The Funny Thing Is...

  “Okay, this morning there is this bird outside chirping and chirping and chirping and so I start barking, right? And the bitch woman next door screams, “Shut up” to me. She doesn’t tell the stupid bird to shut up, just me. So I barked a few more times just to piss her off. I mean, she can’t tell me what to do, you know what I’m saying? I hate her. Then, I heard something a few blocks away, so I started barking again—and guess what? Yep, she started yelling at me again. It’s not like she doesn’t make noise of her own. She’s got the TV on all day long, all the talk shows…and she thinks I’m loud? Those people on TV yell at each other constantly and when they do the audience applauds and cheers? Give me a break. I’m supposed to just lie around and make no noise? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just in a bad mood. I think I’ll just have a biscuit and head to bed…. Hop to it! I can’t get it myself!”

  It turns out the main reason I love dogs is that they don’t talk.

  Before my gratitude journal began, there were things out in the world that I wished never existed, like mosquitoes. Mosquitoes, especially at night, are the most annoying thing I can think of. I know there is some scientific explanation for why even the mosquito plays a part in balancing out nature, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that many times I’ve spent the better part of what was supposed to be a good night’s sleep hunting those bloodsuckers down. Then I thought, “Wait a minute…that’s what being grateful is all about. It’s about the mosquito and the fly and other bothersome creatures. If we didn’t have them, what would I complain about?” Who wants a world where there isn’t a reason to complain?

  There are people in this world who never complain. “Hey, you know Bob’s girlfriend, Cheryl? She never complains about anything. Isn’t that great?” What am I supposed to talk to her about? Eventually, that’s how people bond. What a boring relationship if every conversation went, “You like humidity? Me, too.”

  “I love when mosquitoes bite me, it reminds me I’m alive!”

  “You know what doesn’t bother me? Frostbite…Yeah, it makes me forget I have fingers for a while.”

  Small talk would be impossible.

  “Boy, it sure is a hot one today.”

  “It’s how reptiles thrive.”

  “Yes, but my skin doesn’t shed.”

  “Yes, it does, we couldn’t live if it didn’t.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Small talk is something I used to dread. Now, since I’ve found ways to be grateful, I realize that without small talk people at parties would just stare at each other and eat twice as many chips. I go to a lot of parties—I would be huge! Now I love to start up a conversation with someone and discover, through small talk, where they live. How fascinating.

  “How long have you lived in Pigeon Acres?”

  “Oh, for about six years.”

  “Is it nice?”

  “We love it.”

  “Great. I’m gonna go talk to that guy over there about how unseasonably cold it is this summer.”

  “Okay, I should probably stand by the crudités platter and discuss where to buy the freshest vegetables.”

  “Isn’t it fantastic we aren’t just staring at each other?”

  “Yeah, this is a really good party.”

  My gratitude journal is turning out to be an exercise in tolerance.

  I locked myself out of the house the other day and I used the time as a chance to get to know my neighbors.

  I stubbed my toe on my table and realized I should wear shoes inside.

  My cat knocked over my plant and it made me hang all my plants. Now I have more room for books and candles!

  Gratitude is about taking that frown and turning it upside down. How can you turn a frown upside down when it is already down? It should be upside up. Gratitude is looking on the brighter side of life, even if it means hurting your eyes. Gratitude is something we can learn from others if they will talk to you.

  Gratitude is appreciating the things we can’t have, like a talking dog.

  My Self-Conscious

  or

  Check Me Out!

  One of the best pieces of advice I have ever been given is, “Don’t care too much about what other people think, or you’ll never do anything.” Well, that’s fine to say, but it’s really hard to do without feeling self-conscious. Some people really, truly don’t care what other people think, and I say, “Good for them!” There are guys walking around in bicycle shorts and that’s it! It’s quite a bit to look at and difficult not to look at, all at the same time. Yet they couldn’t care less.

  I’ve decided the key to doing whatever you want—and I’ve been interviewed on this subject hundreds of times—is standing out but fitting in. That’s what it is. Take fashion, for instance. You don’t want to wear something so wild that, God forbid, somebody notices. But you also don’t want to choose the kind of outfit that someone else could be wearing—like when you both show up at a party in exactly the same thing. That’s embarrassing! I don’t know if it has happened to you, but it has happened to me—twice. Both times it was William Shatner. And you want to know something? I think I look better in a tube top and I’ll say it.

  The way I dress is kind of boring. I don’t care. I don’t go for all the trendy stuff. I don’t understand it, really. Sometimes I think that fashion designers are just trying to see what they can get away with. They want to see if you’re willing to dress up like a circus clown or a prostitute or, worse yet, a circus prostitute. You know, they come up with some of these things like the sarong or the sari. It is the same thing, I think, and if not, I’m sarong. Sari.

  There was a time when shopping involved an actual dressing room. There were four walls, and you entered through a door. A whole door! And you could close the door and you could try on clothes and cry or whatever you do in the dressing room. But you had a door. There is no door any longer.

