Happiness…

…it’s that way.

Told you...

Or this (read: my) way, since I find myself in that state of fuzzy feelings that induces smiling and positive thoughts that are enough to make the corners of a pessimist’s mouth twitch (whether in almost succumbing to my infectious charm or bestowing upon me a mocking, scowling expression filled with disdain, you be the judge of that).

To quote Mort Rainey from SECRET WINDOW: “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t on the verge of doing Snoopy dances”.

Such a happy little head!

So what has got me all smiley and cheery, you ask? If I wanted to act all philosophical, I could simply answer ‘life’. The sun is shining, the weather is nice, the sunsets are amazing, I have a wonderful family and better-than-I-could-have-hoped-for Significant Other, my cat provides me with oodles of joy, I have a job I’m enjoying, we have an apartment to live in… in general, many good things in life people don’t take notice of often enough that make it grand. I myself am prone to occasional bout of doubt, depression, low self-esteem, worrying/ stressing and just feeling ‘off’, as if nothing is right… but, honestly, in my life, the great things far outweigh those that make me head on a mini downwards spiral now and again.

So yes, people, I haz a happee…

”]…for a very, very good reason: looks like we’re going to be able to go to Scotland for our honeymoon!! (Let the Lily-and-Marshall-ness continue!) Edinburgh, Glasgow, Inverness, Aberdeen… Castles, culture, food, museums… two weeks in Spring time, with maximum temperatures reaching about 18 degrees Celsius. Yip, Scotland is my kind of place…

 

To ‘celebrate’ the fact that I’ve  been working with a travel agent for a while (a pretty d*mn efficient one, what a wonderful woman) and that we’re going overseas, as well as for the lesser fact that my Significant Other had received his salary, we had take-out last night: pizza. I usually make my own pizzas at the apartment, yet my S.O. (a) was in the mood for large, thick base pizzas, and (b) wanted to save me the trouble of preparing a meal since I worked non-stop yesterday, not even taking a break at lunch time.

(Unfortunately, I had change with me today and decided to ‘continue’ the celebratory mood by purchasing the last Tempo at our vending machine. Headache + chocolate = recipe for disaster… still trying to decide whether or not it was worth it…)

At least it'll give me energy! (...right?)

To further boost my mood, when I had a meeting with my mentor this morning, she asked me what my plans are for next year, then started singing my praises and said she hopes I consider applying for available positions here (even if it’s not in her department, though she’d preferably like to keep me there).

Here I am: living and loving it up, even though there is much to do, things to worry about, and only a certain amount of time before things start looking bleak again. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy myself…

…and if I can’t help you to feel the same, maybe we should find an alternative:

Alternative to inducing happiness.

Sum. Ass.

I’ve been working with the (CAPS) documents for the new curriculum for quite some time now. As such, when I want to make notes for myself, I use a sort of shorthand and abbreviations, just to save myself some time on little things. That said, this morning I was looking at assessments for the speaking division of what the learners must do, and every time I came across the words “summative assessment”, I simply shortened it to “Sum. Ass.”

Maybe a little bit funny, when you read it out of content (which is what actually makes it funny, I suppose) – yet today, I’m feeling like some ass… the donkey kind, not the kind you sit on (if you’re familiar with my writing, you’ll know that I’d type “arse” if I meant your  behind).

I keep giving myself paper cuts here at work. I don’t know how I do it, but when I look, there’s another. What really makes me feel stupid is the fact that (a) they usually happen between the tip of my finger and the lower knuckle (although, most frequently, they land up right below my cuticle – as stated, I don’t know how, so don’t ask), and (b) I tend to land these paper cuts on the same places!!

Some ass I’m making of myself… Luckily I’m not a bleeder, otherwise the headline “Work kills: death by paper cut in office” would be quite fitting.

Another way I’m feeling like some (kind of) ass, is the fact that now I have to beg plead ask my friends (and now you, dear blog readers) to vote for my short story on the South African Writers page on Facebook. I suppose it’s no big deal – just a 500 word short story, 14 entrants, and the prize up for grabs is a book. Although I would love all my friends to be enthusiastic about my writing and read what I have to offer, it still feels pretty foolish asking them – very nicely, I’ll admit, although I haven’t bribed offered them money… yet… – to vote for my story. I don’t want them to feel obligated to do that… although some interest would be appreciated. Haven’t you ever felt stupid asking people to vote/ sign up for something? It’s a little cry of, ‘please, I’m desperate, help make me feel I have talent/ that I’m doing something worth while, oh pretty pretty please’…

