Monday, November 30, 2009

Positive Self Talk

When does positive self-talk become a form of isolation?

For instance, Chrissy and I are supporting each other on this blog, but where is everyone else?

Those resentments aside, I mean, really. What is the point of giving positive messeages to oneself day after day after day if it is going to make you ostracized from, say, your entire social group.

I'll give you an example..I have a friend..let's call her "Lynn." She started to do all kinds of positive self-talk stuff, like posting notes to her mirror, going to therapy 18 times a week, and making sure to tell herself she loves herself and that she is beautiful at least three times per day..working out, attending church, the whole deal. You know, Stuart Smally kind of stuff.

Well, after trying that for a while, she really did totally change..
I mean not only did she start to act more mature (and, if I do say so myself, sexy), she also started to make more money, go on fancy trips and be the life of the party..

well, that is , she would be the life of the party if anyone had still invited her to their homes..

You see, that age old adage, "misery loves company," simply is is true it is true it is oh so true..

So what do you think has happend to accomplished, self-loving, abundant living Lynn? Well, none of her friends want anything else to do with that poor lass anymore..why? because she is in too damn good of a mood all the time..

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Nobody Needs Their Pills On The Holidays...

Save your Paxil pill, your Zoloft, your Lexapro today. It's the holiday. A day of joy. Just ask my neighbor. Yesterday he despised me. Tomorrow he'll hate me more. But today... today he loves me. And he didn't need his pill to show it.

Actually, most people are overly polite on a holiday. Ever notice?

A woman who normally hates my dog saw me walking her today and smiled. It was a smile filled with hope and joy that you only see 3-4 times a year on a major American/"Christian" holiday. Forgive me for being cynical, but I know that b*tch is gonna give me and my dog a dirty look tomorrow, after she's digested her turkey. Save your pill for tomorrow, sweet b*tch.

Unlike most people I tend to cry on holidays. I'm not totally sure why. Sometimes I think of the elderly, the homeless, pets with missing limbs. I don't know why. Maybe I'm emotional. I have some emotions.

I guess what I'm saying is since you're off your pills for a day, can you send one my way?

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Kiss Me, I'm Not Irish

I am sitting here thinking about what it would be like to be Irish around March.
Man, it just isn't fair that even though my parents grew up in the Irish Channel of New Orleans I am half Cajun French, a quarter Sicilian and a quarter Italian (scary combo, I know).
I mean, why don't I get to have a million beautiful women kiss me in March, just because I am not, say Irish?
Do you have any answers for this?
I am thinking of contacting the ACLU for discrimination against Cajun French, Sicilian/Italian people not getting to make out on the streets during a parade.
I mean, I could start a movement called, "Cuddle me, I'm Cajun, " or one called "Sit down and pay attention to me today, I'm Sicilian," which, while it might be a way to turn lemons into lemonade, would still just be the equivalent of "life on the D list" or dating the man you are in love with's fourth and partly mentally ill cousin.
It just doesn't work.
Come to think of it, it really isn't fair that I am not Irish all year round. For instance, I am an alcoholic, right? (true story). And even though I no longer drink, it would really be nice (and more fair) to be able to explain my drinking away with my Irish genes, or, say, my Uncle Bud bringing it into the family gene pool. But, noooo. Rather, I am forced to take full responsibility for my past drunken streaking episodes and for waking up in bed with a sorority pledge of whom I didn't know the name. Ireland's fault? No Way. Just plain mine.
Well, I guess the upside of all this is I get to take responsibility for myself and I get to keep my girlfriend because I am not making out with women on the streets come March.
Bah Humbug.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Why is it always a power struggle to change lanes while driving?

Are you the douchebag (not in an anti-feminist use of the word: it's a stupid name for a stupid product. probably concocted by a stupid man.) who won't let me over even though I've been using my turn signal and staring at you for the last 7 minutes?

You're so cool.


