humor, self-help

How-To Laugh (When You’re Crying)

IMG_0167This sentiment is a testament to the “fake it til  you make it” crowd. I don’t mean ‘dress for the job you want, not the job you have’ reference. Although, that is a good one; that does fit into this category. Nonetheless, isn’t going to apply here, so toss it from your dome. Bye bye. This is for when you feel like shit and want to hide under a rock with the super size bottle of vino and a Kleenex 3-pack.

The thought occured to me when I was being suffocated, in the depths of my sofa cushions. Did I mention I finally paid it off? The pay-as-you-go couch plan is genius. Anyway, I was having a bad day -which was made worse by some conflicting persons in my circle -not their fault, they’re male- and I realized after twelve hours of uncontrollable sobbing… I needed to just, stop sobbing. Oh, and to stop letting him help. So, I came up with this nifty how-to list to help anyone else out there who’s at their wits end. With everything.

HOW-TO LAUGH (WHEN YOU’RE CRYING)

IN JUST 3 FANCY STEPS 

1. THROW OUT OLD CRAP. The most effective way for me to kick the blues is to just dump old shit that’s -proverbially & sometimes spacially- weighing me down. This means a stack of CDs you’re not listening to–WAIT. Does anyone listen to CDs anymore? Seriously, let it go. Burn it to your iLibrary and toss that plastic. Or sell it at a yard sale to a cat lady stuck in her Chumbawamba concert tee.

2. REARRANGE THE ROOM. Instead of yelling off your balcony at the dumbasses next door to you about their cigarettes and loud music because they’re interrupting your good time crying time… Consider giving your living a space a mini-makeover. Move the nightstand by the dishwasher. Put the saucepan in the closet. You know, go wild. Plus, you can make a game out of this by dragging around your bottle of fermented grapes until you’re disoriented and bumping into Kleenex boxes.

3. LAUGH ALREADY! Get silly. Start arguments with your boyfriends about pickle jars losing their oomph. Pull a prank on your bestie by telling her The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy WAS a great movie. It wasn’t. Press the point that it was nothing like the book and she’ll love it. She won’t love it and the book was better. The movie? Eh. Tell her wearing a prom dress and a tiara will make the experience much more memorable. And to selfie that mess.

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DISCLAIMER: Entertainment value only. But if you throw peas out a window, I’d try that too.

 

 

humor, relationships, Uncategorized

Lonely Llama Spitter

There’s nothing more depressing, than feeling lonely. Crocheting? Well, maybe there is; But, at this moment, I can’t think of anything. You’re girlfriends are all out of town, doing their own thing. Vegas fuckers. Kid(s) are away at… whatever. “Ditch The Kids” camp? You have the house to yourself. Hello, hello, hello…. It echoes. You’ve eaten so many cheese quesodillas that you may actually hate cheese now. Never happen. Still loving cheese. Except the Bleu one… I’ll pass on the anaphylactic shock, thanks. Oh and you’ve been recently dumped by yet,

llama shopping…
llama shopping…

another “I’m here for a lifetime” hack. My favorite thing is when people tell you, I got you. Sarcasm. Not really my favorite thing at all. In my best male voice impersonation: “If you’re ever lonely, I’m here for you.” They’re lying. They don’t, “got you.” They just want to boink you. Like, the guy who’s ready to settle down after being “funtime guy,” for years, suddenly wants you to be open to committment and yet, when you text a “hey, I’m feelin a bit lonely… let’s cuddle” text his way… Crickets. Poo. Thick, mushy poo. Or, you’re in a fight with a mate, and instead of pushing aside the senseless spat about airline food to choose love and happiness-which, oddly enough, why you chose that mother fucker in the first place, because he balanced you out or some bullshit- he wants to keep fighting you and keep each party separated… yeah, and then dump you. Publicly. Thick, mushy, chunky poo. Guess, I’ll have my own party then. A spitting good time, llama party. Life’s too short to argue over nothing. Oh wait. Yup, my heart is chock full of thick, mushy, chunky, SMELLY POO. Oh, there it goes. It’s spewing. It’s spewing everywhere now.  Is that a rotten egg?

I think llamas got it figured out. They chill on their sandy mountainsides. Or lush, grassy fields, chewing on their cud… Whatever cud is. I’d chew pretzel cud. Or gummi cud. If they ever made it. Llamas seem like independent creatures who don’t give two fucks about having company. Or a mate. When a space invader approaches, they spit. When their elbow rooimages-1m is getting crowded upon, they spit. When a feel a sneak attack sheathing upon them, they spit. I don’t kow much about llamas, but they like to spit a lot. I’m a lover, not a fighter. So, spitting may not be the weapon of choice for me. A lot of times, I’ll try to make amends, even if I’m right. Just to stop the arguing. I prefer to live in love and light. Although… when pushed into a corner, I will retaliate. That decides it then… I’m going to learn to spit. One more douchebag dumps me, I’ll spit. Llama spit. I’m thinking about it, and the more I do, the more it seems it may be a valuable tool. The Llama Tool.

The good news is, now that I’m roaming this big, bright world solo again, I will have more time to investigate llama ownership and it’s rewards. And, I’ll finally be able to figure out what the hell cud is…