We have done with the kisses that sting,
        The thief’s mouth red from the feast,
The blood on the hands of the king
        And the lie at the lips of the priest.

Obnoxious

“Successful” guys can be so—

I’d rather date a bus

boy.  He probably wouldn’t be such a—

Honestly, does anyone really need such a big set of

pecks?

I know you think you’re hot, so not

that my opinion matters, but really I just want to

splatter mud 

on your Abercrombie graphic T, pierce your lip,

give you a really ugly

tattoo—at least it would lend some

character.

No, I really don’t care about your stock

profile, so now, would you mind

wiping

some of the gel out of your hair?

Sometimes, it scares me

that I’d rather date the guy

smoking pot behind the dumpster outside the office, 

than date the guy who actually works

in the office—

I’ve looked at the hospital janitor

pushing a cart of dirty towels down the hallway and said,

“hmmm…” entirely overlooking

the doctor.

As much as I’d love to stare at your expensive tie

across the table,

I’m just so distracted by the cook.

He's back there sweating in the hot kitchen, 

breading chicken,

you know he knows

how to use his hands, how to grip a breast…

perhaps it would be best

if you didn’t order us a second bottle

of the place’s best red, 

let’s just admit this date is dead, so

excuse me while I swoon

to the taxi cab driver’s Spanish music on my way home.

He barely speaks English, and I barely Spanish, but

¿Que te pasa, papi?

The man who pays for a tan

from a bed doesn’t much impress me—I’d rather

a farmer tan rendezvous

‘cause it’s true

I do

think your tractor’s

sexy.

I’d rather a dude

be able to build me a house

than buy me one, would prefer to date

the guy who fixes the car

over the one who drives it, especially if, God forbid, it’s a sports car.

The rockstar in centerstage

will probably bore me to tears, unless of course he introduces me

to the drummer he just fired

for never being on time.

If you’re going to sing your own praises, I can promise you

I won’t be in the audience—instead you’ll find me

in the porta-john, making out

with the long-haired guy who writes

bad poetry.

So Good

“Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true.” 
― Zach Helm, Stranger Than Fiction: The Shooting Script 

The Crummy Capers of Butter Bottom, Wicked Jagoff Extraordinaire!

Once upon a time, there existed a beautious kingdom known to its magnanimous and moral inhabitants as Yinztown.  All about Yinztown were college students who attended the nearby Yinztown University, studying subjects such as bridge building, Yinzer Communications, and Yinzenomics.  It was a splendid place where the streets glistened with bright and dazzling magnificence, a place where nothing bad ever did-nothing bad ever could-happen.

But one day, all that changed, and it happened faster than you could say "powdered sugar."  That's because a rebel outlier to Yinztown decided that this would be the day she would let loose havoc on the innocent, sleepy village of Yinztown.  She has been identified by many aliases, but most know her as the unassailable, the brutish Butter Bottom.

Butter Bottom lived in a dark, greasy village far from the sunshine of Yinztown, and was typically kept at bay by Yinztown's ever-vigilant vigilantes, the Green Squad, specifically bred to protect and serve only food with substance in its center.  But today would be different.  Because today, Butter Bottom, perched on the outskirts of town, bit into a bad batch of doughnuts.  It goes without saying that doughnuts were a food strictly prohibited in Yinztown, due of course, to their empty cores, an obvious tip off to the doughnut's lacking moral character.  Butter Bottom cared not for the laws of the land, however, and decided to assault the poor, unsuspecting victims of Yinztown in true villainous fashion.

Butter Bottom packed up her notorious Sack of Evil, and set on her way into the town as the wholesome residents were just preparing themselves to begin a new day.  Passing into town inside a car she hijacked from a poor, upstanding member of society, Butter Bottom scoped out the scene: a few bicyclers, some pedestrians snacking on breakfast fare with centers, a member of the Green Squad scrubbing the glazed look of a window to a fabulous matte luster.  Ahah! He would be perfect!