Why is it seen as a form of weakness to use your turn signal? I used to ponder this. Then I realized that in order to switch lanes (at least in Pittsburgh, PA) you have to forego the turn signal, step on the accelerator and force your way in front of the passive-aggressive driver who
can't seem to differentiate between common courtesy, the rules of the road, and being taken advantage of.

I'm not the only one who experiences this, am I? It's ridiculous and it happens almost every single day. What's the big deal? Why can't you just let me in? ...

We're traveling north. You're in the right lane and I'm in the left. I'm approaching my exit in about half a mile or so. I need to get to the right. I put my right turn signal on. You speed up just enough to not only keep me from passing you, but to keep me from getting in at all. Why you gotta be like that? Fine, you "win" jackass, I'm not getting ahead of you. But who do you think you are keeping me from going right at all? I drive a 4-cylinder vehicle so I didn't think I could pass you anyway. But I'm still way more cool than you. I just wanna get off. (That's what she said) Get off right, at my exit, that is. You f*cking greedy little punk. And you're almost always a dude. Ughhh. I bet you're short. You probably have a small package too. Is that why you're so angry? It is, isn't it? Well that's your problem and you should see someone about that. You make driving less enjoyable. You suck. Get over yourself.

I guess I just have to choose my battles. I.e., equal rights, animal rights, camel-toe symptoms, outreach, and prevention...

Thursday, November 12, 2009

What is it with Skinny Days?

I have a love/hate relationship with skinny days.

I mean, after all, who doesn't want to feel skinnier than usual when they wake up the morning after eating a 15 course meal?

After all, it is nice to be rewarded for bad behavior.

However, it kind of sucks too, because then it makes you think that you can always have a 15 course meal and be skinny.

But, then, you try it and you start having uncomfortable, bloated days instead of skinny days, so you start eating rigidly healthy again.

But when you eat rigidly healthy, you have fat days, thus, causing you to contemplate what the hell you are doing wrong by eating healthy that is making you feel fatter than average...

Is it the over-intake of fiber and not drinking enough water to digest it?

Is it that you are being punished for your long run of 15 course meals and God is teaching you a lesson?

Or, is it simply, that there is really no rhyme or reason to the whole body thing at all?

That your body is really in control of you and that you don't have any bloody say so at all what it does on any given day.

Skinny days, like one night stands, are fun while they last, but then leave you empty and alone when your body (meaningless life) goes back to normal.

Sort of like a teaser for what you could get if you were say, the offspring Heidi Klum and Seal, or if you had 8 personal trainers and chefs calling you a fat ass day in and day out, but that doesn't "apply" to the real world.

That's it. Skinny days just aren't fair. Because even though you like them on the "day of," you always wake up the next day with a hangover from hell.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Never Can Say Goodbye...

Have you ever felt a little violated by a text message that never seems to end?

Let me just say that there are a lot of people out there who have way too much time on their hands.

I blame the always-competing phone companies. Sorta...

