I'll admit it. It doesn't bother me. Oftentimes when I get bored, I read my own blog. Most of the time (I swear) it's in looking for typos or ways I could've been clever-er or more sensical with my transitions. I found a typo the other day on a post I must've read twenty times, which will only spur on this narcissistic habit (it's too late to go back and fix it). And then I realized I really like reading my blog because I always agree wholeheartedly with everything it has to say and I always get all the references.
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| What's that? Self-five? Nice! We out! |
I've been thinking a lot about synthetic happiness lately. Like how this one dude who is a paraplegic, this one dude who almost bought McDonald's, Pete Best, and this one dude who committed a big political scandal a while ago all believe they're happier now than they would have been had things worked out "in their favor". Then there's all these studies about ugly cat posters that you're stuck with that I get but not enough to spout back to you and make it cohesive and entertaining, so you'll just have to take my word for it. I use 'there's' regardless of the number of the following noun and I have a velleity to change it, but if I use it in speech consistently, I suppose I shouldn't be bothered. Did you know 'linguipotence' is a word? If two roots can combine, are they technically already a word even if no one uses it? Either way: barring any factor of chemical imbalance, etc., you're going to
make yourself a certain level of 'happy'. I wonder if it's just situational and not comprehensive. Or like, I really like this ugly cat poster now that you made me buy it with my father's organ money and I'm happy with my decision and oh, by the way I'm dating Bradley Cooper and I'd say my happiness on a scale of 1-10 is about a 9.7 or I really like this ugly cat poster now that you made me buy it with my father's organ money and I'm happy with my decision and oh, by the way my boyfriend beats me three times a week and I'd say my happiness on a scale of 1-10 is about a 9.7. The basis of this argument is just a component of the cognitive dissonance theory, but that's not the part I think I'm questioning. Is there really such a thing as non-synthetic happiness anyway? An emotion is a fucking emotion and none of them isn't subject to being created in my brain. We manufacture every commodity we strive to feel. If I get super hot, win the lottery, and hire men with broad shoulders to fan me with palm leaves every afternoon, am I gonna be just about as happy as I am now, being normal looking, lottery-less, and using the air conditioner like a normal Westerner? If I were cleaning the bar at Longhorn Steakhouse right now, would I be as happy as I am sitting in my room with a balcony that got cleaned yesterday by my maid? Is this only about situations that are irreversible? What situation really is irreversible? If I think something is going to make me happy, does it therefore, when achieved, make me happy? Why is that deemed 'natural happiness'?
Especially if other people are better than us at predicting what will make us happy. Maybe I'm overthinking this; what's more, I definitely don't know enough about this topic to have given it the amount of attention I just did, especially 'publicly'. I suppose I'm hoping you don't either.
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| Hens eject more sperm from socially subordinate males. You heard me. Explains my attraction to alphas. It also explains why chicken is so delicious. Also: did you know chickens got it on like this? |
So, I realized something yesterday that about knocked me off my rocker. Here it comes: I live within a hop, skip, and a jump of
three KFCs. THREE. If I go to a KFC down the street from my house and they are out of that mashed-potato-chicken-cheese-corn bucket, I have TWO more chances before I have to either break a sweat or hop in/on a vehicle and gallivant further away from my abode. By the by, since I have yet to eat at a KFC in HCM, I cannot start. Like using the library at Iowa -- once I went three years, my senior year it just wasn't an option.
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| CRAZY BUFFALO DARES YOU NOT TO MOOOOOOVE AWAY! |
In a surprising turn of events, lately I've been contemplating staying here (future Jackie (or present, editing Jackie) is contemplating getting the fuck out). Don't tell my mom. Unfortunately, it's not out of any real desire -- it's out of sheer laziness. It wouldn't surprise me if the place I end up is just the place where I run outta gas. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that and I more than suppose that that's not unique to me. I just never thought I'd say that. Yet.
Seguing from that paragraph, I just started a list of things I miss about America. Then I stopped because it posed too many self-threatening questions. Here's the list of things of things I wish I missed the most:
1. a "democratic" government
2. clean sidewalks
3. my mom
Here's the real list:
1. The Big Ten Network, or the equivalent thereof
2. Wal-Mart
3. an easily accessible array of granola varieties and breakfast cereals to choose from
Do you ever wonder
just what the hell happened? When did I start finding Wal-Mart cathartic? Did I not ever analyze this sector of my brain so I could continue on maintaining the delusion that I'm super-pro Mom & Pop? And I don't feel my missing The Big Ten Network is indicative of my actual personality, but the thing is, it is. There's no way around it. Sometimes after I drink a lot of soy milk or get false eyelashes or yell at a taxi driver, I give myself the heebie jeebies. Not the bad heebie jeebies, just the normal, weird kind.
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| I was hiding under your porch because I love you. |
I was tutoring this young, nice, super-rich girl in the Pearl today. Looking out her window, I could see SKYSCRAPERS. I couldn't fucking believe it. I'm living in a town with SKYSCRAPERS. Not just one, but a whole line of them. A whole line of them whose beauty is simultaneously astounding and forgettable. I've been here for 9 months and I'm still walking out the door expecting to see a skyline comprised of 4 Kwik Stars, a Denny's, a Mickey D's, and a Super 8. I live in the 43rd biggest city on the planet and I keep on forgetting. It made me really happy; it was strange. For a number of reasons. The most prevalent of which is that lately I've been feeling I need to live in a smaller town to appreciate Vietnam. Those aren't mutually exclusive at all, you're right. I also don't see myself ever wanting to live in a big city. Or even just living in one. BUT GUESS WHAT?
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| Oh, I don't know. There are plenty of things I can think of to do. Maybe go downtown and try to find a Vietnamese man named "Phil". |
Man, sometimes I look at my life and I think, "My God, what have I done?" Other times I do the same and think, "My God! What I have done!" I was having a few days of the former kind this week. And then my maid bought me canvas WITHOUT MY ASKING. AND NOT JUST ONE BUT FIVE. This woman brings us English muffins, does our laundry, cooks us dinner, notices my interests and aids me in my creativity. Who needs a boyfriend? It's so cool when people notice shit and then
do. So often people
don't. I don't a lot. If people just knew the shit we liked and what we wanted, maybe people would buy each other canvas more often. Maybe I would have a room full of canvas. Maybe I would buy canvas for other people so much that the canvas girl from the art shop down the street would learn my name and give me a hefty
giảm giá.
I hate conclusions in the same way that I hate goodbyes. I would much rather exit a party unannounced.
xoxo,
J