And, as I said, all of this to win a book. Not get the story published (although that would have been pretty awesome) or some such thing. Just the satisfaction that the majority of readers enjoyed what you had to offer and consequently gave you their vote (read: approval)… But if you ask your friends to vote for you, how is that getting you anywhere? Wouldn’t you want the approval of a greater group, of those who don’t know you and don’t simply indulge you so as to prove their friendship and loyalty to you? *sigh* These questions are enough to drive one crazy…

Oh, and I think I’m going to make (some) ass of myself on Saturday when I go to the Bridal Expo at the CTICC. I’ve already got mostly everything planned, going for a trial for my hair and make-up soon enough, so all I need is a DJ (we have almost ten we can phone, which means that isn’t an issue, really). The only reason I want to go is out of curiosity… And oh, don’t brides-to-be at these expos always seem to make asses of themselves? Hunting desperately for what they want (which, many times, they are unsure of to begin with), being swayed by people with pretty pictures and ‘good deals’, taking part in the frenzy of happiness and love which brings in a lot of money to the vendors, the high-pink colour in their excited cheeks… and dragging whoever was unlucky enough to agree to go with them around for hours on end… What’s not to seem foolish?

I think I’ll just go quietly about my business, take a turn around the stalls (while trying not to look like a crazy/ desperate/ infatuated/ over-eager bride), then make a beeline out of there.

I just think this trip might depress me enough to go to Limnos Bakery and have some of their wicked (high-caloried) treats… which, if sweet indulgences continue, will lead people to say on my wedding day (upon seeing me in my dress): “Wow, she sure does have some arse on her!”

Now that's making an arse of yourself!

Licence to thrill

While on my way to work this morning, I noticed that the car in front of us (my Significant Other and myself) had a personalized number/ licence plate, which read PEACE 1. Nice little message for people reading it – perhaps a bid to get people to believe that you are a peaceful person or believe/ hope for peace – but sometimes I wonder what’s the use of this personalized bit of plastic/ metal/ whatever number plates are made of.

Personalized plates don’t come cheap, after all, although some of them are amusing to read. It’s like that joke about the snail that got himself a car with a number plate that read S-CAR, and whenever he went speeding by people, they would say, “Wow, would you look at that S-Car go!” Corny, I know, and not necessarily amusing, but you get what I’m driving at (no pun intended).

My cousin has a sexy little black car (convertible? I know you can let the top down) with a licence plate that reads MASCARA. Suitable, since the car is such a dark black colour, almost sashaying down the road, blinking it’s headlights like a wink once those indicators come on. My cousin is an absolutely gorgeous person (physically), lovely on the inside, quite short, and just as confident as mascara makes some girls feel after application (or even the notion of ever having a car like hers).

A friend of mine’s licence plate reads PH0EN1X – a nickname/ avatar he uses whenever he’s playing games (WoW, Starcraft II, etc.) A phoenix is a quite powerful symbol – a majestic creature who, at its death, bursts into flames, only to be reborn out of the ashes. A survivor. Arguably the greatest of mythological creatures. It is a symbol of rebirth, immortality and renewal –something man can only dream of, though this does not mean that he doesn’t strive towards it. Man. A generalization for mankind, but it most cases in both history and mythology, it is men who seek out power or who hold positions of power, thus it would be man (literally) who seeks the power and companionship of the phoenix – the fire bird, the greatest and leader of other birds… Which is why I find it interesting (though I’m not saying that this is what my friend aimed it) that this friend of mine whose licence plate reads PH0EN1X is male. Ever striving towards greater (and the greatest of) things…?

You get licence plates with people’s names/ nicknames, company names, abstract things (love, peace, serenity), even stupid things that are related to sports or what I would assume to be inside-jokes. Still, it’s that person’s licence plate, so whatever puts salsa on his/ her enchilada, I so go for it – make it as spicy as you want.

This, of course, leads me to wonder what I would choose, if given the opportunity of having a personalized plates. What would best describe me? What do I want other people to think of me? Should I try to be witty, sarcastic, honest, playful… or simply opt for my name and have done with it? I absolutely love cats, yet I’m not too sure how mentioning that on the plates would really be effective/ cute/ sane.

So I think, if I had to ‘get me one of those’, I’d have to opt for my one nickname: DONSIE. For those of you who don’t understand Afrikaans, a “donsie” is like a small, soft feather – almost a bit of fluff, really, the very soft downy feathers you find blowing into your house sometimes. Apparently this nickname is to show how cute, soft, and teeny-tiny I am – so small, in fact, that the slightest breeze endangers me of being blown away. It might sound silly, but I really like it 🙂

If you had a licence to thrill (no, not that kind of licence, and nothing like James Bond), what would yours read?