I have really bad luck in life. If something can go wrong, it will. The worst-case scenario will inevitably happen. And then my pants will fall down as an added bonus. This has definitely provided me with many comical stories, and for that I’m grateful, but right now I don’t have time for my bad luck. I need to get a full-time job to move into my sister’s apartment. And I have a deadline: January 1st. I went on a really good interview last Thursday for a job that I would blow a midget for. I expect to find out if I get a second interview this week and at this point I need all the luck I can get.
I’ve never been a big believer in karma because I feel like doing something good and trying to be a good person because you want karma points negates the karma you would get because you’re not doing it for the right reasons. Sort of like how I would never thank the AU shuttle bus driver on principle. Don’t thank the shuttle diver to make yourself feel better about having someone earn minimum wage to chauffeur you the half a mile from campus to the metro, thank them because you actually appreciate it, you smug a*hole. Or walk. God I hate white people.
Given my track record with luck, I need some good karma on my side and I need it fast. Therefore, instead of writing a catty That’s a lot of Look piece or ranting about people who don’t give the “courtesy wave” after letting them merge into your lane (WHO INDEED DESERVE AN STD, AND A RELLY EMBARRASSING ONE AT THAT), I’m going to write a positive, calm and zen-like entry giving recognition and thanks to the otherwise unrecognized things that enrich my life on a daily basis in hopes that the Universe will see my selfless gratitude and repay me.
I thank the Universe for:
Kashi Go-Lean Crunch Cereal: Well shit you’re delicious. You taste like Sugar Snaps, but you’re healthier, and for that I thank the world for your existence. If I get scurvy and die of malnutrition, it’s because 2 out of 3 of my daily meals seriously consist of a giant bowl of Kashi Go-Lean Crunch cereal and a quad-shot latte. And you’re hippie commercials delude me into thinking that that’s a healthy and wise decision. God bless you.
NBC News 4 Anchorman Jim Vance: Jim Vance is a really soothing presence in my daily life and he’ll never even know it. I’m not quite sure what it is about his demeanor that makes me want to sit on the floor Indian-style, put my head in my hands and listen to him like he’s reading me a children’s book, but I appreciate it. I also appreciate the giant blinged-out diamond stud he rocks in his left ear. He makes the news soothing and mother-fucking gangster at the same time, and for that the man deserves an Emmy.
My parent’s cat, Evie:
I used to think Evie was kind of an asshole because I’m 98% sure my parents could never love me as much as they love her. Then I moved home and got mono and I think she genuinely felt sorry for what a sad-state-of-affairs I was in and started giving me pity snuggles. Now we’re BFFs. She’s curled up in my lap like a shrimp as I type this. I’ve grown to fully accept the fact that my parents love her more than me. Hell, even I would choose Evie if we were both dangling on the edge of a cliff and only one of us could be saved.
The Washington Kids Post: I’m not going to lie, when I sit down in the morning with my giant bowl of Kashi Go-Lean Crunch cereal, quad latte and Washington Post, the first section I flip to is the Kids Post. I appreciate that the Kids Post takes whatever news story is most prevalent, dumbs it down real good, adds a few penguin illustrations and makes it seem less scary and depressing. As someone with ADD and an anxiety problem, it means a lot to me. I think the only reason I could intelligently discuss the election with people is because the Kids Post spelled it out in stick figures for me everyday. The Kids Post crossword puzzle also makes me feel pretty good about myself every Sunday. God bless you Kids Post.
Cab Drivers: I don’t know what it is, but cab drivers love me, and God damnit I love them. I can’t even begin to recount the number of meaningful heart-to-hearts I’ve had with cab drivers. I pay a therapist $200 a session, two sessions a month, and 3/4 of our session is spent with me awkwardly looking around the office desperately trying to think of something to talk about. However get me in the back of a cab and I open up like I’ve just taken a truth serum. My life is just one incredibly un-sexy episode of "Taxi Cab Confessions." One time I was talking to a cabbie about his native Barbados and he told me that he thought I would like life there better than New York because it was laid-back, like me. I actually told him, and I quote, that I “indeed have the soul of an islander.” First of all, who the fuck says that? And secondly, just on a factual level, I actually don’t have the soul of an islander; I’m kind of neurotic and high-strung. I don’t know why I adopt this Jimmy Buffet, open-book persona with cabbies, but I appreciate our time together. It’s less expensive than therapy and pine-scented.
The hot High Schooler who makes my mid-afternoon latte: I don’t mean for things to take a statutory turn, but the kid who makes my mid-afternoon latte at Starbucks is a-freaking-dorable and I want to thank him for brightening my day. He looks like Pacey from "Dawson’s Creek" and I think we can all agree that Joshua Jackson is bangin’ hawt. Not that I’m describing a 17 year-old boy as bangin’ hawt. Because that would be illegal. Starbucks kid also always looks incredibly stressed out, which I find endearing for some reason. Part of me wants to be like “It’s OK boo! Don’t be stressed!” The bigger part of me wants to be like “I will totally be your date to prom! I can buy you and your friends alcohol!”
...And now I just wait for the karma to kick in.