Sunshine, Flowers, and Puppies... Oh My!

I think I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I’ve decided to try and be more mindful of the kind of energy I’m throwing out into the universe. You know, all positive thoughts and happy words from now on because I don't want to make people sad. However, I’m thinking of re-thinking that plan.

It isn’t that I can’t commit, because I totally CAN commit if you give me the right reason. No, this is really about the fact that I failed to prepare for my mission of mindfulness.

You see, the thing is, if I’m going to stop spewing sarcastic comments into the atmosphere, exhibit patience, and be the very model of positive thinking, I’m going to need to do quite a bit of prep-work and you are all going to need to help me with it, where “help me with it” may actually mean “do it for me.”

Here’s what I need:

I need for people to stop saying really dumb things. SERIOUSLY!! People have to stop saying things that don’t make logical sense. Do you know how many years it takes off of a blognut's life to have to restrain themselves from making scathing comments in response to ridiculous psychobabble. Oy. This has got to stop!

I need for people to get out of my way. Especially slow driving people who take on the role of self-appointed pace cars on the highway. Man, I can't handle that shit right there. Something has to be done about that if I am to succeed.

I need for people to adopt a work ethic that includes not only doing their own work, but maybe also doing a little bit of mine, too. You understand, right?

I need for people to dress appropriately. It isn't that I care what one wears so much as where they wear it. For example, when people come to work at Bumblefuck Bank & Trust, they should not wear the same outfit they'd wear out clubbing on Friday night. Bank customers tend to be distrustful of bankers unless they look a bit uptight. Sorry. It's a fact.

I need for people to stop complaining. I can't be Miss Merry Sunshine Positive Pants if you all are getting to complain. It's really not fair. So stop it, 'k?

Oh, and one more thing, and of course this one is actually pretty snarky so I apologize in advance. If you don't know what toenail clippers are for, please do not wear sandals.

In exchange for your assistance, I will abandon all swear words and sarcasm in favor of pleasant exclamations like my post title up there. Next time I stub my toe or have to fix someone else's mistake, I will not say anything negative at all. I will say, "Oh Golly!," or, "Thank goodness I've been given an opportunity to brush up on my other-people's-work-doing skills!"

Now then, if you could all go out and round up the offenders in your area and make them aware of these few simple rules, I will start working on my new list of swear words that aren't swearish and unpleasant-like at all. Thanks!!

HAPPINESS IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

I recently read an article on Shine! about the habits of happy people. What? I HAD to check and make sure I was happy because, dammitalltohell, if I’m not happy I want to know about it.

So anyway, they had a whole list of, like, 101 small pleasures people can enjoy everyday. Heh heh. I didn’t see THAT on the list, but we’ll assume that was item 102 and you should get your mind out of the gutter.

No worries, I am not about to make you a whole list of these 102 101 things, mostly because I don’t know why they chose 101 and I am worried that they were trying to be like the dalmations. Personally, I would have gone ahead and added the 102nd item to the list just to make the total divisible by 3 because… I believe we’ve probably talked about my little OCD a time or two, never mind. Oh, and by the way, if you’re still doing the math: 102 / 3 = 34

Did you get that? Yes, I mean you. I know this is hard for you because you are not a math head, but I still love you and we’ll go over that whole number thing soon.

Now where were we? Oh yeah, I was talking about that list. I’m going to petition them to remove or clarify a few of the items because they can’t possibly make anyone happy “as is” and I think it’s important that we note it right here and now before we get misunderstood.

An exercise endorphin high. I dunno. They lost me at exercise.

Finding a couple forgotten dollars in your pocket? If I find dollars in my pockets, I've got on someone else's pants.

The way babies smell. I assume they mean The way CLEAN babies smell and they’re not including the contents of that nasty diaper back there.

Doing something nice for your neighbor. I am sure they meant to say Letting your neighbor do something nice for you. Otherwise, I don’t feel quite as happy and I’m sure the goal here is for me to be as happy as possible.

When someone falls asleep with their head on your shoulder. Um… no. I normally find myself quite UNhappy because of the whole drool thing, and because my whole arm goes to sleep and I end up clubbing myself half to death with my heavy, useless appendage.

The smell of gasoline. I do not endorse huffing. Also? The smell of gasoline only makes me happy if I am pouring it onto the right person, and then that strike of the match? Well, that just brings PURE GLEE to my googly eyes.

Other than that, I was able to agree with the rest of the recommendations, and am, therefore, a happy blognut. Now go forth and make sure I stay that way!

It's An Outrageous Conspiracy

Do you think it’s possible to weasel my way out of complying with this whole daylight savings time thing? I mean, really, is this still even fashionable? This annual practice of robbing me of one hour’s sleep, which, as it seems, I will not be able to make up until they give it back to me in the fall, is really too much stress on a blognut. When I finally managed to unstick myself from my little blognut bunk this morning, I looked over at the clock and immediately began to mourn the hour they took from me.

Who is behind this ridiculous outrage? I once heard that this was all about the farmers needing to work in daylight. I don’t even know if that’s true and I have no intention of taking the time to research this because... hello, lazy, but if it is, I have an issue with these farmers. Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask a few farmers to get up an hour earlier? Why do we ALL have to be inconvenienced?

Maybe it’s the Republicans! I bet that’s it. They probably think if they leave us all wandering around stupid and tired, we won’t notice what they’re doing. I bet there’s a secret Republi-upper Pill they take so they don’t feel it, and the rest of us are left glassy-eyed and stupefied while they concoct their evil plots against us.

