Happystuff

Happystuff™ would definitely be a brand of coffee or soft drink I'd consider purchasing.

It'd also make a good brand name for that expanding foam that comes in aerosol cans. I'd buy that mess on the quickfast. Take note, Corporate America--if you give your product a goofy name, I'll buy it just so I can tell people I bought it.

I've articled (and articulated!) about what makes me mad on the Blog before. Who hasn't? I defy you to look back over your life and tell me that there hasn't been a time where you made a list of stuff that bugs you. Even if it was a little half-assed list you put together in your head and then forgot. It's human nature. We all do it, and we can't help it.

"I was on my way to the Grains'n'Poo today, and wouldn't you know it? They had the road narrowed down to one lane. And then this gunkmonkey behind me in a Hummer gets out of the line, barges ahead, and then shoves his way back into the line! What a crotch!"

"I know! That reminds me... Like, I was in the bathroom, right? Standing there reading an online news article on my iPhone about traffic, and I dropped it in the sink!"

"Dude. Feel your pain, bro. They should put rubber grippies on the sides of those things. They're too slick."

"That's nothing. Not only was I stupid enough to buy an iPhone, but I also bought a text messaging package for my regular cell phone the very next day!"

"I guess you really like grinding out misspelled messages with your number keys, huh? Wow. Maybe you should buy a Hummer of your own."

Sorry about that, time-wasters. I kinda got sidetracked into talking about things that bug me again. See how easy it is, though? You're compelled to offer your own story of angst and annoyance whenever you hear someone else's.

It's always:

"I got cut off in a construction zone too! Don't you hate that? They should force those people to eat stale gummi bears for a week."

Never:

"I love stale gummi bears! They make me so happy. Do they not have the same effect on you? Golly."

At least this is the way it goes around my circle of acquaintances. Maybe I just attract negative people. I'll have to look into that sometime when I'm not feeling depressed.

Ooh! Important revelation! Did you catch it? Yeeesss...that bit about being depressed. Indeed, time-wasters, the FooDaddy is a certified depressive. Take meds for it and everything. I even collect pens the GlaxoSmithKline marketing people painted antidepressant brand names on.

So I'm always on the lookout for little things that make me happy. Of course there are the big things. Everyone knows about the big things. A cup of really fantastic coffee. Finding money in the couch. Tripping children at the store and getting away with it.

You know. The normal stuff.

But what about the hidden things? That stuff you have to actually process to unearth the glee potential. Like finding a whole bunch of apples in the back of the fridge you'd forgotten about, and now they're all brown and mushy. Most people would look at this situation and consider it rather a step backwards in fortune. "Now I gotta throw them away! That's a waste of money. Not to mention the little puddle of sticky brown apple goo I have to clean off the shelf. Call Emily up and tell her I'll be missing our date tonight. What a bummer."

Not the FooDaddy. Does he see the situation as bad? Surprisingly for a depressive, no.

I see that bag of nasty old apples and think, "now I have ammunition." If I so choose, I can sit on my porch and throw the mushy brown horrors at people in Hummers, I can arrange them on my driveway in a big Mickey Mouse shape, or best of all, I can put them in my garbage disposal. Finding stuff I to put down there always brightens up my day.

What about hearing an old man fart in public? Some of you, again, would consider this an unfortunate decline in quality of life. Not me. I think it's funny. Why? Because 30 years earlier, this man would be mortified to have committed such a rude act. Now that he's past the point of caring, though, he doesn't give a damn. He might even announce the fact after the fart. "What the hell? Oh. Well, who gives a damn what you think?"

Hearing an old man arguing with his own ass is an uplifting and liberating experience. It's freedom incarnate; an inspiring tale. Gives ya something to look forward to.

One of my personal favorite mood-boosters is going home after my skydiving lessons and finding that someone has left an unopened bag of Skittles on the hood of my Ford GT. That's the best. Especially if they're the tropical flavored ones. Them is heavenly.

Ooh, ooh! I know! What about that wonderful feeling you get when the big glass globe dispenses the color gumball you were hoping for? Or sometimes you get two if you jiggle the handle just right. That trumps Paxil any day, and it only costs a quarter.

I could go on all day, if I weren't depressed. The joys of having NASA fly me around in the Space Shuttle, for example, is an experience guaranteed to uplift and fortify. But now I gotta go take my pills.

Uh oh. All out.

Better write myself a reminder with this here Zoloft® pen.