I don’t want to be Norah Jones sad anymore

I’ve been on the negative Norah Jones train for quite a bit of my life.

Alright, it’s mostly been my whole life. At any point in time, I can be found ranting about something, in the hopes that, that something will stop existing. Guess what, this doesn’t work.

I could scream at people with a blow horn at every Wal-Mart parking lot I wanted, but fully able people would still leave their ducking carts exactly adjacent to the cart corral, instead of IN IT. I will always be bothered by some inconvenient or annoying scenario.

Something has to give.

There are more things in the world than I could ever hope to loathe, so I just have to figure a way to deal with it. For the next week, every time something bothers me, I intend to imagine how that exact thing, is really a good thing. I’m not reinventing the wheel here, I’m just putting twenty twen twens on it (that’s rap phrase for rims in case you didn’t know).

Here’s just a few things I’ve come up with so far:

When you cut your toenails and then put socks on, but then your toes are hurting because you cut the nails too short.

The bad: Really toes, really? You’re gonna punk out on me and hurt BECAUSE I PUT SOCKS ON YOU!!!!??? I know you know the feeling, you’re all, “Ooo, that smarts…ma’ toes are sensitive.” You’re walking around, spontaneously jumping and breathing hard because you put your foot forward a tad too hard for your baby ass newly cut toes to handle. Get it together toes.

The good: I’m beyond grateful I can bend over enough to cut my toenails.

My dad had a huge beer belly later in his life, surprisingly because he quit drinking beer, so he couldn’t reach his own feet to clip his nails.

Guess who had that job?

Dad wearing an actual shirt inside the house for once.
Dad wearing an actual shirt inside the house for once.

He’d yell from the living room, “Hey, Lowrrra, come cut my toenails,” (he had a Puerto Rican accent.) Then, I’d crawl into the living room, brandishing a paper brown grocery bag ripped in two pieces. One piece was to put on the floor for the clippings to fall on, the other, as a shield for my face, since they never actually just fell to the floor. They more or less, shot at me when I’d clip down because they were by that point so legit troll nails. The process was basically like using bolt cutters on someone’s toes. Dad always gave me money after, which only made it feel more gross.

So yeah, it’s pretty great I can do that shit myself .

That weird noise people make on the phone after you’re done talking to them and you prepare to hang up.

 The bad:It goes like this, you’re on the phone and saying your goodbyes.

“Ok, sounds good, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep, see you tomorrow…ehum bye.”

“Uh-hum, bye.”

What the shit is that whole transaction even called? It’s always some random guttural acknowledgement that the conversation is officially over and for whatever reason, I silently curse myself after saying it once I hang up. I don’t know why I cater to you people and follow suit by saying, “Yeeeahum, bye,” right back at you. Sometimes you even get caught up in a loop and do it like seven times back and forth until you slam the phone down in defiance, “THIS IS OVER,” I scream in my head. Use your words damnit, not just sounds.

The good: This whole phenomenon gives me a chance to be creative in phone conversations. Instead of just grunting goodbye on the phone, I will make statements.

“Regulator out,” I’ll yell at them and hang up before the other person can say anything else. Or, I will loudly sing, “Whoop whoop…this is da’ police,” or “Long distance rates DO NOT apply,” and my favorite, a banshee warrior cry of, “I have been given nothing….Go earn that Klondike bar,” and just drop the phone on the floor.

Wow, this is already working.

I was going to write about more stuff that bothered me, but I can’t even think of anything right now, which, now that I think about it, is annoying. I know for a fact that on a regular basis I just give up and lay on the floor because I can’t handle the most recent development of my lifeline.

Well, tomorrow’s another day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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