I had this friend who only texted when absolutely necessary. Like during a fire or mugging. You know. One day she sent me a text that said "Hi". So I replied, "Hi". Then she said "Whatcha doin?". I replied, "Workin". Then she said, "How's it going"? To which I thought, "WTF", but said, "Ummmm, ok". Then she said something about her cats and I picked up the phone and said "You switched your text to unlimted, didn't you"? Of course she did. Why else would she send such nonsense. So now, for one low price, she can irritate the sh*t out of me and everyone else in or out of her network.
One day she was cool and aloof, the next, some needy cat woman with nothing to do but text. Such a sad story.
Texting, like email, is fast, fun and convenient. Unless you're like me and you think too much.
I find the most confusing texts are the ones sent to and from a new or potential love. You wanna say all the right things. You hang on their every word. You've got a great thread going. Then, all of a sudden, they stop texting and you're like, "What does THAT mean"?! You don't wanna over think or over text, so you do the next rational thing and stew over it for a few hours. You wonder if you said or did something that scared them away. You don't want to sound desperate, or ask too many questions. You're so unsure and perplexed, and the anticipation is so overwhelming over your "text rejection" that you go out and ass-bang someone else. What? And then you feel awful later when you find out that their battery died, or their Grandmother got stuck in a snowstorm, or they have a CricKet phone. Happens all the time.
And all you really wanted to say was, "Why don't you like me anymore?"
Then there's the text you send that was meant for one person, but sent to another. That's always fun. Especially if you were talking smack or sexting. And sexting is a whole new topic for another blog.
I also find that you can learn a lot through texting. For instance, I've discovered how many of my friends are illiterate.
Texters, hear me out: Every now and then go out and do something non-phone-related. Read a book. Go out and take a walk. Laugh (not LOL) at someone falling. It relieves stress and burns calories. And if you must text, for the love of something, please keep in mind that there's another person receiving and/or bowing out of the thread. I could go on, but I'm on a coffee date and my date is texting...or is it sexting? LOL, LMAO, ROTFLMAO, GNR, etc., etc.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Jeans Suck

Dear God-

My 35th birthday is tomorrow and, um, all I wanted was to look decent in, say, any pair of jeans I tried on.
Well, no such luck.
I've been a good girl all year, and even thought -at least for a few minutes in there- of someone other than myself, but, all I get in return is a lousy look in True Religion jeans.

Gee, thanks.

What ever happened to jeans for girls who, say, have hips? I mean, who aren't a negative zero?

And, I mean, what about all the types of jeans that even Claudia Schiffer would look ridiculous in?

I mean, what is it, God, with short zippers and stuff. Or leather shoestring like lace-up deals?
How do you expect someone, like, say, Chrissy, for instance, who is all of 1.5 inches tall to zip something like that up and still be able to see over the top of her pants?

So, I guess what I am saying is, not only did you flake on me in the jean department, but you also flaked on my friend Chrissy.

Neither of us can wear most jean types and, even on my birthday week, I get no respite.

Well lah dee da. Guess I'll behave better this year....

Monday, November 2, 2009

Sometimes I show up @ various places and I don't remember how I got there...

It's 8:30 a.m. I'm in class at my job. I'm sipping a hot coffee, no cream. An 8 year old just pointed to a clump of weave under my chair. It's not mine. I laugh. Then I realize...I have no idea how I got here. No recollection of the coffee purchase. I never saw the weave. "Not again." While everyone is running around this building consumed with fear over "the swine flu", I just want to know who dressed me and drove me to work.

Was I on auto-pilot and forgot to notice everything around me, (I swear I wasn't flying that plane) or do I have the worst case of A.D.D. ever?

Last week I fell asleep standing up. I was in line waiting to pay for a Red Bull. The clerk was texting with her press-ons and making a lot of hand gestures. Her name tag said PRECIOUS so I knew it would be a while. I went off to another place and the daydreaming began. By the time I was done bathing in buttermilk, Santa left and the clerk snapped, "Huh-lowwww!" all loud and what not. Ya, like it was MY fault.

One time I took an on-line A.D.D. test. You know the ones where if you answer YES to seven out of ten questions you obviously have A.D.D. I had all ten checked. Then I made a burger. Whatever.

I read somewhere that the aluminum in deodorants may be linked to Alzheimer's. Since then I've made the switch to aluminum-free deodorants. So far it hasn't helped much with my short-term memory, but I do smell on the short side of shank. (sorry LB)

So I have this new "fancy" touch phone, and all though I've had it for a few weeks I still don't know how to use it for anything other than Facebook. It would be likely that I could make a call if I could sit long enough to read a direction. I prefer to be read to. It's quite endearing I've been told. I told myself that. I'm still waiting for my mom to talk me through setting up my Ikea kitchen.

Back to my original thought... I don't always mind showing up in odd places. In fact, I've met a few charming characters on my way to and fro' the gutter. It's just that It'd be nice to remember where I parked...