Each member of the Green Squad of Yinztown was specifically created in a test tube to exhibit certain characteristics, each of which seemed deliciously exploitable to an outlaw like Butter Bottom.  Not only did they have bright green chests that could be easily tarnished with a dash of powdered sugar or cinnamon, but their heads were expressly developed to be slick and free from hair.  That way, anyone in need could easily spot the sunlight bouncing off the heads of one of Yinztown's saviors. Plus the Green Squad was far too busy keeping the streets clean of bad guys and confectious diseases to worry about fixing their hair just so.  Yet this apparent safety feature proved to be a scrumptious weakness for Butter Bottom-she could smack forbidden doughnuts right off this Green Squader's head, and he had nary a single hair to cushion his precious cranium from the attack! Haha! Oh the mind of an evil genius, rotted through with sugars and custard.  The Squad would be no match for Butter Bottom's decaying and festering evil.

Butter Bottom grabbed a handful of powdered minis, perfectly fitted for throwing in fast succession, and then, she waited.  The Green Squad member she had eyed up was totally involved in his task of window de-glazing--a perfect target.  Butter Bottom laughed an evil laugh, and as the smell of sour milk further tainted by stale doughnut crumbs wafted through the air, took aim.

Boom, boom, POW!  The Green Squad member turned, caught off guard, to make a flailing effort at self-defense, but his attempt proved to be full of holes.  The poor upstanding citizen driving the car at Butter Bottom's behest shirked in utter dismay and shame, but there was nothing she could do but drive--Butter Bottom had her by the doughnuts.

Other members of the Squad hurried onto the scene, and though she put up a good fight, they eventually took Butter Bottom down by exploiting her one weakness: obesity.  Butter Bottom tried her best to outrun the Squad, but her pudgy body undulated to and fro, full of jelly, and she had absolutely awful aerodynamics.  It is rumored that Butter Bottom was heard to shout "Calm dahn! It's just a couple a doughnuts, yinz guys!" This is, however, unverified as of this time.

Butter Bottom was taken by force to the only jail cell in existence in Yinztown.  It was a left over from the town's crummier days before the Green Squad had taken over, and it proved quite suitable to house Butter Bottom.  All of her doughnuts were seized and they made her watch as they crumbled each and every one, slowly and painfully, into a vat of bleach.

What was the fate of the poor upstanding citizen with the car?  Well actually, no one is quite sure.  She has not been heard from since the incident, but it has been rumored that each of her car's wheels were replaced with doughnuts, marking her shame for the world to see.  Apparently, she simply could not bear the disgrace, and moved out of Yinztown altogether to live out the rest of her days on the Equator, the center of the earth, the only place she could ever again feel whole.

The Green Squad member who was so viciously attacked had apparently, in his state of such distress,  actually been corrupted by Butter Bottom and had developed a taste for center-less foods lacking entirely of nutrition.  It is said that he helped Butter Bottom to escape, but the story has never been verified.

All that is known is that a few weeks after the incident, Butter Bottom simply disappeared from her cell, with only a glob of jelly left in her place, the only real evidence that anything awful had ever even happened in Yinztown at all.

*Note--the jelly was quickly wiped up, so actually there is no evidence whatsoever and the event has been entirely deleted from the history books, leaving a gaping hole smack dab in the center of Yinztown's history.

Guest Star!

I Do This for Me 

I yawn & breath 
to speak & see 
to know & find 
to search this world 
for peace of mind 

I yawn & breath 
to act & be 
to hold & seek 
across the plains 
for the authentic me 

I yawn & breath 
to know love 
to hold love 
to be love 
before this life's' last sleep. 


-by my good friend, Tisha Farris <3

Blue.

The cold steel ducked beneath his skin as if to hide from the news.  Feelin’ blue, she sits by the phone, leavin’ home he told her he’d do it alone.  The doctor’s voice doesn’t crack with the smack of the word cancer, jaded breath still flowing, in and out, bada-beat bada-beat, his heart throbs sound, doesn’t pound like the sound of her baby’s.

The talk of the clock hits hard as a rock, every tick that it tocks makes her heart wanna stop as she sits absent-minded, alone.  The phone sings, her mind rings…hello?

More tests, let it rest, with quickened breath, she protests, there’s no way that this could be true.  He cries on the phone, feeling sick, and blue.

Bald is beautiful, especially on babies, and him.  He says to she says and she says to he that when waters get rough, you just have to swim, both silently fearing his body won’t win, while calm doctors measure the life in his blood, count cells—red, white, and indifferent…

Her bare knees hit the porch, scrape raw against splintered hardwood, paint ragged and weathered—it peels to reveal the rough interior, while above rainclouds grumble and growl.

