Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

When “Being Positive” Fails

with one comment

The Flying Spaghetti Monster > all

The Flying Spaghetti Monster > all

In an effort to stay positive about my injury, here is a list of things I can do:

I can talk behind your back.

I can write strongly-worded anonymous letters to people I don’t like.

I can gain weight. (I do this one effortlessly.)

I can do stuff with my hands, i.e.; wave, flip gang signs, hold an infant, strangle stuff.

I can bid on something at an auction, like a unicorn or something.

I can put one foot in water. I know, thrilling.

I can juggle. I can also jiggle. See: weight gain.

I can throw darts, or knives, or little people towards dart boards, my ex, and other little people.

I can yell, and also shriek. I haven’t tried yodeling, but it’s high on my priority list.

I can put a bra on – underwear, though, is a challenge.

I can spy on my neighbors. Which is pretty snore-worthy.

I can throw water balloons at small children. SPLAT! WAAAAAAH.

I can grow old. I’m actively doing this right now.

I can watch girl porn, i.e.; sift through people’s wedding photos and cry. You know the porn is quality if you’re sobbing at the end.

I can get schooled at different kinds of video games, by the Esq or the monster.

I can build myself an overpriced house on The Sims.

I can be manic or miserly.

I can have dreams, even if ‘tangible goals’ seem a bit out of reach.

I can play murderball with actual cripples, who would probably smear the floor with my remaining entrails.

I can block people on Facebook.

I can inhale carbohydrates by the truckload. And will. And am.

I can believe in the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

I can make fun of Oprah, which is frightfully easy.

I can watch reality shows that make my teeth curl.

I can stew, and fret, and fester.

I can hang out with people in small numbers, preferably the paparazzi.

I can watch a lot of TED talks, and save my favorites. Whee.

I can wish it was my birthday.

I can put on shadow puppet shows.

I can pretend to be paralyzed, and not just emotionally.

I can smoke crack, or any derivative thereof.

I can fake orgasms, not that I need to. But should I happen upon a time machine and find a wormhole back to high school, I’ll definitely need that skill.

I can play with my boobs, which is boring. (There are some who might disagree.) It must be fun having a penis.

I can give birth, but no thanks.

I can write the next great American novel.

I can worry. I can whine.

I can curse up a storm – and if I fight with the Esq, my mother, and Oren’s father on the same day, I can probably curse up The Perfect Storm.

I can feel sorry for myself, and write blog posts that focus on just how sorry I am. AND GOD HOW I AM.

Or I can go to barbecues and forget about the leg and hang with my friends and have a good time. Which is really what I prefer doing, and where I’m headed now. Take that, tendon!


Written by sn0tteh

July 26, 2009 at 3:29 PM

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. Learning to fake an orgasm takes practice. And so does whining. Go ahead, I’m listening.


    July 26, 2009 at 7:12 PM

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