And then there’s that whole Indiana thing where there is an entire area that does not comply with daylight savings time. Why do they get away with refusing to comply? Is it because they stick together? Do we all just turn a blind eye to Indiana being Indiana again? And aren’t THEY the damn farmers that started this thing in the first place? What about Arizona? I heard they don't play the daylight savings game either. I’ll bet they’re Republicans. Pffft.

What if I refuse to change my clocks? Will the daylight savings time police show up to haul me away in cuffs? Will I need an attorney? Will there be harsh judgment? Will I be convicted by a jury of my peers?

Answers, people. I need answers and I need them quickly. If I’m going to act on this, I’m pretty sure I have to do it today.

Yet Another Reason Why Boys Are Gross

In case you are starting to waffle on your previous Blognut-inspired opinion about boys being gross, I have yet another story to share with you.

The Boy and I were in the car on our second trip to the store to buy some kind of happy crap for a friggin' diorama that I was assigned to complete. Wait, I mean, HE was assigned to complete it. Not me. I'm just the parent here, so I get to do all the work when he's not looking so he can get an A on the project because what kind of parent would I be if I let him mess this up? and you know that teacher expects me to do this for him or she wouldn't have to assigned it to us him.

Anyway, that was SO not the point. But have you seen this child's art work?

So... we're in the car, The Boy and I, and I happen to look over and see that his knees are absolutely caked in mud. Caked. Like totally thick and dried on mud that might even be dog poop for all I know, but whatever it is it is certainly not going to get me that coveted Mother of the Year 2010 award. And The Boy? Was chipping the mud off of his knees and throwing the little mud flakes on the floor of the car.

But that isn't why he's gross. I mean, it is certainly a contributing factor and all, but it's not the story.

The story is that The Boy, while engaged in conversation with me about the mud flaking activity, and without even stopping his chatter to pause for a breath, leaned over and plucked an M&M off the the floor of the car and popped it right into his mouth!

I screeched queried, "WHAT in GOD'S name are you doing? Do you even know where that came from? No one has had M&Ms in this car for months and, for all you know, that just came off the bottom of your shoe!"

You know what he said? He said he did not care because it tasted good anyway.

And THAT is why Little Boys are Gross.

Bloggus Vomitous – The Latin Term for Food Poisoning

My dear readers, you know all too well that I don’t ask for much. What? Yes, I wrote that with a straight face. STOP INTERRUPTING ME! Was that milk that just came out of your nose? Dude. That is gross.

Anyway, I don’t ask for much. However, when it comes to eating, I do ask for my food to stay where I put it and not make dramatic encore appearances. Is that too much to ask? Apparently the scallops I ate last night think it is.

Mr. Blognut and I went out for a nice dinner with his dad and brothers at a Japanese restaurant. Fortunately for me, it was not too far from home because someone tried to poison me half to death. Oh, I know what you are thinking, that this happens and no one did anything to be intentionally mean, but I don’t see it that way this morning. I see it as attempted murder and I intend to prosecute to the fullest extent of the law; as soon as I research the fullest extent of the law and figure out how much time that is going to require of me, and whether or not my attention can be held for that long.

The food tasted great… on the way down… but not nearly so great on the way back up again. Just sayin’. By the time dinner was over, I had this pounding headache accompanied by a feeling of pending doom in my round, blue tummy. On the way home in the blognutmobile, I had the fingers of death wrapped around my intestines and squeezing the very life out of me! I.ALMOST.DIED.

No, I’m not being dramatic, I’m tellin’ you I almost died.

I barely made it home before my dinner, as well as everything else I’ve eaten since, I don’t know, BIRTH, turned to liquid and ran for the nearest exit. Experiencing my dinner live and in Technicolor reverse is not the way I planned to finish my evening! Mr. Blognut and I had the entire house to ourselves after having farmed out the blognutians for the night. I expected an evening of fine romance, wine, and candlelight. Instead, I got an evening of horrors, small sips of soda, and bathroom light.

By the way, I should warn you that the cool bathroom tile has a very wake-y up-y effect on you when you are trying to sleep on it. Bring a blanket.

Anyway, I was saying… I don’t ask for much, but when I need a little sympathy, I expect to find it here in my own lair at Blognut Manor. You’d think these people would know when I need a little extra care and you’d think they’d be tripping over each other to see that I got it.

And yet? Here I am, completely out of Diet Pepsi and recovering from a near-death experience. I am too weak and dehydrated to go out and get my own Diet Pepsi, and there is no one here to do it for me. No one is home except for The Boy and his friend, who are totally taking advantage of me in my weakened state by eating peanut butter directly from the jar with a spoon while I sit here pretending not to notice, ‘cause if I get caught knowing they’re doing that I will have to drag myself out of this chair and give ‘em hell and I just don’t have the energy.

I'd Tell You But I Can't Talk About It

I went to a meeting yesterday where a whole bunch of us were gathered to talk about the kinds of information we aren’t supposed to talk about, and how we protect that information from being talked about by people who aren’t supposed to talk about it.

We also talked about the ways we will train our new employees to not talk about the kinds of information we can’t talk about, and how we will make sure we have the required documentation to prove that we talked about not talking about the kinds of information we aren’t supposed to talk about, and the people with whom we aren’t supposed to talk about it.

We also talked about the auditors who will call our bank and try to get our employees to talk about the information they aren’t supposed to talk about by asking them questions I can’t talk about and pretending they are the kinds of people who are authorized to talk about it.

When we were done talking about all that, we talked about how we make sure that only those people who have been trained not to talk about it, whose files document that they know they aren’t supposed to talk about it, have access to the information we aren’t supposed to talk about because we store it in a double-secret, locked place that I’m not supposed to talk about because I signed something that says I can’t talk about it.

And now you understand why I can’t talk about it.