It’s not even the slightest exaggeration to assert that today has been the worst day I’ve had in months. Why so bad? Little bit of this shit, little bit of that shit…. Adds up to a lot of shit. And I know (really, a friend reminds me on almost a daily basis, amidst my moans and bitching) that things can always be worse. I know that my life is pretty decent. I know that things aren’t that bad, in the scheme of everything. So in my uber-grouchy state of mind, with absolutely not one single thing I’d like to write/think about, I’m absolutely going to make myself come up with at least ten – scratch that, five – things that I like. Things that are good. Or things that, at the very least, don’t suck royally.
1. Cheese crackers
Shut up, I’m starting small. Cheese crackers are pretty much my favorite. And I don’t discriminate. Pretty much any cheesy starch will do. As long as it’s crunchy. Or maybe not, cause I do love cheesy potatoes, mashed or diced. Shit. I likewise love cheesy rice. But crackers? Like a tiny cheddar angel crying on your tongue. Cheese Nips, Cheezits, Ritz and American, Carr’s and brie. Whatever. Apparently, I’m not the only one.
2. Jack’s Mannequin
If I could just tell you how many times I had to listen to, “Swim” to get through this shitty day, you miiiight think I was a tad crazy (I AM). But truly, it’s amazing. And Andrew? Wicked hot. Best thing since Counting Crows. Truly.
3. Diet Coke
Never ceases to be wondrous. Much like sporks, in all their sporky glory. I know it’s not good for me. Much like I know Marlboro Light Menthols are not good for me. They nonetheless remain a close and trusted friend. Diet Coke, smoke and me… A threesome of unsurpassed passion.
4. The Kaiser
I know he’s not number one. Or two. Or three. Because, lookit, I was going to make an at least somewhat funny blog and….yeah. Then realized that I simply can’t be funny. So I’m adding him into the mix. And honestly, after his craptastic behavior today, I think number four is juuuuuust fine. As a general rule, he makes me unbelievably happy. That little grungy, dirty-nailed hand rubbing my cheek or playing in my hair. Hearing, “I love you momma.” Joy.
Ok, it’s four. But it’s a start. Right? Right.