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209

Due to ice and not the “cooling my Margarita” kind of ice, I’m trapped in Dallas when I should be in New York City.

The heat in my house is less than adequate. If I had little children, they would be wearing their cute little imaginary snow suits. As it is the kittens, who are HUGE (Maine coons cats) kept wheedling their way under my blankets to warm their paws on any expose skin they can find. Little darlings (again, sarcasm).

I was rotting my brain watching YouTube when I came across a video of men getting a-steams. Which is the steaming of the nether regions. You know, the one that starts with a…

You sit relaxing over a chair hole while hot tea boils beneath you. I was thinking holy mackerel, my Finnish friends with the love of saunas have started their own spa chain.

I haven’t had a manicure, pedicure or even a facial. So it may surprise you when I say, I have had my a.. steamed. Usually it’s in the middle of August and you’re praying the temperature will get down to 100 F (38 C), but you know it won’t until September. Then as sure as butter will fry your bacon, I inevitably say, “My butt is sweating.”

And you telling me people really pay for this. I’m starting a spa. Come on down to Texas and we can steam you. Just shove this green tea bag up your. Well, you know where. That’ll be five dollars please.

P.S. Next time I want to tell someone off, I’ll say, “Shove it in your chair hole and sit on it.”


When I feel I’m on the edge of depression, I think about philosophical topics. Lately I’ve been focusing on happiness. What is it? What does it feel like? I take medication for anxiety, depression and obsessive compulsive disorder. So, I wonder if I’m capable of having everyday happiness.

I have a request. Do you know happiness? Is it your normal state or is it fleeting? Or there any prerequisites? I want honesty. I want to know. This request started when I began trying to remember times I felt happiness.

I can recall times when I’m what I call “On”. Moments when the stars align and I’m extremely social and funny. People will say, “You should be a comedian.” But it’s not on demand. I’m either on or I’m not. I can’t force it.

Those are intense, exhausting moments of giddiness. Does happiness feel like you’re laughing inside? I can only feel it with people present. Surely it can’t be happiness if you can’t feel it alone.

I began to wonder if anyone is truly happy. They must feel unhappy some of the time. Is happiness a percentage of time averaged across people?

I average about ten percent of that giddy feeling. I coast in neutral for about forty percent of the time, thanks to medication. The rest of the time is spent between obsession, anxiety, and depression in that order.

Maybe happiness doesn’t exist. It might be this neutral place of non-negative feelings? Or do I have an emotional blindness? Do the combination of the disorders I have make it impossible for me to feel? Not is a depressed way, but in a “you just don’t have that bodily function” kind of way.

Someone told me the prerequisite for happiness is gratitude. I’m starting a gratitude journal. I’ll see how that works out.

Right now I’m going back and forth between two theories.

One is happiness is like a unicorn, a myth. No one really feels it. People talk about it, say they have it, because it’s socially unacceptable to do otherwise. The other is happiness is real and I’m just not doing it right. And I guess I lied. I have a third theory, maybe I’m emotionally blind. It’s something I should stop obsessing over, accept and be at peace with it.

That brings me back to my request. Do you know happiness?


53 (9)

Hey Maybelle, the dish needs adjusting.

Why me?

Because you’re in charge of dishes.

I’ve been thinking again. This time about tourettes. I worked with a guy who had tourettes, but he only twitched when he got nervous. He didn’t yell out random obscenities. I thought he should just for fun. I would.

I would begin all meetings with – I want to apologize in advance. I have tourettes. When I get nervous I may say a few inappropriate words or phrase. Which can quickly snowball since my nerves will increase the more words I say. Then at some point I’ll break in with -

“Holy crap.

Damn it.

Turkey butt.

Sorry ass.

Son of a bitch.

Can those peaches, honey buns!

Sorry my Grandpa was a frugal man.”

And thus would end the meeting on a high note.

Mental State: Feeling pretty good, Saggy Pants.

Defect with Me


- (7)

This picture has nothing to do with the post. Just liked it.

I’ve been thinking about the amnesty tax credit thing. I’ll catch you up just in case. There’s an illegal alien amnesty program being bantered around the U.S. If you’re from certain countries, you can claim amnesty to stay in the United States.

