Helpless

Though I love to read self-help books, I really think they're lost on me. I don't think that I get out of them what the author intends me to.

Take those "Eat This, Not That!" books by David Zinczenko. He tries to shock us by telling stuff like 'a large buttered popcorn at the movie theater has as much fat as 14 McDonald's Big Macs!' While everyone else is gasping in horror, I'm trying to figure out how to sneak in 14 Big Macs the next time I go see a movie.

I just read a book on exercise science and the author was talking about how just a few minutes of a really hard, intense workout has the same benefits as hours of a slow, easy workout. Again, I came out of it with the attitude of, 'Wow, that's great. Since I've got nothing better to do, I'll do the slow, easy workout. Don't have to break a sweat and another excuse for not having enough time to clean my house -- win-win!'

I read a book on happiness zones and Denmark was one of the countries listed because of their low expectations. Yes, I'm all about low expectations. Any day I'm  not kidnapped and forced into white slavery is an awesome day in my book. Hey, I wasn't sucked into an F-5 tornado today, let's have a party! Happy day, a car didn't crash into my----oh, wait. That did happen. Never mind. Hey, that car crashing into my bedroom gave me an excuse to paint my walls a new color (if only it did more damage so I could get new furniture -- but I'll keep those high expectations down to a minimum).

Anyway, I guess there's just no helping some people (me, especially).