The owl takes flight

each night to hunt the blue jay,

who still manages
to sing

somehow.

How Do People Make History...?

My opinion...they push boundaries.  They challenge peoples' perceptions and norms and whatever it may be that they've always taken for granted.  They make people mad and they make them uncomfortable.  There is outrage, there is resistance, and then, this anomaly, this huge individual with the unyielding bravado becomes the status quo, and everyone forgets that they ever wanted to forget her.  And this is just the time when she must shake things up again.

Possible Titles for My Autobiography/Memoir

“I’m Kind of a Big Deal in Europe…,”or maybe…

“I’m Totally About to Be a Big Deal in Europe”

“Pooping in Public Restrooms—the Story of a Girl Living Life on the Edge of Her Seat,”

“DISASTER—fondly handled, heartily fondled”

“The Life and Times of the Poor and Fameless”

Or perhaps, just,

“The Unstoppable-Tameless.”

“It Was Me Who Took the Cookies From the Cookie Jar,”

No, definitely “The Lighter Side of Irreverence”

...”Benevolence, for the Otherwise Cold-Hearted,”

And “No-it Was Not ME Who Farted”

“You’d Know if it Was Me

Calling” “This Voices Knows Everything but Stalling”

And “Silence

Doesn’t Know My Name” “Not Scared

To Share My Shame

‘Cause I Don’t Have None.”

…yeah. That’s the one.

Inspiration Has No Respect

Inspiration has no respect
for your schedule.
It doesn't knock first,
and enter later
or apologize
for keeping you
up
all
night--it doesn't kiss
the back of your hand politely
upon first meetings, but
yanks you--kicking and screeching
your life
to a hault.

It pinches you at night, won't be quiet at
dawn; doesn't care if your contacts aren't in yet,
or the light isn't
on, because inspiration will seize you
...just when you didn't wanna be shook,
slap you hard and walk away, not even pay
a second look
and it's inconvenient
it's rude!
It pushes and it shoves,
when the dishes need doing
and the homework's piling up.

It rips at your itinerary,
grabs you by the cuff...but it's okay, 'cause inspiration
knows
I like it rough.

"There's gonna be a birth."

The beginning:

breath to lungs—the first romance; you “have” him.

Your body,

an exhaling cocoon from which

she alone

emerges—not as a fling, or some temporary

thing

but an ever-after

kind of

love.

And just because at first she may be small

Don’t be fooled; she’s not

your doll to flaunt

and dress, play games with before

delicately placing her back

on the shelf.

A baby

is cleaning up sick

and ick

at 4 a.m./

cuddling until

the Boogie Man goes to sleep/ he’s

pick-

ups and drop-

-offs

and a lifetime of asking you “why?”

...so be sure you know the answer,

Why.  Because

a baby cannot be kept

small

like a photograph

that you stow away

in your pocket, only to pull out at those times when you want to say

“yep, that’s my baby,”—can’t be stretched big

enough to fill

with dreams you couldn’t hold

in your own

hands.

He does not exist to make you proud,

but to learn

all the ways

to tell you

“no.” and to grow

into his own mind, her own heart

you’re her start,

but, remember, you’re just

the beginning.

To Look is Not to See; To Open Me Like a Book is Not To Read

All I could see were here feet, socks reminiscent of bandages from some war I'd never fought in, blue peaking out between folds of white like they'd been double-wrapped.

"Her nephew is here.  Yes, it's gotten a lot worse.  Ahuh.  Just wanted to check--ahuh...yes..."  The blue-scrubbed surgeon stood clear of the doorway with his cell phone, keeping his voice low.

I tried to focus on the six month's old copy of Good Housekeeping in my lap, awaiting the doctor's retrieval of me like a good patient, but...there was more talking, the hum from the room across the hallway evolving into a buzz around words like "cataract," "tumor," "radiation."

A man in clerical garb emerged from the room where all I could see were those stilled feet, and his smiling eyes persisted beneath his slick, baldy scalp.

The surgeon went on, now minimized to a disembodied voice, from within the room; "You're really doing great!" he said with strained enthusiasm, followed by nervous laughter aching to just cry already.  "You've still got one ear and one eye...you're doing okay!" he said as he re-positioned the feet which turned out to belong to a lady with the whitest hair.

