Pink Pee and Poop. The Secret Ingredients To Happiness.

These may look like the random ingredients of a food challenged schizophrenic’s lunch. Or they belong to a Russian peasant whose secret ingredient for her award-winning Borscht — is Fritos.
They are both.
They are mine.

These are the ingredients which will eventually make up my future.

What? I hear you asking. (Actually, I toned it down. It’s still early.)

It’ll make sense in a minute. Let me explain.

My Muse loves Fritos so I snarf them down while I write. They make her happy, so in turn, I suppose they make me happy. And they make me salty. And puffy. And maybe ten pounds over the twenty pounds over that last five pounds I just can’t seem to loose.

The beets were to replicate a ridiculously delicious beet soup I had with my writing tribe in Mexico last month. Yes, beets and delicious belong in the same sentence. Nettie gave us the recipe after observing six grown women reduced to a band of bowl licking freaks. I’m dead serious.

I even used my food processor. I NEVER use my food processor.
I chop, microwave or order out of menus.
My food processor is just for decoration.
It says to people, “Hey, this chick is the real deal, she follows a detailed recipe, processes stuff, and serves it to people who enjoy their food the consistency of baby food.”
Mostly my food processor sits quietly collecting dust. That is until my husband fires it up to process fancy baby food for us to eat.

And it turns everything pink. Like bright magenta pink.
Not the processor. The beets.
And by everything I mean pee and poop. Oh, sorry. Is it too early?

Anyhow, all this to say I have a shit ton of weird ingredients around me these days (because my life barely resembles itself anymore), that make me happy in some way or another. Some I’m aware of, like the beets and the Fritos, others I am not, like the…well, I’m not aware of them so…I’ll let you know as soon as I find out what they are.

When I’m happy I keep moving forward. My feet aren’t stuck in cement and I’m no longer wishing I was anywhere but exactly where I’m standing. It’s fucking liberating.

It’s so interesting to look around and see the actual things that are coalescing to become your future. Blogs, and musicals, screenplays and articles all facilitated by happiness. Simple Frito and beet happiness. And chocolate. Barges and boatloads of chocolate.

Look around right now. What are YOUR ingredients?

Fido. Fido makes you happy AND he gets you out walking which puts your lazy ass in nature and as we all know, walking in NATURE is when all the great ideas come. And it lifts your ass and puts pink in your cheeks.

That bicycle taunting you in the garage. You rode it last weekend, the nature thing happened, AND you met a nice guy when you were stopped looking at the view ( allowing your heart rate to come back to a level that was a little less lethal). When you look back you’ll remember THAT was the day you met HIM.

The invitation to that dinner party you keep forgetting, avoiding to RSVP to, where you will sit next to the guy who will eventually become a good friend and give you the loan to start that business you’ve always dreamed of.

The book on the nightstand that will say something to you that will resonate so strongly that your boobies will tingle and it will change the way you think about things for the rest of your life.

I can hear you. “Wait!”  you say, “Those aren’t ingredients that will combine and lead to my future. They’re just a dog, a book, my bike, and an annoying dinner invitation.”

Are you sure about that?

That feet in cement thing is something I wrote yesterday, as a note, potentially for the screenplay:

“It turns out that by denying the life that was calling me, I kept my OWN two feet stuck in cement. I wouldn’t allow MYSELF to fly.”

That makes me tear up.

Hey, if I cry do you think my tears will be pink?

Carry on.
xox