Can I get Another Fortune Cookie?

I overreacted again. If only it was just me that had to deal with the mixed bag of emotions after doing so. If only it was just me that was going to have to sift through the wreckage and clean up the mess.

Ugh, now I’m going to have to grovel at the feet of my victims again; ain’t gonna be the first time, or the last. Sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?

Guilt stinks!

So what is it, inside us, that when called upon will allow anger and confusion to be produced and released, most commonly on those we love, and usually as Shock and Awe?

Do you really want to know? Shhhhhhhhhhhhh, are you ready? Here it is:
INSECURITY!!!!!!!!

There you have it, the Godfather of all arguments! It’s the ringleader of regret, the ambassador to anxiety, and the shepherd of Should've-thought-it-through-ville.

A bouquet of negativity pieced together in an arrangement of indecision, anxiety, hesitancy, and self doubt; that’s insecurity.

Now as I raise this candle in front of me, I want you all to know that I am a recovering sufferer of massive insecurities. I am doing my best to make changes though, and according to my latest fortune cookie, I am very good with garden tools. Huh?

Anyway, it doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to know where overreaction comes from. I mean I haven't broken any new ground here.

Many of us have insecurities and for those who choose to stay unearthed and who have chosen to keep with the belief that excessive reactions, bearing highly inappropriate behavior and or violence, are warranted- WAKE UP!

In my humble opinion, it's time to let go of the complete lack of confidence and the plethora of selfishness. It's time, for me at least, to show my loved ones just how strong I can be. Now if I could just put a stop to the reactions snowballing out of control.

Unfortunately, I find myself tested time and time again and coming up a little short. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments where, I feel, I've handled situations perfectly. It's just that the ones I didn't handle so well, well, they just supersede.

I'll give you an example. One Friday evening not that long ago I was gleefully driving home from work. Somewhere along the way I started to realize just how magnificent that night was going to be. No rhyme or reason, just an innocent, non clinically proven manic depressive, clinging to a passing wave of joy. Gosh that sounds depressing. Anyway, the closer I got to home the more my appearance took on the look of a four year old who has just seen the Christmas tree skirted with presents. For some strange reason I picked this night to be the night that would define all others and by the time I got home I was bursting with anticipation. I do that so often; I get so pumped up and mega excited about something that it's almost destined for doom.

So what was going to make this evening so awesome you ask? Well, I figured we would eat something fun for dinner, play awesome games with the kids, give them a tub filled fun bath, read many many books and put them to bed. After that my perfect outline for adult time would be followed. It states; a Couple of drinks, a little Wii, a magnificent back rub for me and a few more drinks. Maybe even a pizza around eleven for good measure.

Look, when you're borderline bipolar, the simplest of activities can get you going. Nevertheless, I was so overly excited at how perfect the night was going to be that it should have been a sign.

Ok, I roll up the driveway and walk into the garage. Just as I'm hitting the button to close the door I hear my 3 year old crying and coughing. Then, with the audibility equal to that of a rock smashing through plate glass, my smile broke in half bringing the corners crashing down. My shoulders then dropped hard enough to allow my joints to dislocate, nearly putting my finger tips to the floor. My head then plunged, seemingly separating my spine, somewhere between cervical six and seven, I think.

I know I know! It was a cough and crying for goodness sake. You would have thought I was getting ready to walk into a concentration camp filled with mutants who were plagued by a flesh eating disease of biblical proportions. I just knew that my anticipation had murdered another awesome evening, which it had done so many times before.

Then, as the garage was almost finished sealing me in for good, I called upon my neck muscles and whipped my head around. I did this just in time to see a vision of all of the neighbors. They were hand to mouth pointing and giggling. It was in slow motion nonetheless. Their laughter was billowing around me to where I could feel the pressure on my face.

Now in spite of all this, I took in a deep breath and turned for the door. As I grabbed for the knob, I prepared myself for the mass quantities of decaying flesh and bone. I then gathered up my dangling extremities, up righted my flopping head and entered the dwelling a beaten man. I carefully tried to conceal my total annihilation of the weekend appearance and greeted my family. I then painfully hoisted my broken lips and did my best to hold together the fractured smile. My broken body began to give off pulsations of horrific pain, yet I listened as my wife spoke. She said to me "Guess what, DJ has a slight fever and Abby has a little tummy ache". Ohhhhhh the pain!!!

I know what you're thinking, not that big of a deal right? Yes, you would think that I could have just realigned my inner gear shifter to the "PARENT NEEDED MODE", right? Not me! Remember, I planned this night to stand apart from all others. For whatever reason, this was to be my swan song of Friday nights.

