Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 176.

Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say?

Sometimes. It depends on who I’m calling.

Family and friends? No, I’m wingin’ it. A business call? Yes, most of the time.

And while we’re on the phone here, let’s take a minute to talk about phone etiquette, eh? This is how your phone conversation should go 95%* of the time.

Phone rings, person one answers.

Person One: Hello?

You: Hello, this is (insert your name here, in today’s example we will use moi) Cardiogirl Smith I’m calling for Eugene Krabs.

Person One: I think you have the wrong number.

You: I’m so sorry; thank you for your time.

Aaaand scene.

*Of course there are always exceptions to the rule. There are two variations of that script based on who you are calling.

Variation One: If you are calling a co-worker at home and his or her spouse answers you need to say, “Hello, this is Cardiogirl Smith from ABC Corporation, I’m calling for Alvin Chipmunk.”

Because if you don’t identify yourself to the same sex person on the phone, she’s going to hear:

“I’m a woman you don’t know calling for your husband/significant other and if I didn’t tell you that we work for the same company you might go apeshit on your husband after this call thinking there’s some funny business going on outside of your house.” Or something. Um, individual results may vary.

Variation Two: If you grew up with the other person or you know that person very, very well — like your spouse, a significant other or a long time friend — you can go with, “Hey, it’s me.”

So there you go. That’s the closest I’ve ever come to answering yes or no — with a long, long side note. Thanks for shopping at the Cardiogirl Empire, your receipt is in the bag.

Has anyone here seen the movie “Eraserhead?” It’s a crazy, crazy movie from David Lynch that basically scarred me for life as I still have images floating around in my head from more than 20 years ago.

Side note: I just hit publish by accident and then immediately deleted this post. I can’t wait to see if it appears in my Google Reader. If so, I had an itchy trigger finger. Sorry about that.

Back to the movie. (Shudders.)

I was a freshman in college and my roommate Tonya (hey Tonya, how you doin’?) said there was a great movie playing on campus. I’m pretty sure each weekend there were free movies on campus in a lecture hall. You used your dorm meal card as your ticket. So one weekend “Erasherhead” was showing and Tonya insisted that it was something I had to see.

I think she was a David Lynch fan.

Anyway, we went to see it and it was mental overload for me. I seriously can’t remember all of the plot and I have no memory of Tonya’s review or explanation after the movie.

What I recall is that the movie was in black and white and the guy, Eraserhead, had crazy tall hair like Kramer from Seinfeld. This guy somehow got married to a chick who had a super freaky baby.

I don’t think he was the father of the baby but they got married anyway and that baby was like a crazy alien head with the body wrapped in mummy bandages.

The guy was afraid of the baby, like I was, but he had to take care of it. The baby cried and cried and I remember wanting to shoot the baby to make the crying stop.

You may recall, in high school and college I was not a fan of babies and I never wanted children. Ever. I told anyone who would listen that I wanted a hysterectomy for Christmas. And as you know, I now have three kids. You can’t run from karma, can you?

Eventually the guy in the movie used scissors to cut the bandages open and the baby bled and bled. Auugghhh! That’s what I remember.

I had to go to Wikipedia to see what the rest of the movie was about. It’s all crazy disjointed stuff and has a long plot summary.

The things I did not remember include the fact that the girlfriend was stressed and overly tired so she abandoned him and the baby. He had super bizarre experiences like watching a scary looking woman dancing in his radiator and a sexual tryst with a beautiful woman who lived across the hall.

Um, who babysat while he and the chick across the hall went at it?

Somewhere in all of this he dreamt his head fell off and it was used at a pencil factory to create pencil erasers. WTF?

Later he saw the neighbor in the hall returning home with another man. When she saw him she was terrified because she saw an image of the baby in Eraserhead’s face.

That’s when he went back and cut the baby’s bandages open and killed the baby. It bled and bled and the world exploded. Fade to black.

Okay, so since I had my first kid I have randomly had images of that crazy alien baby when looking at my own child swaddled in a receiving blanket. It’s a very disturbing image as you can imagine and it freaks me out.

I hated that movie, I don’t understand what it’s about and I wish David Lynch never made it.

Have you seen it? Can you explain the artistic vision to me or can you provide the Blue Pill from “The Matrix” so I can remove the images from my head once and for all?

Thanks for your help in this matter.

Well we haven’t gone back in time via my journal in a while, so let’s get to it. Today we’re going to June 23, 1983 and I was 15. Damn, too bad I didn’t write this last Tuesday — it would have been 26 years ago to the day.

(Staggers about with her hand on her heart.) Wow, that’s a long time. I’m pretty sure Cate, Heidi Klum version 2.0 and Liz hadn’t been born yet (cries a bit).

