Is THIS Bliss?!

Lorina's Blog

The fool on the hill… not so much a fool.

Sometimes, I really hate my neighborhood. It’s noisy. High traffic. Crossing the street is like playing a game of Frogger. There’s a gas station and quickie mart across the street, so you always have people who should have spent the money they used on their sub-woofers on a new muffler sitting outside the store, or people who have ultra-sensitive alarm systems going off, or tractor trailers idling and rumbling the whole house. Not to mention that I’m pretty sure Dante and Randall of Clerks work there. That’s actually pretty entertaining, when they get punchy and start cracking jokes on the loud speakers. Like the time one was breathing heavy and saying, “Luke… I am your father.”

It’s hilly. Very hilly. I can’t jog in any direction without encountering steep climbs. I suppose that’s a good thing. It makes me healthier. But it’s exhausting.

Then there’s the smells. Diesel fumes, petrol fumes, second-hand smoke, and on hot summer nights, the fragrant aroma of horse-poop drifts into my back yard from the racetrack a mile up the road. And skunks. Lots and lots of skunks.

And there’s all the motor vehicle to stationary object collisions. My husband’s parked car has been hit three times. The telephone pole in front, plus the one alongside the house, both hit. My house was hit last year, and the driver wasn’t even IN her truck. My house to the right has been hit three times, the neighbor on the left once. The gas station, the barbershop catty-corner, the car wash… all hit. The concrete post street sign was hit so many times it’s now gone. The stop sign has been replaced countless times. It’s like Hellmouth, or the Bermuda Triangle. Some type of strange portal to another dimension that makes people not be able to drive a straight line, or constantly mistake the gas pedal for the brake.

That’s the biggest excuse. “Hit the gas instead of the brake.” I can understand, to a degree. Sometimes your foot slips. Sometimes your mind slips. But at some point between being trying to stop at a stop sign, and traveling 40 feet across the road, over the curb, and into someone’s porch, don’t you think they should realize, “Hey, maybe my foot is in the wrong place?!”

All that said… I’m thankful this morning that my house has one great, shining redeeming quality. It’s not in a flood zone. All the low-lying areas in my town are being evacuated today as the Susquehanna River reaches historic levels. My house may be small. It may be loud. It may require gratuitous amounts of Febreez. It may have a truck in the living room at any given moment. It may be an annoying neighborhood in many many ways. But at least it’s on dry land.

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Photo Op

I had the least painful experience at the DMV ever. I had to get my license renewed, and I was late because I thought the photo card was good as a temporary license for three months, not 60 days, but that proved not to be a problem. Whew! And I was in and out in less than five minutes. And I liked my photo.

SMILE!

SMILE!

But on the way home, I realized that, other than when I get carded buying alcohol, the chances of me having a happy grin on my face when asked for my license is pretty slim. So here’s some alternate ideas…

Yes, I've been drinking, but only energy drinks!

Yes, I've been drinking, but only AMP!

WAAAAHHHHHH!

WAAAAHHHHHH!

Ducklips!

Ducklips!

Duuuuude!

Duuuuude!

Huh?!

You pull ME over but not the douchebag in the Benz who passed me on the right?!

Please don't ticket me. Please don't ticket me.

Please don't ticket me. Please don't ticket me. Please don't ticket me.

Oh, HELL yeah!

Oh, HELL yeah!

How I am most likely to be pulled over.

How I am most likely to be pulled over.

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Food Guilt

“I had a piece of _____, and now I feel so guilty.” Fill in the blank with cake, pizza, bread, pie, candy, etc. Usually a carb of some form. I hear people, mostly women, say this all the time, and I just don’t get it.

Guilt has a place in our lives. If we do something really bad, we should feel bad about it.

Killing someone is really bad. Lying, cheating, scheming, scamming, swindling, stealing, hurting, back stabbing, front stabbing, even coveting thy neighbor’s ass. Bad.

Pizza is not really bad. Even if it’s thick crust with extra cheese and pepperoni. It’s just a handful of calories, some carbs, protein and fats, that will be digested and pooped out in a matter of hours. It does no lasting damage.

You know what causes lasting damage? Guilt. Feel guilty enough about unimportant crap like a slice of pizza and you’ll get an ulcer. Then you’ll feel guilty because you hurt yourself by feeling guilty, and your ulcer will get an ulcer. Then you’ll feel bad about that, too. Not to mention that the tomato sauce on the pizza will aggravate your ulcer and your ulcer’s ulcer. So it’s best to not get one in the first place.

You know before you eat something if you’re going to regret it. If you’re going to feel bad about it, don’t eat it! If you’re eating because of stress or sadness, don’t eat it! A brisk walk around the block will serve you better. Get some fresh air. Get a sweat going. Get your heart rate pumping. Endorphins are your friends.

If you’re going to eat it, enjoy it. Only eat it if you’re going to thoroughly and completely enjoy it. Immerse yourself in the moment. Enjoy every bite, every drop, every crumb. Lick your lips afterwards, close your eyes, lean your head back, kick off your shoes, and wiggle your toes.

If you eat something and do happen to regret it, consider it a lesson learned. Don’t do it again. Simple as that. It’s not a failure, just a learning experience. Hopefully a delicious learning experience. Certainly not something to feel guilty about.

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