Happiness and the World Cup (er, Series)

So I'm reading "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin, a popular book, website, blog, soon-to-be TV series and breakfast cereal prize (okay, I lied about the last one) that apparently everyone from Alaska to Zimbabwe knows about.

Except for me, that is. So much to read, so little time, and I've never been into that help-me-help-you type of stuff anyway. If you're the second person who has never heard of this book, here's the plot lifted from the inside dust jacket:

"Gretchen Rubin had an epiphany one rainy afternoon....the days are long, but the years are short...time is passing and I'm not focusing enough on the things that really matter. In that moment, she decided to dedicate a year to her happiness project...test-driving the wisdom of the ages, current scientific research, and lessons from popular culture about how to be happier."
The Happiness Project was a gift from my caring friend Deb, who might have been sharing a subtle concern about my current level of happiness. She knows how difficult this year has been as I mourned the sudden death of my mother (14 months later, I still choke up just writing those inconceivable words). Deb wants to see a genuine smile return to my face and I have to agree, it would feel good to feel good again. The weight of sadness can be unbearable.
To my surprise, I like the book. The author is smug at times, a little coy, but the advice she dispenses is invaluable. A lot of it is plain common sense that we already know (be polite and be fair). But apparently, in these crazy, hectic, online, plugged in, stressed out days, a reminder is in order because her happiness franchise has taken off like gangbusters.

And what's a "gangbuster" anyway? But I digress.

Anyway, I'm following her tips and trying to be a better and happier person. Not always succeeding, but at least cognizant of my actions. That's why yesterday, when I received a donation request from The Humane Society, I wrote a check. Normally at this time of year I discard these pleas because I have three different insurance premiums all due on December 1st. And right before Christmas, no less. Ouch.
But this time I remembered one of Rubin's tips, which is "be generous." And The Humane Society was my mother's favorite charity. So what if I have to budget a little more than usual? It felt good to mail that check.

Rubin's research also disclosed that "an unexpected present gives people a real boost." This was confirmed when, just hours after mailing my donation, I learned that I had won The World Series office pool. Never mind that I don't follow baseball and had, in fact, referred to the games as The World Cup. I added my dollar to the pool just to be a team player and came up an office winner.

But it felt like more. On this day I tossed out a bit of goodness and got some back in return. Unexpected, unanticipated, but delightful nonetheless.

It felt like a sign, a message from the universe telling me that it's okay to feel happy again. More importantly, it's time.

An Affair to Dismember

It happened on a Friday night at Trader Joe's. We caught eyes across the produce section and he smiled. I smiled back.

A few minutes later, he appeared next to me, casually perusing Blue cheese. Feta, Goat. Then he looked me up and down and said, "I like your ass."

What? Because even if I had the most amazing Kim Kardashian-type ass, which trust me, I don't, that's not the type of pick-up line I'd hope for. Or expect, especially over cheese at Trader Joe's.

"Your Asics shoes," he repeated, looking down at my feet. "I like your shoes."

Uh, oh, foot fetish cleanup on aisle one.

"I own a shoe shop," he added, "so I notice these things. Asics are great, aren't they?"

Oh, okay, whew.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I got them for hiking and they're the absolute best." When he asked where I bought them, I told him The Walking Store. And then, only because I like to know if I got a deal or not, I threw the question, "How much do you sell yours for?"

"$120," he replied. "Hmmm," I said. "I paid $90."

"Are you sure?" he asked with disbelief. "Was this last year, maybe?"

"Nope," I replied gleefully. Maybe too gleefully. "Got 'em just last month."

"Er, well, I'll have to look into that," he muttered. And then he wished me a good night and walked away.

I might need to hone my flirting skills. Just a bit. At least before I land on my Asics again.

So Then You Change Shoes

"It isn't the road ahead that wears you out -- it is the grain of sand in your shoe."

~Old Arabian proverb

One Year Later

Tracy: "Why do people have to die?"

Nate: "To make life important. None of us know how long we've got. Which is why we have to make each day matter."

~Six Feet Under (TV series, HBO)

Ya gotta have friends. And I'm so grateful for mine, who recognized the significance of this past week and remembered today's one-year anniversary with thoughtful cards and gestures.

My family and friends - they're the ones who make each day matter.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Actually, it was a cool and misty eve, but whatever. I was curled up on the sofa, sipping a chocolate martini and nursing a broken heart. My DirectTV receiver/DVR had gone the way of the Big Sleep, taking with it two years worth of recorded movies. This unexpected turn of events put me behind the eight-ball with nothing to watch.

I was, indeed, a dame in distress.
What to do, what do to? Fraught with despair, I took a gander at a book loaned to me by this good egg I know, a fella whose literary recommendations I think I can trust. Or can I? I'm a sucker for them cats with the innocent mugs; they're always the first to lead me astray.

Not that I'm an easy mark, mind you. But on this particular night I was a desperate sister with nothing to watch and nothing to read; except that is, for some fluff of a book that's been lying 'round my joint collecting dust like a drunk collects giggle juice. A faded little paperback titled, "Eat Pray Love." Ya probably never heard of it.
Instead, I pick up my pal's recommendation; a worn out dingus titled, "Farewell, My Lovely" by Raymond Chandler. I wrap my mitts around the book and start reading.
Before I know it, my pretty little mug is buried deep within the pages, like some poor palooka in a wooden kimono. I find myself lost in the shady underground world of the 1940s, cavorting with coppers, gum-shoes, grifters and goons. Drifting through smoke-filled saloons replete with stoolies, snitches, and the occasional stiff.

And any thoughts about my dead DVR are soon given the bum's rush. That heap of junk can swim with the fishes for all I care, because this tomato's found somethin' better to do on this dark and stormy night.
Or cool and misty eve. Whatever.

Amen, Sister

"I want someone who will be monogamous and nice to his mother. And I want someone who likes musicals, but knows to just shut his mouth when I'm watching Lost.

And I want someone who thinks being really into cars is lame, and strip clubs are gross.

I want someone who will actually empty the dishwasher instead of just taking out forks - like I do. I want someone with clean hands and beefy forearms, like a damned Disney prince.

And I want him to genuinely like me. Even when I'm old.
And that's what I want."

~Liz Lemon, 30 Rock

Another Typical Day at the Office

And how was your day?