  You go to try on clothes and the door is just getting higher and higher up and lower and lower down. Essentially, you are trying to get dressed behind a two-by-four. You know everyone can see the underwear going down around your ankles. (I don’t know about you, but I always take my underwear off no matter what I’m trying on. Just a habit, really.)

  They’ve made the door tiny so the salesperson can get to you. They couldn’t before. They would just be lurking outside the door. “Can I get you anything? Need anything? Everything all right? How is everything? Can I get you anything? My name’s Rachel if you need me. I’m a Capricorn, so I love to help people. My uncle’s in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I love Ally McBeal. Did you see it last week? I have an eating disorder and won’t admit it. Do you think I’m pretty? I hate my job. Can I run away with you? Do you know Tom Cruise? Would he think I’m pretty?”

  Now she can just poke her head right in there. “Can I get you anything? How is everything? Need anything? Everything all right?”

  “I said I would call you, Rachel. I don’t need anything.”

  All that checking in. What could go so wrong that they need to check on you that often? “My bra is in my ass…! Rachel!”

  I’d like to see how far they would go to help you if you did tell them your bra was in your ass. “Oh, my. It is in the ass? So do you need a different size or color?”

  And they’ve also taken the mirror out of the dressing room, so that you are forced to walk out to take a look at yourself. This is so they can get another shot at you. They are there to tell you how nice you look since you don’t have opinions of your own.

  “That looks fabulous.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Your ass looks fabulous.”

  That’s how they get you. If they tell you your ass looks good, you are buying it. “That blouse makes your ass look fabulous. Is that your bra? Well, it makes your ass look fabulous!”

  The ass is such an important thing now. We check out our ass like crazy when we try on clothes. Not only do we check out our ass, but our entire facial expression changes when we do. We make the a
ss face. That is my ass. You turn a different way. That is my ass that way. Then you start to walk away. I’m going to walk away and that is my ass.

  We don’t make the ass face when we are at home naked looking at ourselves in the mirror. Totally different face then.

  I’m amazed by people who are just so comfortable with their nakedness. It doesn’t matter what they look like. They are just totally comfortable being naked. I admire that in people.

  I think the people who are the most comfortable being naked are those people who videotape themselves having sex. You’ve got to be so confident about your body to be videotaping your sex. Because no matter how much your partner loves you, in the heat of everything, stuff is moving so fast and at so many different angles, it’s not going to be pretty. When you watch the videotape later, you risk your partner saying, “I never saw that before. Have you seen that thing you do, yourself, right there? That thing…right there.”

  People who videotape their sex are doing it for only one of two reasons. Maybe they’re doing it because they are so egotistical that they love nothing more than watching themselves. “Look at us. We are hot! Look at us…. Look at us! Ooh…look at me. Look at me! Look at you. Look at me again. Look…look…look. Look at me!”

  Or maybe people tape themselves so they can watch the playback together like football players, looking for ways to improve their performance the next time. “All right. Let’s take a look right here, shall we? Okay. Here is what I’m talking about. See how your elbow is up so high and your back is arched right there? Not the best time to do that. I think I’d hold out on that until…there. That is when you should do it—right…there. Okay. And what is going on right here? What is happening, I’ll tell you. Nothing. A lot of energy. A lot of energy. A lot of energy. Look at my face. Nothing. Nothing going on. Nothing! You might want to kick in once in a while. You know what I’m saying. Now, I know I’m biting my lip. That’s to keep from laughing. Where did you come up with that little technique? Did you make that up? I thought so. Don’t do it. Okay? Don’t cry…. Come on! This is how we learn! Let’s get back in there and try it again. Come on. What do you mean, you’re not in the mood?”

  I don’t know. I don’t understand a lot of the stuff people are into but I do believe that everyone has the right to do whatever they want with their bodies. If it makes you feel good, do it. It’s your life and it’s your body. As long as there are two consenting adults—or three or five sometimes, I guess.

  I just don’t understand a lot of it.

  Like people who are into the Mile High Club. You know, those people who have sex in a bathroom on a plane. I don’t understand that. First of all, I have questions. How do you even fit two people in there to have sex? I mean, I barely have room to have sex in there by myself. I have to leave the door open a smidgen because my leg has to be…you know…just so. That’s how I like it.

  Sex should bring people together but sometimes it really separates them. We have this huge debate going on right now about same-sex marriage. There are people who are against it. There are people who are for it. And the people who are against it say marriage is a union between a man and a woman and it has always been that way and it should always remain that way. If we change the law to include two people of the same sex, they say, then what will be next? Someone could marry an animal. That is where they go right away. These people scare me. They think we’re weird.

  I don’t want to marry a goat. I really don’t. I can’t imagine even dating a goat—getting to the point that you’re serious enough to make that kind of a commitment. Sure, you can live together for a little while to figure it out, see if you are compatible…

  I’m just picturing the apartment you’d have, you and the goat. Photographs all over the place—you and the goat on the beach running, holding hands. You and the goat being serenaded by mariachis at a restaurant. You and the goat in front of the Eiffel Tower eating crepes and tin cans. You and the goat making faces in a strip from the photo booth.

