In order to convince you that I am actually not miserable (thanks Zoloft!), I have composed the first of many lists that detail things which bring me enjoyment and pleasure. Whenever I feel that I am bitching and moaning about the dreary nature of the human condition a bit too much (not possible), I will throw one of these lists in to lighten things up and remind you, dear reader, that I'm not a sociopath.
Mozzarella sticks
I get a little teary eyed just thinking about mozzarella sticks. Crispy exterior, molten lava cheese center, limitless dipping options, and convenient ergonomic shape, 'dem sticks is perfect. If foods were deities, mozzarella sticks would have the corpulent body of Buddha with the hair of Jesus and the trident of Poseidon. The best thing about mozzarella sticks is that even bad mozzarella sticks are still mozzarella sticks. It's like sex but there isn't any weird crying after.
Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah
As I was about halfway through this post this song came on my Spotify playlist. As much as I love and live a musically inclined life, I don't usually feel any strong sort of emotional connection to songs. Happy songs don't make me happy, sad songs don't make me sad, angry songs don't make me angry. This song, though, is a different story. I could heard it 50 times in a row and still get goosebumps every single time. There is something so somber, yet sweet, about Buckley's voice. It's absolutely brilliant.
Wilma Jean Reuber
Wilma Jean Reuber is the biggest badass on four legs. If my cat were a deity she would be the biggest asshole one that no one worships. Maybe Zeus? He was powerful but also a total dick and didn't he have non-consenual sex with basically anything that emitted a pulse within the last 24 hours? Wilma is a dick but she is my dick (wait, what?). Wilma was rescued by my eldest brother from underneath a porch in Kansas. She was a tiny kitten who was still very much reliant on her mother who was no longer around. For the first few weeks she lived with my brother who didn't give her a name and just referred to her as "the cat." She came to Iowa with him and promptly became my furry minion when he disclosed he couldn't keep her. By day she would shit on my floor and by night she would curl up in my hair. We were made for each other. Wilma is now 7 or 8 years old and lives with my parents in Illinois. Every time I FaceTime them, she runs to the computer to show me her asshole and rub up against the speaker. She sleeps by my side and doesn't talk to me, which is just the kind of companion I need.
Entertaining
Contrary to popular belief, I am far more selfless than I may appear. I actually enjoy doing nice things for people simply because I find pleasure in making others happy. I like to tear the human collective down, but I enjoy to build its individuals up. I love to make people laugh and smile, whether that is through self-deprecating humor or a sincere, albeit awkward, compliment. The world tends to suck and I like to be a back-alley supplier of happiness (read in to that as you will).
There you go, four things I enjoy. Now, back to my snarky social commentary.
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