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How to be happy

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We’re going to be kinda gross for a second. But let’s face it, the icky parts of life are often the most fun.

Some years ago a girl meets a guy (or a test tube - you can see where this is going). Now, they have met for only an hour, a day, a month, or maybe they’re still together (which would be oh so awesome).

 At some point, usually with the help of your third parent, beer, something happened and, whether by design or mistake, you were created!

Go you! Pat yourself on the back for that because you won a race against literally thousands of hungry competitors.

Now, maybe you think that being born kinda sucked and that life went down hill from there. The sad news here is that few babies come out of the womb dressed like Dean Martin, surrounded by bikini clad models, sipping Champaign and smoking a cigar.

That was just me.

Of course, if you’re a girl, maybe you come out looking like Barbie and surrounded by a dozen Robert Pattinson’s. Or is that when you’re gay?

Well, anyways it doesn’t matter because it never happens.

Maybe Mother and Father were less then perfect.

We’re bombarded as kids with the images of happy families on the television. They are meant to be inspirational.

For who? I’m not so sure. Maybe the dog?

I say this because I have never met the happy Hollywood/kids TV family in real life.

It could be that mum had to worked triple shifts whilst dad drank beer and gave out beatings as bedtime stories. Or it could be, as it was in my case, mum just ran off and dad had to do everything (I know that it’s the other way round in most cases. I guess I’m kinda lucky).

Or maybe you were raised by WOLVES! Which would be so awesome it deserves capital letters:

RAISED BY WOLVES! AWESOME!

Go wolf boy! Go wolf girl!

Maybe at school you were/are the kid with the virtual target painted on the chest that every one but you can see.

Or perhaps you were/are the kid who gave out the beatings.

As we progress form the innocence of childhood and into adolescence, our bodies and minds undergo amazing, intense, and often terrifying transformations.

We are confronted with the desires to conform and break away.

Express ourselves, but seek the protection of a group (maybe).

A lot of kids get depressed. Some (including me) attempt suicide as a way out.

Naturally this is the stupidest thing that you could do.

I would like to humbly present several reasons why if you can’t be happy, you should at least be grateful and curious enough to keep going.

 

THE PRACTICAL:

Smile more.

It is a scientifically proven fact that smiling makes us feel better.

Obviously you don’t smile all the time. If you’re getting beaten up, or your wolf family has finally realised that no fur and two legs equals dinners, don’t smile. RUN! Run for your freaking life.

Also, don’t smile if you’re punching someone rather than being the punchee. Because that is the dick cherry on top of the douchebag pudding that you are.

And it’s a full douchebag.

 

Comedy.

Laughing is very much like smiling, only bigger and with sound.

It also makes us feel good.

Drugs make us feel good too. but laughter is free, and better for you.

Unless what you take is comedy crack. In that case, I bow to you.

However, my fiancé thinks that comedy crack is the bit of bum cleavage you see when people bend over. No offence, but get a belt.

 

 

 

Visualisation.

A lot of self help books say that if you visualise the life you want, you will achieve it. This is not only largely a myth (though not all the time), but also impractical.

If it fully worked the way they say, then every fourteen year old in the world would be constantly surrounded by super hot strippers, and I would be riding a dragon to work and dressed as a freaking ninja every day. Instead of just Mondays, as normal.

But, if you picture yourself as happy, smiling, laughing (at appropriate moments – not during funerals or holocaust documentaries) then you may actually start to feel better.

 

Learn.

Learn something. Watch QI. Read Cracked. Laugh and learn. It’s great. Revel in the font of knowledge that is Stephen Fry (that’s what my fiancé thinks anyway).

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