Movin' . . . Groovin' . . .

"One good thing about music . . .
When it hits
You feel no pain . . . "

Thank you, Bob Marley, for the momentary and highly pleasant distraction from this morning's commute into the job that I am no longer bitching about.

Yes, the New Attitude is in full force, and I didn't ONCE complain about my job, or working some this weekend, or the fact that Kevin has to work all weekend now, or the quick backlog of tasks that I've acquired in just 3 days back at work--nope, none of that. But, this morning as I was getting ready, I noticed an elevated level of crankiness. 'Kevin, do you have the receipt for this [bronken humidifier] thing, so we can take it back?' 'No--I looked for it and couldn't find it.' 'Well [annoyed], I don't want to spend 50 bucks for a broken humidifier.' It's almost as if the bitch is bursting at the seams--if I don't bitch about work, I shall bitch about something or risk ill-health.

And then I listened to "Trenchtown Rock (live)" by Bob Marley and the Wailers. And I am near ready, after just one song (listened to twice) to become a Rastafarian--at least the version that white, middle-class Americans think of: colorful clothes, lots of dope, and dancing in slow motion in the hot sun . . . waves pounding in the distance . . . big fruity drinks and blackened fish. None of that actual political stuff or the extreme poverty that leads to it.

Why couldn't I have been a trust-fund kid?!

I will hold. I will hold.

Oozy Creamy Brain Goodness

I just read everyone else's blog, and then read a few snippets from my latest entry (I'm in Control . . . ) and I think that I have soma-ized myself. I don't quite know what to think about it. There's something about that post that strikes me as obnoxious. Is this "new attitude" really just me bullshitting myself, trying to make a tedious environment and the fact that I work for a personal friend of President-fucking Bush OK because I make more money? Is this the kind of filthy tool slime-sucker that I have become? Am I now blowing sunshine up my own ass?

Or am I simply utilizing the power that flowery sunshine springtime enemas bring and it's no different than the mindgames that, say, Olympic swimmers use and there's nothing wrong with tricking yourself into happiness. Or Olympic gold.

Or am I truly happy and NOT tricking myself at all and the act of deciding to not let a slightly less-than-perfect work situation get me down lets the happiness happen? Does this make me a Randy Newman song? You know, the ones he writes for movies about friends and happy white suburbanite types? The ones I really fucking hate?

And now THIS post is bothering me, in all its "stoner-question" glory. I feel happy enough. I don't know how I got here, but if it works . . . . I don't have answers for much: "Why did you get married instead of just living together?" It just seemed like the thing to do and I didn't mind doing it. "Why did you want to have children?" I have absolutely no good answer for that one. "Why do you work for a mega-corporation headed by conservatives?" Because I like books. And money. I guess.

"Why do you feel the need to analyze all of this crap?" Because I'm retarded. And, apparently, totally fascinated with myself! Why else would I blog?

I'm going now.

I'm in Control, My Worries are Few

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew . . . I've got a new attitude! OH YEAH!!!

All right. That's enough of that. But I did want to inform you dear readers about the new attitude that I'm cultivating, the new attitude that will make work a breeze and my life just that much happier.

You see, lately I've been bitching about my job, feeling pretty low. It's mostly because I'm not the biggest fan of my boss. But then, who is? And mine, relatively, isn't all that bad--he just sticks out more because nearly everyone else is so nice and helpful and they stay out of my shit. Still, that coupled with the general malaise I feel about my daily tasks, well, I was even thinking of getting another job.

But I'm (mostly) done with all that! Oh I'm still thinking, ever thinking, of creative options to the corporate life, but 2 things keep me here:

1. I make a lot of money. For me. In fact, I made THREE times as much this year as last year, and the work isn't harder, though I do work more (most of the time). Because of this, it would be much harder to replace the money and the benefits and I should just shut up.

2. That's really it. I should just shut up and remember what a pain in the ass it is to start a new job and how there's no guarantee that I won't end up with a really bad boss doing something even more soulless. I miss teaching, but I would make a lot less and work a LOT more, if I could even get a job.

