Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Happiness

My friend Amanda is mad with power. She recently celebrated a birthday and then got up on her high horse and demanded that I write a blog post of her choosing. Her request? Happiness. That’s right. Turns out my blog has been depressing poor Amanda and she asked me the following, horrifying question, “what makes you happy?”

Amanda asked me this and I was stunned. Clearly, she's a soulless monster. I was also in traffic, chain-smoking and swearing a lot, so she had caught me in a vulnerable moment. The fact that I couldn’t immediately think of anything that brings me joy ultimately depressed me, proving that Amanda is a witch. Regardless, she had me stumped and I could not shake the question. I then did what I always do when I’m trying to work something out in mind – I went home, watched several episodes of Glee, openly sobbed and ordered a delicious bowl of carbs from my local Italian eatery. This was, as usual, a recipe for success. After a considerable amount of television chased by numerous Marlboro reds, I finally came up with a few things that thrill me.

#1 Musicals. Any time I’m sick and have to call-in to work, I become secretly elated. I always spend this time watching old musicals. No amount of whiskey or promiscuous sex could bring me the deep-seeded joy that watching Gene Kelly slide across a dance-floor brings me. This is a deep, dark secret of mine and, upon further consideration, it is possible that Amanda does not want me to be happy so much as she wants to embarrass me at a public level. I am so overwhelmed with joy by thoughts of Liza Minnelli Fossying her way through Berlin in "Cabaret," nothing can get me down -- not even the burgeoning Nazi regime aspect of the movie.

#2 Football. I was inconsolable this evening while watching an episode of Glee that included a state championship football game. Somehow the stars aligned and brought together three things I love dearly: men banging into each other at incredible speeds, a series of choreographed dances and cheerleaders.

#3 Cheerleaders. I fucking love cheerleaders. Had I spent less time at buffets growing up, it’s possible I could have been one. (mmmmm….buffets) I particularly love adult cheerleaders. There is nothing more pathetically amazing to me then watching an NFL game and seeing grown women on the sidelines with face-paint and pom poms. It does not pay well to be a professional cheerleader, which means that those broads work their day jobs all week, run to the salon to get their grays touched up and then roll in on game day. That is conviction, and I salute it.

#4 NAPS!!!!!!!!!!!!

#5 Things That Are Funny. I really like making people laugh. I like making people laugh so much that I absolutely don’t mind if they’re laughing at me. My co-worker Mike turned to me the other day and said, “Alison, I love your blog because once I’m done reading it, I’m just so glad I’m not you.” That was basically one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. If Mike can laugh at my HORRIBLY PAINFUL LIFE, then I have made him happy and my job feels complete.

My friend Nikki got diagnosed with Leukemia last year, and I went to visit her in the hospital. I went into that hospital room with guns blazing. I was loud, and obnoxious, and talking about L.A. and all the ridiculous men I had been stalking and my terrible acting career. And of course all my other friends were there, and they were ripping on me, and teasing me, and then Nikki glared right at me and said, “Honestly Alison, drinking Drano is less abrasive than you.” And then…she laughed. That bitched laughed right in my face. She was so proud of herself and it was at my expense. And I couldn’t have been more delighted. Nikki passed away last Christmas. I won’t go into the horribleness that we all went through and I wish her story would have ended a different way. But I like to believe that maybe I was able to offer her a little bit of relief when she was in incredible pain.

So Amanda, you horrible monster, you killed my friend Nikki.

Ok, you didn’t, but you have brought her up and that was heartless. If I have to spend the rest of my life breaking my legs in blackouts, dating men who are wrong for me and getting admitted into the hospital, I’ll do it. As long as it makes you smile. Happy birthday, you shrew.

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