"I will be okay," said the lady on the gurney, "because I want to be."  Her strength only fed my curiosity, and I took a quick glance up from an article about potted plant creations, just long enough to catch the very conspicuously-sized bandage engulfing her left eye.

"Her eye," said the priest man, leaning against the door frame, "was stuck, was attached to her eye-lid by a tumor," he went on to a lady who kind of looked like a receptionist and who seemed to pop up out of nowhere.  "She was trying to wash up under there, you know, it was getting encrusted, you know, and so..." the receptionist/rogue wanderer nodded, concerned, as the maybe-nephew went on.

"And so...the wash rag...it got...stuck," the man got ever-so-slightly uncomfortable.  "Her eye got stuck to the wash rag and...SCHWOOP!" With this he threw open his fingers in dramatic fashion, upward-facing palm, body jerking forward in a vomiting-like motion.

SCHWOOP! Just like that.

I marveled at the lady's face, small and weathered by years and infirmities but none the weaker.  She looked back, though I wondered how much she could see.  And as the kindhearted and well-meaning, albeit awkward, surgeon stood over his papers and the priest/nephew stood over his aunt and the wanderer took off to schedule and file, the doctor finally called me into his office.

Fun With Words

Some awesome new words I learned or relearned today:

Succubus--female demon who seduces men in the night; male form: incubus

Kismet--fate, destiny

Susurrus-a whispering sound...I'd call this one an onomatopoeia :) 

Phone Phucks

There are two types of people with whom I cannot stand talking on the phone...or sometimes just talking to in general, actually.

I. The "I Never Stop for a Breath" Talker

This is that dear friend who, for all the good about them and all their good intentions, just never takes a hint.  Phone conversations are lovely when they are quick and to the point.  Sure, a long talk here and there is great, but before you settle in for a good long chat, make sure the person on the other end of the line has the energy and time; please do not drag them, kicking and screaming, into "I wanna talk about me" land.

When I talk to someone, I like input.  I want to have a conversation, not give a damn sermon, so when people talk to me like they might just as easily be talking to a wall with no feelings or thoughts of its own, I call them preachers who bogart conversations and I will typically try to avoid speaking with them, especially on the phone, in the future.

This subject brings me to the second type of person I cannot stand speaking with, and they are called:

II.  The "I May As Well Be Plaster on the Wall Because I Am So Boring and Utterly Responseless" Individual

This is the one that bugs me the most, even more than the bogarter. This is the person that you can pour out your heart too, tell them what you think is probably the funniest story in the world, or with whom you bestow some other titillating little tidbits that you are excited to share with another human being, and what do you get?  "...Uh huh...yeah...grunt...*undetectable head nodding*...yeah."  Wow, thank you! I'm so glad we could have this conversation!  I may as well have just spent the past five minutes shellacking my toaster with cream cheese for all I have just gotten out of speaking to you just then.  Bravo!  Let's be sure to do this again...NEVER.

Thank you for reading and "Phuck you kindly."

Sicka Chicks

Chin strap beards in the corners of your photographs.
Glare on the hair dyed so many colors it's evident you can't make up your
mind.

I wonder what you see at the bottom
of that glass,
when it's on top
of your face...just space?
Swirlingspecks of lipstick
or lip-liner
or maybe a nice glossy shimmer, whatever you girls are wearing nowadays,
folded within the ebbs and flows of your drunken
backwash?

Is it fulfilling, this sight,
day in and night out, this sight, every night,
what life is all about?

 And it doesn't make me furious, that you leave me
out

because really
the next morning, what more have you gained?
Have you sustained
even a memory
from the washed-out stains
on your name...it's a shame,
because everyone has their party phase
but when it seems no longer to be just a phase
but, instead, a way to pass your days,
living long in that haze,
where potential's erased...

in your photographs, I see
you erode
at Mr. Toad's when that last call is called out
for the last
time,
and my rhymes might be all that remain
in your
mind, so have a good night
--now I'm gonna go
sHiNe.

Sal's Cologne

Every day and night, an old, old man who lives on my street takes a walk. He is always dressed to the nine, with a sharp hat and coat to match, and a thick, white handlebar mustache groomed to perfection. He stops to talk to people on his way up and down the street, and occasionally I run into him and stop for a chat. His name is Sal and he moved to Pittsburgh from Italy as a young man, evidenced by his thick Italian accent. He always remembers small details I tell him about my life and asks me about them when we run into one another, even as we meet in passing. He tells me about his homemade wine, and always gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, his white grandpa whiskers tickling my skin. It's heartwarming to know that such kind and caring people exist, and that even as a very old man or woman, there is still so much life to be lived, if only one chooses to live it. I will always remember my first deep breathe after each time we part ways, strong with the smell of Sal's cologne.