So I've decided to just buckle down and stay here, with my new improved attitude, until such time that Kevin and I move to Missouri and start our own monument company or whatever. And, if I'm going to stay, I might as well work harder so that I actually accomplish something and at least I'll feel good about that. So I am. Yesterday was my first day of this and it did feel pretty good! The boss comes back on Monday and, though I may strain, I will hold. I will hold.

In other news . . .

It occurred to me that I have let my money news slip. And it's financial details that separate the really good blog postings from the swill. Well, here's the deal. We have paid off our land! Yay! We have even paid off the thousands of dollars that we owed Kevin's parents for their loan that helped us buy the land in the first place. We have also paid off those pesky credit cards (again). We have zero credit card debt, save for the $10 for today's lunch. Our only debt now is the house, my student loan (still $18,000--ever $18,000), and Kevin's truck. The loan on Kevin's truck is one of those that doesn't pay to pay off early--there's no difference between the payoff (with the early payoff penalty) and the amount that we will pay if we continue to pay by the month.

We are also going to start a small college fund for both kids, which will be the same as but separate from the 529 their grandparents started. And I will have more of my income put into my 401K, and we will also start Roth IRAs for both of us, just to diversify and for the future self-employment that we both envision. And we bought--with cash--a sweet John Deere "garden tractor", which my brother got us a great deal on. So we're doing all right (knock on wood).

We're formulating a new "money goal" right now since the land and credit cards are taken care of. We will put a few thousand dollars into our current house to make it more sellable, and the rest will go towards our land in MO. The first thing I want to buy is a pond. The second is a well. I think it's smart to lay the groundwork for our house and try to buy as many things for it up front as possible in order to keep our mortgage as low as possible.

So that's about it. When I was complaining about "not enjoying my job" to my dad the other day, he said "Well, you DO enjoy your job. That trip that you just took with your family is proof." There might be little argument busters in there, but the fact remains that I DO enjoy being able to pay things off and save and build for the future and, right now, I have the job that helps me do that. I don't plan to stay here for a long time, and I don't HAVE to stay here for a long time, and finally I got it through my head that I should just sit back and enjoy my place in the working world. And that mental shit really works!

Getting Rid of My V#$va for My Friends

My "friends" tell me that I have to write a new post so that, when they check in for another exciting installment of Rural Fetish, the word "Vulva" doesn't splay out upon their precious work computer screens. It is a target, they say, for corporate censorship droids and nosy bosses wondering why in the world the word "vulva" is on a computer screen meant to be devoted to educational publishing.

So here is my new post.

For my friends.

Unfortunately, I have to go now.

I

will

make

sure

the

word

"vulva"

is

pushed

to

the

bottom.

The Vulva of My Dreams

This is an actual ad that my parents brought me from a newspaper in--where else?--southern Florida:

Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation
Treats Vaginal Relaxation Thereby Enhancing Sexual Gratification

Designer Laser Vaginoplasty
Specifically for the Beautification of the Vulvar Structures

LET US HELP YOU DESIGN THE VULVA OF YOUR DREAMS

There's really no need to comment further. But I will.

How in the Sam Hell do we get to this point as a society? Must ALL women be strippified and Hustlerized and Playmate-sized? Do the people in this society--or at least in Miami--have a collective vision of what a vulva should be? Must we cut and slash, wash and wax, moisten and pinken and plumpen our apparently oversized, ill-aligned, off-color, odiferous, hairy vulvular structure?

Now, the first part--the so-called "vaginal rejuvenation"--isn't quite as repulsive to me. After two children, I can appreciate Kegels. Wait! That's right!! KEGELS! NOT FUCKING "FUCKING SURGERY"! Not "re-virginization". How fucking stupid can we be? Will I soon be subject to a bunch of plastic-y trophy wives opening up on Oprah about how they used to feel ashamed of their flabby labia but now, after pressure from their unspeakably horrible businessman husbands and an asshole, money-grubbing doctor who took a knife to a nerve-rich area ("What could go wrong, babydoll?") they are "bravely" baring all in Playboy's "Dumbshit Pampered Wives of South Beach Executives" issue? Will I? WILL I?

Because I just don't know if I can take it. I may just have to crawl into the comfort of my socially-unacceptable, childbirth-wracked labia and take a wittle nappy.