What I'm about to type now is exactly what I thought I heard come pouring out of my wife's mouth. I swear this is what she said; Gary Help!!! DJ has a fever of a hundred and twelve and is periodically bursting into flames! -And- Abby is in our room bleeding from the eyes, speaking in tongues, and projectile vomiting into all of our dresser drawers!

Now, after I held an imaginary fuel can above my head, doused myself, and struck up an entire book of matches, I proceeded forward with a counter offensive. It was as follows: Phase 1: I asked my wife how in the heck she could let all of this happen, AGAIN!
Phase 2: I told my daughter that she eats too much junk and NEVER eats anything healthy and that's why her stomach ALWAYS hurts.
Phase 3: And the most preposterous of the three installments to the "Sickness handling plan" was to ask my son to skip his next six years, moving him right to age ten.
This was not one of my shining moments let me tell you.

What's really sad is this is just one of many examples of my overreacting. Oy vey! Why can't I just relax and go with what's been presented in a more soothing, comforting manner that's best for everyone involved? Anger laced with confusion always seems to be the first bubble to come to the surface in my pot to pop. I want to handle change and adversity better, I really do!

Then, to throw in some more confusion, you have those times when I walk in the door and find my wife dressed in full riot gear. Obviously she is in preparation for my reaction to the latest less than perfect news. Ironically, those are the nights I come home full of hugs and with the strength of a thousand men. Go figure.

I can only imagine what it's like for my wife to have to give me news of a less the perfect nature. I picture two bridges for her to cross. One is a ten thousand year old, canyon connecting, wood stepped suspension bridge. It is supported by rope and is ready to snap at any second. The other is a ten thousand year old, canyon connecting, wood stepped suspension bridge. It is supported by rope and it too is ready to snap at any second.

How in the hell does she choose?

Memo to Phil

I just got finished watching the movie 2012 and it got me thinking. Why are all historical prophecies riddled in negativity? Why do they always forecast doom? I'm confused and my history may not be so good so tell me: Were the Mayans a repressed group of lost souls whose purpose was to draw up the blueprints of the demise of future civilizations and then to vanish?

It seems to me that diddling in the realm of negativity made it painful for these mystical people and therefore brought about a short lived existence. I mean with all of the sacrifice and ceremonial beheadings you would think one might have wanted to steer clear of the doomsday prophecy. Perhaps calling out the end of the world, every other Thursday, was not such a good idea.

Maybe they should have spent a little more time focusing on something positive. Maybe they should have predicted something pleasant, something like: Someday, many years from now, a guy named Teddy will have ten beautiful children; ten lovely human beings who will help their dad grow to become the greatest and most gracious ruler ever to sashay in the shadows of the earth's natural wonders.

Then maybe they could have predicted that these ten do-gooders would’ve been instrumental in putting an end to all ceremonial sacrificial carnage. Not long after that they might have gotten up the nerve to lay down a ballsy declaration like seeing to it that no one would ever suffer through another celebrity power couple naming, ever again!

Na, lets just stick with fiery painful end of days and while we're at it, let’s disembowel a few more of the weak and needy just for good measure; all in favor?

The Mayans weren't the only ones, you know. There would be prophets to come; perhaps none more influential than Nostradamus. What was his story anyway? Was this joker so tormented throughout the adolescent years that it paved the way for such priceless prediction gems as his own death and world war III?

Seriously, were the prophets of yesteryear the nerdy kids at the lunch table? Were these depressing souls dampened by a swirly or two? Maybe they were Goth misfits?  

I’m getting the feeling had some of the earlier predictions been made sometime in the latter part of the 20th century, that maybe they would have been whispered through the vent slots of a dark school locker; Just sayin’.

Nostradamus, Patheticus, Unappreciatus, Miserableshitakus; tell me something, Where was John? I’ll be damned if a John would’ve laid down some miserable run on sentence of modern day disaster; not even if he saw THESE trying times looming.

John would be strong but gentle; course but fair. John would have taken into consideration the children and the elderly. John would’ve united the masses, all the while separating the strong, and those that would be protected.

I’ll bet John would have bestowed upon us, pleasant, current, and necessary declarations like; "So and so is going to put out the next celebrity sex tape" and maybe the answers to "What the hell happened on Lost"! You can always trust a John.

So I ask you: WHERE IN THE HELL IS JOHN? Where are all the positive predictions of today? Where are all the feel good forecasts? Where are all of the happily ever afters and uplifting news stories?

I'll tell you where they are. They are buried in shallow literature graves and are being held dormant by the Duke of depression himself; the modern day Kukulkan; the great dictator, less all others. He is… some editor dude named Phil, I think.

He knows it! He knows that negativity feeds the masses and nourishes the ignorant, and quite frankly, we should be tired of it.

Hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, Paris Hilton, earthquakes, global warming, drought, std's, celebrity rehab, killer bees, bed bugs, rising gas prices, murderers, molesters, SARS, west Nile, swine, Ebola, polar ice caps and David Hasselhoff. ENOUGH ALL READY!!! WE GET IT!!!

Hey, speaking of the ice caps, here is my thought on that issue. I say we have a corporate group bottle the stuff that is melting and hawk it during the upcoming Olympic Games. It could be put to a Morgan Freeman voice overlaid commercial. The other thought I had would be to distribute it to underprivileged nations around the world, who so desperately need it, but why do that?

Ooh wait, hot off the presses! Hey Phil, some unfamiliar cellulite was found jiggling on the beaches of southern California this past weekend. That of course should pale in comparison to the profound rumor that Hugh Jackman and Eliza Dushku may have hooked up. The alleged couple's new uni-name is already in.........."Man-Doosh".

(Deep inhalation)

So where was I......Ahh yes, in my most humble of opinions here is what I think all of the negativity over the years has done for us: It has polluted our teachings, printed material, fantasies and our air waves. It has given birth to such priceless treasures as war, poverty, famine, disease, bigotry and OCD. Not to mention spandex, lunchables, botox, Ernest Angley, any show on FOX that starts with “WORLDS MOST” or “CELEBRITY”, and the potato chip bag re-sealer.

Furthermore, because of all of this, we have been shown since birth how to feel anger towards those who prosper and also to bathe ourselves in other's misfortune. Thanks ancestors; thanks Phil!

Are we so shallow that we can't for a second allow ourselves to breathe in someone else’s fresh air? I don't know about you but after I read that Jimmy Joe and Effie Mae just won the Mega Millions I don't feel like I need to travel to Ditchbilly Kentucky to see to their death. I'm happy for them! Sure I would love to have won it myself but hey, there is always another play. Besides, that long drive would simmer the rolling boil anyway.

And another thing, why does the front page of the morning paper have to show pictures of the one surviving child sitting outside of the four hundred passenger bullet train that just crashed into the Romanian orphanage? I'm not saying to lay a blind eye on disaster but can't the news give us some uplifting stories, just once in a while?

I say stop incessantly regurgitating current waves of unimaginable hardships. I also say stop digging up historical scrolls of doom contaminated with prophetic catastrophes. I'm full fledged tired of feeling depressed on the cue of the rooster and being prepared by mid day for the end of it all!

This life is short enough that I don't need to be spending most of it peeking through the blinds during breaks I’ve taken while constructing my very own fall out shelter. God knows I have enough to do before bed as it is.

There are positive things to hear and read about out there! I want those! We all know that crime, unfortunate events and violence are everywhere so constantly bombarding us with it is just plain detrimentally redundant. Shoot, wasn't it just a short time ago that Disney was telling us not to forget to dream.

And another thing, tell me if I'm wrong but aren't we taught as small children to smile to others, that it is contagious; To do unto others as you would have done to you; To lend a helping hand? Well I've got news for you, somewhere along the line these great words of wisdom were grapvined into; Don't stare it's a threatening gesture ; Take what you can before they do; and lastly; Don’t get involved, they'll be alright. Migration to the dark side is a joyride, I guess.

Now, on many occasion, I myself have wondered if there was something I could do about all of this that would conjure up a spark and Ignite the people in a delightful fashion. I've always felt that there had to be something I could do.

Well guess what, seeing the 2012 re-run was my falling apple because it has come to me.

Short, plain and simple, I should start an all positive news paper. Hey, maybe I could even convince folks to pay for it. I'm talking about real uplifting stuff. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Imagine page after page of joyful articles gleefully portraying mediocre existences in a light so bright you'd shed a tear; a circulatory information publication that would unite the thirsty and ignite the desperate.

This would be a paper where the weather page would exist only if it was to be sunny. Here, the sports page would report victories without scrutiny and would playfully mock defeat with an inspirational epilogue. My police blotter would read of wallets returned, murderers rehabilitated and of hookers that not only provide bliss but tutor quantum physics as well. The local section in my paper would not run the story of the toddler who was sent to the docks to inspect uranium containers in order to support his crack saturated parents. Instead, my paper would run a local piece that produces the headline that reads:
After a long and perilous journey, little orphan Davy Tatum was adopted today at the tender age of 52.

There has to be a plethora of positive news out there to report on, don't you think? I'm going to get to work on this, ASAP! I am also now going to go on record:
Read Ye Read Ye.....From this day forth, I Gary, shall never READ, LISTEN or INGEST another PASSAGE, SOUND OR PRODUCT OF SUSTENANCE that is of a nature less than that of positive.