Lost.

You
are
sparkling...
gleaming
collecting
dirt, in the farthest corner
near the dustiest edges
of the most
forgotten
place.
I knew I'd find you
so I let you go, to
where?
Ah, yes, I know--that pocket
in that bag;
the space between the stove and the counter;
the tiny zipper part
of my purse, the spot
that exists solely for that moment
when you find it, that it you thought
you'd never
find
again...
the nightstand, beneath the nightstand, behind
the couch,
hovering inside
the bubble in the carpet--
you're there,
but as soon as I look,
try to measure you with my gaze
the uncertainty of your place, shifts space and
you're gone...
to my sock drawer, the dryer lint catcher, that box
inside the box,
inside the box in my head,
under the bed! In the covers...
hidden inside/under
just above/just below
beside
myself, I search and find
a line
of shimmering
dust.

I feel like joy.

"Life is short, but it is wide."

A Listy-List

I seem to have a new-found "thing" with making ongoing lists on my blog so, what the hay, here's another.

I shall deem thee, henceforth, my list of all-time favorite songs of...well...all...time.

I don't just mean songs I enjoy.  Or songs I really, really like. No, not necessarily even songs that I love.  This list is dedicated to only those songs that I find totally irreplaceable and which always have held and always will hold a warm, cushy spot in my heart, just for them.

MMmmm yummy. Let's begin. And in no particular order they are...

1.) Always Be My Baby--Mariah Carey

There is nothing I could be doing that I will not immediately drop to start belting this song at the top of my lungs.  Like...forever.  It will always be my baby (sorry, I had to).

2.) 100 Years--Five For Fighting

I can think of very few songs as touching and all-encompassing as this one.  If a song was a tangible thing, some glowing, warm little trinket that could be held in the palm of one's hand and cherished or given as a gift to someone oh-so special, I'd give this song to all of the kids in my family to grow up listening to and holding in their little hands until they gracefully reach 100 years and know what it's all about.

3.) Remember When--Alan Jackson

This song is along the same lines as 100 Years, though still very unique and special to me.  What 100 Years is to the individual, I'd say this song is to the couple.  It so beautifully attempts to capture a life and a love in the lyrics and melody of a song, and I would offer that it does a pretty damn good job.  Makes me long to live it out in my own way.

4.) Man in the Mirror-Michael Jackson

First of all. If you have a problem with Michael Jackson...I'm going to go ahead and say I have a problem with you.  He was an amazing man with about as kind, conscientious, and empathetic a heart as ever there was on this Earth.  I feel he was terribly misrepresented and misunderstood.  But back to the song.  This song is just one of his many calls to action for each of us to, essentially, be better people--to love more and give more and care more.  Music is a powerful, universal and far-reaching tool, and to use it in such a noble way, not to mention with such a rockin' beat (makes me wanna dance EVERY time), well that gains my respect and a place on my top songs of all time list :)

5.) The Way You Make Me Feel-Michael Jackson

I physically cannot NOT dance when this song is playing.

6.) In My Head--Jason Derulo

For years I have wondered when i would finally get sick of this song, and I finally know the answer to my question: NEVER. Dancey dance dance WOOO!

7.) Who I Am--Jessica Andrews

I am Edna's granddaughter...and when the day is done my momma's still my biggest fan.  It's all a part of me, and that's who I am.  Totally relate-able and inspiring.

8.) Light in Your Eyes--Sheryl Crow

9.) The Good Stuff--Kenny Chesney 

I feel like poo.

I feel like poo today.

First of all, my contacts are not the correct prescription and are annoying the ever-loving crap out of me like nothing has annoyed me before.  Well...that is a lie.  I'm sure things have annoyed me worse, or at least just as bad.

In keeping with the spirit of being agitated, peeved and/or experiencing a ruffling of one's tail feathers, I am going to make a rare exception on my blog.

I am going to write a post that is inherently negative.  Not in an artsy, brooding sense.  Just negative.  Just full of poop.

