Tag Archives: Happiness

Raindrops on Roses and Laughter on Pungas

[Photo via.]

 

This summer, I’ve made a conscientious effort to mindfully appreciate all of the beauty that is a summer rain storm.  And there’s no better way to appreciate it than to drench yourself in it.

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Hakuna Matata: Aint No Passing Craze

The Moose and the Goose. Footloose.

 

Here’s a question that has been on everybody’s mind lately:  Are we human, or are we dancers?          

To settle the debate once and for all, I will definitively answer the question with a question.  Continue reading

Shut Up and Work Out Already.

I used to think that Trainer Bob, of The Biggest Loser, was a little…edge-less.  A little too nice. 

That was until the Most Glorious Moment of Reality Television Ever, when he flipped the switch and handed Joelle her own bum for breakfast. 

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Emotional Thermometers and Three Pillars to a Good Mood.

I speak English.  I pretend that I speak French and Spanish, and I am conversational in Pig Latin.

But I am fluent in Punga.

My son could be on the other end of the telephone, and based upon 1) the pitch of his cry, and 2) the distance between the sun and the horizon, I would know whether he A) is hungry, B) is tired, or C) just bumped his head on his fire truck.

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Debunking Mommy P(stick an “o” right here)rn

**1-26-12 update: I’ve added “stick an O right here” to the title and content of this post so that my blog does not end up on the wrong search engines.                   

Penelope Trunk once wrote that People Magazine’s photo spread of Jennifer Lopez with her newborn twins is “Mommy P(stick an ‘o’ right here)rn:  the visual fantasy of what being a working mom could be.”                         

She is saying that, by distributing photos of a new mom so unrealistically put-together, People Magazine is perpetuating a myth which creates self-doubt in women, who try–and fail–to live up to that standard.  It’s a lot like the Barbie complex.                         

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April Showers Bring Thanksgiving Dinner. Or Something.

April Showers

Let’s say, hypothetically, that your basement is six inches under water, and that small animals are seeking refuge by clinging to pieces of your new Pergo floors, which are now floating adrift amongst your childhood keepsakes. 

And let’s say, also hypothetically, that as you are trying to bale yourself out, you create a steady stream of water from your baling bucket to the electric motor on the pump you Jimmy-rigged.  Let’s say that the ensuing electrical shock is so fierce that you buck backwards, and, with your own hands, you smash your own bucket into your own face, spewing blood everywhere and splitting your lip wide open.  And let’s say that you then lose power to your home and, just for good measure, you drop your cell phone into the basement tides.

Hypothetically speaking. 

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