  Sunday morning you’ll be trying to read the paper; the goat is trying to eat it. “Don’t you eat that section. I haven’t read that yet! Don’t you eat…. Don’t you eat…Come here! I love you, you goat.”

  I think it would be a tough day even for the most openminded parents if you brought the goat home. “Mom, Dad, this is Billy. We are in love.”

  I guess what I’m trying to say is, there are a lot of self-righteous people out there. And if you try to adjust your life to please them—by the way you dress, your sexuality, or the ass faces you like to make—you’re just going to go crazy and risk being as unhappy as these self-righteous kooks are.

  So enjoy your life. God gave us our bodies as a gift. (Granted, to some of us it’s kind of a gag gift, but that’s okay too.) Wear what you want, love who you want, and have fun.

  The Last Chapter

  There are so many different ways to end a book.

  There are some people out there who love the ending the best. In fact, they’ll buy a book and go straight for the ending. (If everyone were like that, I could have saved myself some time and just written the ending. Maybe that’ll be my next book.)

  The people who just like to read the last page might like a traditional ending. So, since I like to try to please everyone (I know they say “you can’t please all of the people all of the time,” but, by God, I’ll die trying), here goes….

  When Mama saw what I had done, she gathered up all her muster and with a huge smile on her face said, “Ellen, if you’ve said that once, you’ve said it a million times!” As we looked at each other with those faces that only a mother and daughter could recognize, we pulled off our aprons, threw them on the counter, and I said, “Mama, let’s me and you get a cherry soda.” It was that day I knew my life had just begun.

  No. That is the worst ending I’ve ever read. I don’t even know what “muster” means. How about this:

  As I pulled out of my driveway and into the hazy California sun, I realized that had I not found my true essence, I would never have had the courage to leave all that I had known behind. It was that day I knew my life had just begun.

  Mmm. Still not doing it for me. Maybe I should incorporate both endings, like so:

  As I pulled out of my driveway and into the lazy (I like that better than “hazy”) California sun, my mother waved good-bye to me with a cherry soda in her hand and a smile on her face that only a daughter could recognize. She pulled off her apron and threw it at my car. And it was that day I knew my life had just begun…with muster.

  Good night.

  Bonus Chapter

  5 % More Words,

  Absolutely Free!*

  They say that there’s no free lunch; that everything comes with a price tag. (If you don’t believe me, try shoplifting something.) But not this chapter. This chapter is 100% completely free! In actuality, my book ends on page 172. But not for you.

  You (and only you) get pages 173–177 as my way of saying “thank you” for buying my book. (If you didn’t buy this book and are reading a friend’s copy, don’t be greedy. Maybe you should save this Extra Special Bonus Chapter for the person who actually plunked down the cash.)

  These days it does seem like we’re all hooked on getting more, forever scouting around for that little something extra: more long-distance minutes, increased legroom, more free Tibet, and bigger supersize sodas. I personally get a thrill out of getting something for nothing, whether it’s shampoo that comes bundled with a free conditioner or when my dentist offers a two-for-one tooth-pulling special. I just love a great deal.

  Speaking of sweet deals, there’s nothing as sweet as free sugar. Restaurants put it right there on the table. All you can eat! That goes for all condiments. If restaurants did charge for them it would make figuring out the bill awfully hard. “Let see, I had the burger, you had the dollop of ketchup; I had the squeeze of mustard, a cup of coffee, a pinch of pepper, and one-point-five packets of sugar. Wait a minute. Excuse me. Waitress? There seems to
be a mistake on our bill. We didn’t use any salt.”

  The savvy shopper can even find complimentary gifts when looking for a new home. Once, my Realtor showed me a house and gleefully announced it had a “bonus room.” Where’s the bonus in that? It’s already part of the house. Isn’t it? Is the roof a bonus too?

  “Boy, we really lucked out on our house; it came with bonus indoor plumbing.”

  So what is the bonus of this bonus chapter, you might be asking yourself? (If you’re not asking yourself that, maybe you should. I’ll wait.) Well, I had to ask myself the same question. What extra special something could I give my readers? Practical information on making life easier? Maybe some tips on getting stains out of carpet or how to change a tire? To be honest, I’d be the last person who should be doling out gardening advice. I don’t have the patience for growing things. Yes, I realize there’s nothing quite as satisfying as eating food that you’ve pulled up from the ground and that’s why, at the height of the planting season, I bury cans of tomato soup in my backyard and dig them up again in late spring.

  No, to be a real bonus, it’s got to be something that you couldn’t get anywhere else. Like the answers to the most baffling unanswered questions of the universe. And it just so happens I have those answers. (One of the many perks of being a celebrity is that “the answers” are sent directly to your agent; the better your career is going the more answers you get—that’s how they get you.)

  So what are we waiting for?

  Presenting

  The Extra Special

  Bonus Chapter

  The Top 5 Mysteries of the World Explained

  (Brought to you in an extra special font

  that’s completely different from the rest of the book!)

  1) Do Aliens really exist?

  Yes, they are cleverly disguised as birds. Remember that old adage: Every time a bell rings an alien gets its wings?