Typically i don't like to do this because I don't want to encourage negativity in myself or others, and quite frankly, who really wants to read something with "poo" in the title? I mean, it's a small miracle you've made it this far.

Since Christmas is right around the corner and we all know that Christmas requires cheer at any expense, let us take this opportunity to really give misery one last hoorah before we officially become jolly.

So here it is, my

LIST OF SHIT THAT BUGS THE CRAP OUT OF ME AND MAKES ME FEEL LIKE POO:

-contacts that do not work, and cause one to appear lazy when one avoids doing work at all costs because it gives one an awful headache, causing one's day to feel ruinous.

-the smell of broccoli.

-people who don't know how to drive.  Particularly Pittsburgh drivers.  Way too timid--be a little more aggressive.  When the speed limit says 65, it does not actually mean 40...it obviously means 80.  And you people who slow down instead of speed up when you reach an on-ramp, I'm definitely talkin' to YOU TOO.

-doing dishes. looking at dishes in the sink.  smelling dishes in the sink.  knowing dishes exist in the sink as I hide from said dishes in my bedroom wishing they would just disappear.

-being forced to wake up early.

-people past the age of six who cannot spell and/or use proper and correct grammar.

-southerners.  the war is over.  you LOST. we WON. now get over it, ya'll.

-people who regularly watch sports of any kind that they do not themselves actually play, or have not actually played in the past.

-ethnocentrism

-CIGARETTES, drugs. sorry if you look down on me for disliking these items.  but my vice is food and I prefer to keep it that way.

-chauvinism

-people who live in the USA but constantly talk about how awful it is to live in the USA.  no one is forcing you to stay here, bucco.  in fact, you should probably go try to live somewhere where you have no freedoms and where your children can't walk outside your own front door without fear of being shot at from a tank.  please, feel free to leave, I'll get a good chuckle out of it, and I looove me a good chuckle.

-whorebags
-whorebags
-whorebags

-when anyone, including myself, does not live up to their full potential in life


But, after all of this is said and done, let me just tell you all one thing that I absolutely, positively, love love love and ADORE:

...YOU!

Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza/Whatever the Hell Tom Cruise celebrates

Much love. Ya'll come back now, ya hear?

More Happiness

Almost two years ago, I started what I hoped to make into a continuous post on my blog, and that post was about what, essentially, happiness is made of.  I asked a bunch of people who I thought might have interesting answers their take on the path to happiness--what traits, activities, or mindsets make a person more predisposed to living a life of true bliss, at least for the most part!

I posted my own personal response on my blog, followed by the responses of  a few great friends, and I feel all of our answers were marvelous suggestions to the eternal puzzle of true happiness and what makes up its foundation. Here is the LINK:

Happiness

I was so appreciative of the folks who provided (incredibly wonderful) answers to my question, but, disappointingly, there were only a small few.

I am going to try to jump-start this conversation once again, because the topic is important and moving and life-changing and hey--maybe it will reveal a piece of your puzzle that's been hiding right beneath your nose all along.  We can all help each other with our own suggestions, and each of us can learn from another, as well.  Even if you don't see fit to adopt any suggestions into your own life, some little nugget may just open up another corner of your mind, because being open to new ideas and perspectives is a virtue in itself. 

Be mindful of one of my very FAVORITE quotes of all time, by Aristotle: "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."

So who wants to be a guest star on the ol' blog?  I will specifically ask some people, but anyone and everyone is welcome to send me a response.  Just send whatever you'd like to add to this discussion to my email (or in a Facebook message if you so choose)!

Jstreussnig@zoho.com

And again, here is the link to my original post for background and inspiration:

Happiness

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AND HERE ARE THE FABULOUS RESPONSES! THANK YOU TO ALL PARTICIPANTS--I HOPE TO INCORPORATE YOUR WISDOM INTO MY LIFE.

"'The greatest degree of inner tranquility comes from the development of love and compassion. The more we care for the happiness of others, the greater is our own sense of well-being.”

-  Tenzin Gyatso, 14th Dalai Lama

It sounds oh-so-cliché, but the first thing that comes to my mind when I think about happiness is love.  For me, you cannot have true love or true happiness without the other.  Now, having a significant other is not the only way to experience this.  Just having someone who cares is enough.  The feeling that you matter to someone.  Love unconditionally and, in turn, unconditional happiness will follow.  This provokes the on-going question of what love means, but I digress. 

