A new and better me

About once every four years, I am struck by a strong Self Improvement urge that I am powerless against, and must act on, even if it causes me to do insanely retarded things in the name of a new and better me. These bouts are usually preceded by a longish period of depression, which causes me to stay in, eat copious amounts of microwave pizza, and cry at game shows, such as the time I wept openly for nearly an hour when the Rodriguez family won the big prize at the end of Family Feud. It was only once I realized that the $10,000 prize would have to be split between the five of them, and that after taxes each one would only receive roughly $1,000, that I managed to calm myself down.

After awhile, being depressed gets boring and I get fat after months of bizarre eating sprees that involve crafting the Perfect Fast Food Meal (Burger King hamburger, McDonald's fries, Arby's Jamoca shake, Pizza Hut breadsticks), and that's when the Self Improvement urge strikes. It usually begins when a certain piece of music, one that I have never had much interest in before, suddenly seems to have been written just for me, such as Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler," or James Taylor's "Steamroller."

It's usually a pretty lame song.

Anyway, it's about at this time that I am compelled by forces larger than myself to buy a new notebook, usually orange, that I intend to fill with notes on how to find myself and become happy with the New Me. In the past, this notebook has been decoupaged with inspirational sayings cut from magazines; now I tend towards a minimalist look, with maybe just a sticker to cover the Five Star brand name.

No matter what the intention, the notebook is inevitably half-filled with hilarious screeds against the things and people that I find annoying. In the past, the notebooks have featured such targets as my old school counselor Etta, the country of Australia, every boy I ever liked that didn't like me back, and music snobs.

I also become compelled to read books that I would normally classify as SUPER LAME (the most notable example: Women Who Run With the Wolves. I spent a great amount of time underlining the passages that were about me, which were all of them, until I suddenly realized how totally queer I was and stopped). I listen to my lame empowerment song and make my Better Me lists and read my self-help books and become insufferable until I finally realize that I am once again acting like a dorkwad and shake it off.

I only tell you all of this because I am about to enter one of those phases right now, and I can't stop it from happening. I'm like Bruce Banner, turning into the Hulk, except instead of being green and super strong, I want to talk about my feelings in a totally earnest, non-sarcastic way.

I already have my orange Five Star notebook (although it is currently blank), and my empowerment song is Poison's "Nothing But a Good Time," which I blare pretty much incessantly throughout the day. I have yet to find my upsettingly lame self-help book, but I imagine that's coming down the pike here shortly.

One of the things on my mental New and Better Me list (which will be rendered real only when it is entered into the Orange Notebook of Enlightenment) is to blog more, and not worry so much about upsetting people with my posts (in other words, I have decided to use the word "retarded" a lot more). So I apologize now if I come on here and explain how I have a lot to learn from the gentle manatee, that does not hold its anger in but rather releases it peacefully to be lost in the vastness of mother ocean.

If that does happen, please don't stop reading. Because another one of my Better Me goals is to rebuild my self-esteem, and losing readers by the boatload is not going to help.