In addition, you’ll get a social security number which will give you the right to vote in U.S. elections even though you aren’t a citizen. You’ll also be allowed to collect the tax credit which is $6,000 per year. The program allows you to collect for this year plus the last 3 years for a total of $24,000 tax free.

Never one to give up twenty four thousand tax free dollars, I’ve come up with a plan. I think I should renounce my U.S. citizenship and get a new one from one of the countries included in the amnesty program. Then claim amnesty thus securing my own twenty four thousand tax free dollars.

Now I just need to decide on a country. I don’t speak Spanish which may narrow my options. And then I want to do from the comfort of my home, preferably still in my pajamas.

Yes, I am lazy and greedy. Any suggestions?


61

Police escort for zebra.

That picture has nothing to do with my post. I just like it.

While I was fooling around today (I’m not working until Wednesday), I was singing Popeye the Sailor Man to myself. I had a realization. (And myself is very fond of that song.) On to the realization

I always thought this song was propaganda deployed by my Mother to get me to eat spinach. Then I got to the verse “Popeye the sailor man lives in the garbage can.” Wow, what’s up with that? I never thought about his super humble abode. I think the subliminal message communicated here does not match the intended propaganda.

I can’t remember a time in which I wanted to live in a garbage can. As a matter of fact the only person I knew who lived in a garbage can was The Grouch over on Sesame Street. He was never happy, so I’m thinking living in a garbage can is less than ideal.

Now I’m thinking this message may have been holding me back. Did my parents inadvertently set my career on a less than desirable path? Am I perchance sabotaging myself?

Does anyone know a career positive song that might reprogram my garbage can size goals?

Mental check: +3.5 on positive side (5 being max)

Feet cold


It is February and I didn’t make a New Year’s Resolution, mainly because I know I don’t keep them. I’m feeling the need to be honest, to tell the truth.

I started this blog years ago telling stories mostly of my life and my people. My sense of humor was on display. If I’m truthful I’m avoiding telling you my secret.

It’s easy to say in private. You can just blurt it out. But in public, I keep thinking of the proper explanation or wrapper. I’m forgoing all of that before I put everyone to sleep.

I have depression, anxiety and obsessive compulsiveness. I take medication for all of it. I don’t like saying I’m depressed, anxious, or obsessive compulsive. I’m not a cold when I’m sick so I don’t think I should have to be my chemical imbalance.

I play with my medication, sometimes on purpose, most of the time on accident. One of my medications keeps me from obsessing. It’s either on or off. I think some obsession is good, so it’s one of the medications I play with most often.

This was as I mentioned before a blog of humor, but I can’t see things as funny everyday or even every week. I’m often struck with what I call the feeling of impending doom. It’s like waiting for an emotional apocalypse that doesn’t come.

I slept for eight hours last night which is the first time in several weeks so I feel good. I dare say maybe even happy. I still don’t feel funny today, but happy is enough.

(I’m not going to say I’ll write more often. That is a promise I think we all know I can’t keep. But I’ll try for a while.)


209

Some people never grow up and I’m glad I’m one of them. My top 10 list of things I said during Christmas.

10. I don’t know who brought the whoopee cushion, but yes, I did use it.

9. You are not allowed to use my <deodorant, shampoo, eye shadow, moisturizer> without asking because you forgot yours or it smells SO good.

8. My sweater will not be the same after your chest has been in it.

7. Yes, I brought heated sheets and no, they are not for us to share.

6. To my “vegan” sister: We all know you’re a vegan. However, lobster is an animal and it does so count. I don’t care what you read. And I still think serving you the turkey neck was funny and so do our brothers.

5. Leaving my door unlocked was not an invitation for you all to take over my bed and drink my chocolate wine. And I’m the only one who gets to drink out of the bottle.

4. Reading my journal is not an attempt to bring us closer. It was not lying open on the bed. It was hidden in the chest of drawers.

3. I don’t think waving the turkey carcass, butt first in my face brought back nostalgic memories from our childhood.

2. I don’t know who put the ice packs in your beds. To one of my brothers: Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Good one.

1. Sorry the kittens shredded the toilet paper, again. I have a 20 pack hidden in my trunk.

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