It’s 12:54 pm and I’m watching “I Love Lucy.” I have shorts and a T-shirt on. At 2:00 pm I have a “tennis date.” No, just with my friend Karen. Me and Karen are gonna start running at night (around 8:00 pm) not too late.

Yesterday was our first day, we walked about a quarter of a mile — then we ran a 1/4 of a mile. God, am I out of shape. I was practically dying!

Oh no! Guess what’s on TV?! Sonny Eliot and the One O’Clock Movie. He is the biggest jerk. I know! Why couldn’t HE move to Palm Beach and Bill Kennedy could be on five days a week.

Today Ma and Pa are picking Claire up at the airport. She’s coming in from Florida. Jack got an apartment in St. Louis and he’s getting a phone today.

I made bacon today and read a book. Well while I was reading I wasn’t paying attention and I thought I smelled burning bacon. I checked it five minutes later. I was right. It was as black as sin! So I had to throw it away and make more.

I need a book on clipping a bird’s nails.

As usual, so much to comment on, so much to explain.

“I Love Lucy” was on every weekday from 12:30 pm til 1:00 pm and I watched it relentlessly. I even watched it on my lunch hour from high school. We lived a block from the school so I had enough time to go home and watch the show while I ate lunch. I don’t think I ate lunch in the cafeteria at high school the entire four years that I was there.

But this was written during summer vacation as evidenced by that day’s wardrobe. I have no idea why I thought it was important to note the shorts and T-shirt that I was wearing, but now we know. I also find it amusing that I noted — to my journal — that it shouldn’t get excited thinking I had a real date with a boy. I was just using the term “tennis date” casually.

Great sentence construction on “Me and Karen are gonna start running at night…”

I did watch a lot of television growing up. And for a long time there was a standing movie at 1:00 pm on Channel 50. The original host, Bill Kennedy, was awesome. He must have been in his late 60s or early 70s by the time I was watching.

Anyway, he would give an intro into the movie (always a black and white movie and I loved that) and after the commercial breaks, but before the movie resumed, he would give some more commentary. He also was pretty frank about his thoughts on the movie in question. Sometimes he wasn’t thrilled with it, but worked with what he had regardless.

So he retired somewhere in 1983 and moved to sunny Palm Beach. I was pissed off. I did not understand why a 74-year-old man felt the need to retire. I remember thinking he could have easily hosted the show from Florida. Effer.

Enter Sonny Elliot. I hated him then, can’t stand him now. He was just super smarmy and he drove me nuts. I’m sure I stopped watching the movies soon after he started hosting it.

I also think it’s funny that it took me about six minutes to write the first two paragraphs.

Now the bacon. As we know, everyone loves bacon and I was no exception. I still love bacon but it has to be crunchy. I call it shatter bacon because if you dropped it on the floor it should shatter. That’s how I like it and that’s how I eat it.

I do NOT want to chew on bacon fat. The fat on the bacon should crunch. So I’m not very surprised that I fired up the pan and then started reading a book. I am surprised that I waited for five minutes after I smelled it burning to check on it.

“Black as sin” is totally a phrase I learned from my mother. I don’t think I’ve actually said that in a long time but as soon as I read it, it came back to me. I also recall my mom saying “Hell’s bells!” when extremely frustrated.

Yeah, we’re Catholic.

And my miserly ways must have started after I moved out of my parent’s house, since I had no qualms about throwing that bacon away.

Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy the end of that entry. You may recall our blue parakeet Bingo and his battle with the bathroom door. Sometime in his short life I must have wanted to clip his nails. I do remember reading something that said the blood line can be seen through the bird’s nails and one must make sure to clip beneath that to avoid excessive bleeding.

I’m quite certain I never trimmed his nails.

And that concludes our trip down memory lane today. I hope you had as much fun as I did.

TO: The refrigerator in my basement
FROM: Cardiogirl
RE: Your freezer compartment

Hey thanks for all you do, buddy. You have been loyal and true all of these years, just hanging out quietly in the basement keeping my extra coffee cream, milk, pop, etc. cold and ready. I appreciate that, I really do.

You know I’ve been your biggest fan since we signed the mortgage papers. Mr. C was ready to cart your ass to the curb. Remember? But I told him I thought you’d come in handy and he relented. Between you and me, a few years ago he did say he was really glad we kept you in the basement there.

Oh I know you’re getting up there in age. You look like you might have been born somewhere in the 50s — that plastic egg holder inside your door is so cute although you’ll never see me using that thing. I prefer my eggs in the carton front and center where I can see them.

And your freezer compartment — oh you know I love your freezer! Especially in the summer when we have popsicles coming out of our ears. So handy and such a part of our daily lives.

But you have one huge flaw that has been getting on my last nerve since the day we moved into this house. Your freezer is old school. It actually has to be defrosted. Gah! That is so annoying.

