Up My Own Ass

I am a huge believer in the laws of attraction, as well as meaningful coincidence.  I am also a big believer in heavy sarcasm.  Sometimes it can be hard to reconcile this juxtaposition.  I have recently begun practicing the theories behind the big, fat secret, and I know they work…just like running 100 miles a day will undoubtedly help you shed a few pounds, but it’s still a lot like work.

Interesting Sidenote:  Did you KNOW that it was, in fact, Suzanne Whang of House Hunters fame that introduced Oprah Winfrey to “The Secret?”  True, albeit weird, story.

So, anyway…the basic gyst of The Secret is that you ask the universe for something and then wait while the universe processes your order and then sends it to the fulfillment center which then fills your order, NO POSTAGE REQUIRED…seriously.  You can see where the sarcastic part wants to go for the jugular, right?

Well, I placed my order for a swimming pool to be installed in my backyard, so I will let you know how that pans out.

Seriously, the idea is that you have to want something SO badly that it consumes you.  It has to be the only thing you think about, and you have to think about it all the time.  I have wanted a handful of things in my life that badly, and I have gotten each and every one of them…so far, except the swimming pool.

You also have to create a “vision board.”  You should make it so that you wake up and see what you want every day, so that it never leaves your mind, and it inspires you to continuously think about this thing you want.  This is just one chromosomal abnormality away from stalking.  Just in case you are confused – it is OKAY to put a picture of black Christian Loubutin pumps on your vision board, but it is NOT OKAY to put Christian Louboutin on your vision board…you see the fine line?

I would like for the universe to know that I want money.  Lots of money.

I would also like for the universe to know that I am tired of seeing people that HAVE money piss it away on stupid shit.  I want my shower repaired so that I don’t have to duct-tape tiles back to the wall, and I want those little bastards down the street to stop spraypainting on the front of my fucking house.  I want the aforementioned Wild West Attraction to pony up the dough that they owe me, and I want the ladies that I spoke with to get gonorrhea.

I want to replace my countertops that are original to my circa-1972 house (white formica with a vein of gold).  I would also like the asshole that put up all the paneling in my house to get a boil in his armpit.  I want to refinance my house to a more reasonable interest rate.  I want for people to buy my books.  I want some cake.  I would like for the gecko that was in my bedroom last night to make it back to the safety of the outside.  I want some seed money for my fella’s photography business.  I want a new wardrobe.  I want to be able to get the brakes fixed on the car.  I would like to know how all the peanut shells got hoarded in the corner next to my couch.  I want more attractive feet.  I want REALLY GOOD bras.  I want to be able to afford to send my kids to college.  I want to go to Pinnacle Peak for dinner.  I want to go to San Diego.  I want a more even skin tone.  I want permission to punch people.

And yes, I want fries with that.

There, I really think I have this “secret” thing down pat.  I can’t wait for the swimming pool OR the permission to punch people.

The world is my oyster.