Needed, some happy weekend fairy dust ... hurry, there isn't much time left!

Friday afternoon finally arrived, and I was stoked to go home so I could work on a music project that I have been promising to finish up for a friend.  I tooled home and hunkered down into my funky little home office which often resembles a pig's sty.  I was happily busy copying some music onto a thumbdrive, when I heard a knock at the door.  I rarely answer the door unless I am expecting company, but this person was insistently knocking, so I went and answered it, finding my friend B and her 6 week old baby on my porch.  I invited her in, and we hung out for a while, passing the baby back and forth.  She fed him, and asked would I burp him while she took an incoming call from her mother.  Sure, no problem ... I know absolutely nothing about babies, but I figured I could handle a burping session.  The burping session went fine, and I kept holding the wriggling little guy ... trying to make him happy.  He wasn't screaming, but he was definitely less than happy.  Since he had just woken from a nap, and his mother had just fed him, even novice old me suspected the obvious.  Pooping was in progress.  No problem ... right?  WRONG ... that little fella took a big grunt and poop burst through the legs of his pamper!  Poop exploded from both sides of the pamper, and littered not only my jeans, but also my BELOVED yellow sofa.   His mother was totally mortified.   I for once was completely calm and 97% unswayed.  If nothing, I am a great hostess ... and sane enough to realize that the little guy couldn't help it.  Now, if an adult had come over to visit and took a poopie on me and my sofa, then there would have been some serious butt kicking going on.  But, since it was a baby, I just shed my jeans and threw them in the wash, while my friend cleaned my sofa.  All's well that ended well.  We then went out to dinner, and the baby behaved himself like a perfect gentlemen we all hope he grows up to be.  


This morning, I was up to wait on the cable guy.  You know ... the cable guy who is scheduled to be at a customer's house to make a repair between 1 and 4 hours (most assuredly calling 15 minutes prior to his arrival).  OMG ... can I just cut this story short and say that I have spent the better part of this day feeling justifiably homicidal, so I am now trying to go ZEN and am pondering life without TV?  I think I am beginning to understand why people go postal.  Sorry, that line is totally in bad taste.  I'm just saying that life does have a way of pushing some mighty ornery buttons.  I have not stepped off the edge of sanity, so I'm not implying anything here other than I was beyond pissed this morning and that I am contemplating giving up TV.  My inner voice that is uptight about the "principle" of any and everything, is riding me as if I were a pack mule.  She said I have reached my tipping point, and it is time to take a stand.  I told her, that I really like to watch TV sometimes.  She told me, that TV is a huge waste of my time, and for me to think of all the things I could get done -- how much more reading I could do, how my yard could be free of weeds, how my kitchen could smell like lemons, how my linen closet could be effused with fresh lavendar, how my bedroom project would finally get done.  She made some very good points.  I told her I would have to talk with my other inner people and get back with her about my decision.  Damn that cable company  ...

The Land of Happy

Have you been to The Land of Happy,

Where everyone's happy all day,

Where they joke and they sing

Of the happiest things,

And everything's jolly and gay?

There's no one unhappy in Happy,

There's laughter and smiles galore.

I have been to The Land of Happy ---

What a bore!

Shel Silverstein

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