Of pity parties and “Woe is me.”

The internet is a nifty place to come “moan and groan.” Heck, I bet even Tom Cruise, David Letterman and Donald Trump have bad, bitchy moany days.

I can snap my fingers at any onea the “moan and groan” thingys… The Power Steering on the Hot… Rod… Lincoln.. That I’ve sunk $1200 in in the last month. (Victor, can you use the word “in” twice in succession?) Screw you, it’s a blog, I’ll do what I want!

I’m pissed at Davis Guggenheim, you see, because HE sleeps 365 days a year with Elisabeth Shue. Damn him, THAT, should be ME.

I’m PO’ed at Matt Blunt and the whole slew’a Statea Missouri workers cause I ain’t got my income tax return yet. I tried for 43 hours to get on the State website to inquire about the return… FINALLY got thru… learned it was mailed 5/2... “Huh? We still got the Pony Express here?” Hadta get a “Stop payment order”… have it notarized, and faxed (Long distance from work… sorry… I won’t do that again).. And now I still wait for my measly $260 that will really help this little “pinch” I’m in.

I’m pissed at my “Dingers” on my car that inform me “Oil Level Low”… I JUST boughta quart!

I get hissy when 22 yr old Maynard is “run allover town”… “can u go to Phillips… Piggly Wiggly… McDonalds… WallyWorld, etc.” Then, he gripes about the (not very much he gives me per month) money he pays to help continue this decrepit place up and going monthly. Additionally, at age 22, he cannot distinguish the difference between a washer and a dryer. This could come in handy if Elisabeth Shue were to one day call and say “Victor, ticket’s in ‘will call’, I dumped Davis.”

I wanna get a GD (gosh darn) camcorder, and run all around the office… taking pictures of (some) coworkers farting mosta their day off… when I can’t friggin’ keep up. I’M UNDERPAID. DID YOU HEAR ME? I’M UNDER PAID!”

Then, I smile (on the outside) when co-workers tell me “Oh I wish I had a friend I could set you up with, you deserve a good woman.”… or… 40-somethings who kinda-sorta flirt (“you look hot today“), uh huh -sure, but they even makes me wanna pump my chest out and shout “MEBBE I AM SOMETHING”… Then I go home and retire in my lil’ twin bed alone. Well, sometimes Jackson let’s me sleep with him. (He’s a cat. Don’t start any’o them rumors.)

I wanna call my mom. Can’t.. I wanna dial up Pops. Can’t.. Ok, I’ll call my sister. Nope. Dammit Jim… it’s ROUGH in this cold cold world.

And then……….

I surf the web and find a couplea articles like I found tonight. If u got the time, a sad read. But, if you’re like me, and u throw these silly, goofy, unwarranted pity parties… it kinda jolts you upright. “Mebbe I ain’t got it so bad.” No, scratch that. “I’m lucky.” Yes, “I’m lucky.”

The first is about an 11 year old boy from Jakarta, Indonesia. There’s a pic of his parents walking him to an orphanage. “Be tough, I’m sorry you have to go.” “I’m not throwing him away.. I just want him to get a proper education.” His parents make $2 to $3 a day, with about half of that going toward their daily rent. There just isn’t enough left over to send him to school, feed him and his two brothers.

If ya wanna… it’s

http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/asiapcf/06/24/indonesia.boy/index.html

So then I felt pretty shitty about my complaints.. But I’d just been to my cousin’s house, and he’d spent a few weeks in South America - relating stories of all the orphanages, all the children given up by their parents so they hopefully would have a chance at life (rather than die of starvation.) So I searched "South African orphanages." First one I came across is for infants with AIDS/HIV.

It’s a tear jerker too, but if you dare: http://www.holeinthewall.org.za/story.htm

I’m very sorry for my pity parties. I feel guilty. I feel lucky. I am blessed. My life, on this planet, is blessed. Even if I never getta experience the “throes” with Elisabeth, I will have lived an incredible life here. Facta the matter is, I already have. I love waking each day. I love seeing my friends every day. I even love seeing our owner who ain’t given me a raise since Ott-6.

Perspective, it’s all about perspective. The little boy who saw the kid with the new, spiffy $140 Nike shoes… feeling sorry for himself ‘cause he had holes in his shoes… The kid who ran barefooted because his family could not afford shoes for him…. He was feeling sorry for himself.. And then he saw the child with no feet.

Life, to me, is all about taking it all in. ALL of it. And then, reacting, realizing, “you know, mebbe I ain’t got it so bad. I’ll try to wing this smile.”

I’m smiling. Not because of the attached stories. They sadden me. I only pray those two children are led to experience the appreciation of whatever good comes there way, and somehow smile about life. And I hope they lead long, happy lives. Life’s all about ‘shoes’. Not Shue’s.

Loveya, Victurd.