I have been searching for happiness my entire life, but I consciously put effort to the cause about 4 years ago after my father died.  I feel like I am finally starting to make progress in my life-long quest to finding the answer. 

I feel the most full and satisfied (or happy) when I have all of my shit together, for lack of better words.  Now, of course no one can ever have everything all together entirely, but you know, for the most part.  A balance is required.  Focus on every aspect of your life instead of fully devoting yourself to one little part.  When you focus on one thing and neglect the rest, the rest starts to deteriorate until nothing is left.  My life parts consist of my family, friends, relationship, dog, work, and school.  More often than not, people our age will put all of their energy into their relationship with their significant other, and that’s not horrible or anything, but there needs to be a sort of balance.  Same goes for focusing on some other aspect like school or work.  All of these things are of equal importance (to me at least). I believe that when there is a balance, there is happiness.

I have experienced times in my life where I think “This is it.  This is how it’s supposed to be.”  That’s when I know I am truly happy, if only for a moment.  For example, the last time I can consciously remember was over the summer.  It was late in July, and my friends and I were gathered in Hannah’s back yard for a bonfire.  The night sky was beautiful, the weather was perfect, and I yearned for nothing.  I was surrounded by people I love, and there was such a positive aura surrounding us.  I wasn’t worried about anything; I was only happy.  I know that’s a really simple example, but happiness can genuinely be as simple as that. 

As Andy Warhol once said, “You have to be willing to get happy about nothing'."

--Alaina Elias, Civil Engineering student at the University of Pittsburgh and Civil Engineering Co-op at Westinghouse Electric Company

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"Eventually, there is a breakdown. It's usually over something little, like a criticism, or forgetting to pay my bills on time, or maybe it's something bigger... a death in the family, rejection, or fear. Sometimes it takes something truly vile and dark to open your eyes to what beauty you may have been missing, and for me, that came in a college course, through the words of Viktor Frankl:

'Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response.'

I'll admit it, I am one of those people who believe quotes can change lives. Frankl wrote this in his memoir Man's Search for Meaning, his personal philosophy and psychology, after being held prisoner in a concentration camp for many years. With his philosophy, he was able to overcome so much pain, reiterating how the only way out is 'through.'

Once I began to understand that I was only a prisoner of my mind, my self-destructive behavior, medications, and therapy all stopped. There are millions of things in this world that we are unable to control, but sometimes we forget about the one thing we have absolute control over: our reactions. Maybe it's not as easy as waking up everyday and telling yourself it's going to be a great day, but then again -- maybe, it is.

For me, happiness is a choice, and it starts with each moment."


--Cassandra Pierce, Psychology student at the University of Pittsburgh

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"As for my reply the short answer would have to be a sense of purpose and love, in which ever order suites you. To feel as if you've accomplished something and to have a sense of purpose for the moment and for the moments to come puts life into perspective, I feel. It makes it easier to wake up the next day and try try try again and thus increases one's level of happiness. And to have love makes it all worth while. It doesn't have to be the romantic love we fantisize on the silver screen or in our own imaginiations, but even as simple as loving oneself can make or break the experience that is life. To love what you do and how you do it makes the accomplishment taste all the more sweet and the sweat you put into achieving that purose worth the effort. To quote the beautiful musical Moulin Rouge, 'love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love'."

-Tisha Farris, University of Pittsburgh graduate with Bachelors degree in Environmental Studies and Yogini at Santa Fe Community Yoga Center

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"The first thing that came to my mind, was Self-Worth. Having low self-esteem most of my life created a spiral of unhappiness. Realizing my self-worth (which came from finding success in life) changed my entire outlook on life.

Secondly... acceptance. I suppose for me, acceptance strongly correlates with satisfaction. I mean this in an absolutely positive way. I learned to accept that certain things weren't going to go my way, or certain people weren't going change, or certain memories would always be painful--- this led me to remove myself from the hurtful people, situations and problems that I could. I accepted defeats and failures-- and because I knew that I had tried everything in my power, I was satisfied with the outcome. Maybe not happy ... or sad... but satisfied.

Kind of like the serenity prayer, 'God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference'."

-Melanie Steuernagel

Special Education Teacher at Derry Area Senior High School and mommy of one Aubrey Rose Steuernagel