My Island of Happiness

Sometimes people really bug me. I mean really, really bug me.

You see, I expect a certain amount of decency, respect, and courtesy from everyone. In return, I display the same when I encounter other people. If I'm having a bad day, I make a conscious effort not to snap at people, or treat them with anything but a smile,  no matter how much I'm stewing inside. Why? I believe that no matter what is irking me, it's really not their problem and I'm not going to force them into dealing with it by treating them poorly. Needless to say, when I see people engaging in rude, short, or temperamental behavior, I become irritated quickly.

Also, I'm sure you've heard the phrase, "there are no stupid questions." I am here to tell you that, yes, there are stupid questions. In fact, there are very stupid questions. Those bug me too. Such questions include, but are not limited to, questions which have been repeated several times, not for lack of understanding, but for lack of listening to the answer when it was originally offered. It not only suggests the disregard for courtesy as I previously mentioned, but it is really just not smart to blatantly display the fact that there was no courtesy by asking the question.

People who argue incessantly about things that have no right, wrong, or mutually agreed upon answer drive me crazy. Things like religion, politics, music choice, or really anything involving opinion will probably never be subjects with a general consensus of opinion by the human race, so please, for sanity's sake, stop arguing about it. Come to a compromise and drop it so that I don't have to hear about it. This means everyone will have to give a little, but in the end, agree to disagree or find the least objectionable option for all parties and let the rest of us have some peace and quiet.

I've been doing some thinking, and I've decided I'm going to run away. Far, far away. Specifically, I will be running away to a lovely tropical island that has not been placed on a map...all by myself. There will be no bridge to my island, and I will spend my days in peace, alllll by myself. Happy. So happy.

I will have no visitors. I'll come visit you. I can't have people knowing where to find me, after all. That defeats the purpose of my island, which primarily serves as an escape from the mindless babbling of the human race.

I will come off of my island only to refill supplies and possibly to work just long enough to save some money in order to purchase said supplies. Otherwise, I will be on my island indefinitely. And boy, will I be happy.

It's perfect.

Oh, And One More Thing

While we're on the topic of the Royal Wedding, I should add that I fully intend on seeing Kate's wedding dress at some point. It is now number one on my List of Things To Do Before I Die. Anyone who could make this happen is strongly encouraged to inform me. Immediately.

Alright. I'll give it a rest, but only for now. As soon as the royal couple announces a pregnancy, you know I'll be writing about it. Don't say you weren't warned.

Today I find myself in the northern parts of the Motherland. It's the annual Grandma's Week, and it's our first full day at the little brown cabin that used to seem so big. You see, Grandma's Week is a special week. My grandparents only had granddaughters, so it was all very cutesy for many years. All the girls would head up to the cabin with Grammie and Poppa in the old blue station wagon, and once we arrived, we'd scurry across the busy highway to the beach and played on the rickety teeter-totters and metal slides. Those, of course, are now completely inappropriate in today's But My Child Can't Get a Skinned Knee, He'll Never Recover From Embarrassment society, and have since been removed, so you can rest easy knowing we won't have any skinned knees here.

Here's where it got fun those days. There were six of us a the time (my sister wasn't born yet. She's the first to tell you our lives weren't exciting until the day she graced us with her presence...) and since we were young, we washed our hair in the lake and all in all didn't mind only having one bathroom, which was primarily for the four adults. Now things are different. Now we're in our twenties and thirties, and we most definitely do care that we share (a much needed) second bathroom, because now there are great grandchildren. Don't get me wrong, they're adorable, I love seeing them when I can...but 16 people is a lot more than 10.

Grammie still asks about the "plays" we put on for the adults when we were kids (and teens), which ranged in both quality and subject matter (literally, from marriage to basketball stars on steroids). Needless to say, I feel at this point that I am a little old for parading around in old, beat up prom dresses from the 80s on the front porch of the little cabin for all to see. Traffic has been known to stop and watch these plays. I wish I was kidding.

I have no doubt that many stories will come out of this little excursion, so stay tuned. After all, who doesn't love the classic situation involving 15 (yes, there is 1 boy now) women, two bathrooms, and only 4 bedrooms? It can only lead to one thing: Thinking. About how much we really do need another bed.