laughing
matter but it’s so graphically descriptive of my feelings…)
Like I said, exaggeration is probably key to these little disaster recipes.
So, my boyfriend, lets call him Life Loves Me, gets in the car with a funny envelope. The envelope has my name on it in the return address side. Weird. The envelope only has a return address side…the rest appears to have been chomped off by ….a shark, maybe? Yes, that must be what happened. Ooooor, the mail box does have an axe and it chopped off half of my envelope. But, why? The partial envelope is contained inside a bigger envelope with a clear, plastic window to display my slaughtered piece of mail. Honestly, my measly murdered mail should have been delivered inside a Band-Aid box or via a cast…or at least they could have delivered the culprit shark.
But no, it was just me, Life Loves Me and this illegible cut of something that was just about to make sense.
Life Loves Me: that is your return address and my handwriting…*pause*…What did I mail for you? Oh shit, your taxes. I mailed your taxes for you.
upon opening the strong, secure, well-put-together envelope from my friendly, neighborhood USPS I was horrified to find that the small triangular shaped envelope was indeed housing the triangular left-overs of my taxes. so i guess they’re late.

to start figuring out what you want you have to narrow down the desires. If you’re like me you may not even have that many desires but you have tablets carved in stone of all the bullshit you definitely don’t want. That’s kind of good; you know the part of yourself that won’t settle. If you have 1,000 things you want you have to work on figuring out the most important for now. The problem with people who want it all is that they can’t focus and they end up with scraps and inaccurate details. Concentrate. pick a thing and do it well. if you want to be a gourmet cook but you also really want to be an opera singer and you can’t decide which is really the one you are going to excel at; guess what? you can sing and cook at the same time!
Maybe that is what the quote about the universe conspiring to help you realize your dreams is all about. Once you actually try, your attention is in one place instead of watching Hell’s Kitchen and American Idol, you’re in your element, standing at attention–your reward is…..it works out.