I know. If we’re going to live together I’m supposed to accept every part of you — flaws and all. I just talked about this with my therapist last week. I know I can’t change you, I have to learn to live with your foibles, just as you live with mine.

Dude, it
shouldn’t
snow in
the freezer when
I shove
a box of
chicken nuggets in there.Dude, it shouldn’t snow in the freezer when I shove a box of chicken nuggets in there. You’re like an expanding waist line that won’t accept with the worn notch on the belt. Why must you create snow and ice like the tundra of the North Pole.

It’s not endearing, that’s all I’m saying.

And I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to deal with this problem. I’m a child of the 70s. Growing up, I don’t ever remember our freezer growing glaciers. It just didn’t happen.

I’m nervous, just like you are, every time I hit the screw driver with the hammer to chip away at the ice. I know one wrong move means we’re both screwed. Am I supposed to leave the door open and let nature take its course?

Mr. C cleaned your clock last night by boiling pots of water and letting them sit inside with the door closed. And I just have to add that this is one of the instances where his neurotic, first-born tendencies really came in handy. That freezer compartment is stripped down, baby. No frost, much less ice, in there. Just shiny metal on each side.

You and I both know it wouldn’t look like that if I were doing the job.

So in short I appreciate your steadfast loyalty. Your refrigeration abilities are top notch — way to deliver. Yet your freezer compartment, while often used and greatly appreciated, leaves a lot to be desired.

Today we shall talk about The Bagel.

Last week I mentioned a coupon I received for a free bagel available on all of the Fridays of June. I clipped it out as soon as I received it and then let it sit on my refrigerator because I am a wuss.

Basically I was afraid of offending the person behind the register by only walking in to receive my free bagel. But after reading all of the comments in the VIP Lounge I decided this would be a very good assignment for me. Even though I was becoming more and more terrified of the prospect.

Before I go any further I must tell you that I realize this is completely lame. Alright, now that that’s out of the way, let’s continue.

As soon as I woke up on Friday morning I remembered I had to get that damn bagel. So I put the coupon on the front door so I wouldn’t forget it on the way to drop off the kids. When the drop off was over I slowly walked to the car because I didn’t want to go to the bagel place.

But I soldiered on.

I’m serious when I say my nerves were stretched taut as I drove closer and closer to the shop. And when I pulled into the parking lot I was really surprised to see how many people were there! I had to search for a spot to park.

When I had considered what this mission would be like I just assumed it would be me as the lone customer and the cashier. Just the two of us in the front of the store.

But that wasn’t the case at all. When I walked in on shaky legs the tables outside of the restaurant were filled and all of the tables inside were taken. And there were already five people in line. That did not figure into my plan and actually made the experience worse since I had to patiently wait for my full on panic attack.

But as I walked to my place in line I imagined all of my VIPers standing behind me cheering me on. I heard Les say, “Hey Betch, where the free bagels at?!”

If it had just been me and the cashier (like it was in my imagined scenario) I could have walked in and gotten it over with. Instead I had to stand there for a good five minutes anticipating the snarl of the chick behind the counter.

So I decided I was going for a salt bagel unless there was some restriction on the coupon that only allowed for a plain bagel. I had a plan, she said as she nodded her head knowingly. And I did notice a woman four people ahead of me who had the same coupon. But she also bought a cup of coffee.

No sister in solidarity there.

Finally it was my turn. I walked up to the counter, leaned in and said (apparently too quietly) “I have a coupon for a free bagel,” as I flashed the piece of paper.

“What?!” she barked.

I cleared my throat and spoke louder, “I have a coupon for a free bagel.”

“Whadda you want?”

“Salt?” I replied, still not sure if that was a trap. I thought maybe that would be considered a premium bagel which wasn’t covered under the restrictions of the coupon. I followed Natural’s advice and left my money in the car so I wasn’t tempted to fork over any cash. But my fear was for naught, the salt bagel was indeed free.

She snatched the bagel off the tray and handed it over.

I meekly said, “Thank you,” and walked over to the cashier, bypassing two paying customers who were waiting for their bagels with cream cheese.

Again, I told the chick behind the counter, “Um, I have this coupon?” as I handed it over. She grabbed it, wadded it up in a ball and she threw on the floor behind her as said, “Have a good day.”

She was clearly in a hurry trying to keep up with the flow of customers and did not give a rat’s ass about my coupon or my fears.

Next!

Once again I walked away on rubbery legs. My tunnel vision kicked in and I left with one goal in mind — make it to the car before I passed out. I did imagine all of you gathered on each side of my walk to the car, sort of like the crowds at the Boston Marathon, hootin’ and hollerin’ as I walked to victory, salt bagel in hand.

In my head I gave everyone a high five and said with attitude, “Damn straight I got my free bagel. Booyah!” But in reality I sort of half walked, half staggered to the car, hopped in and locked the door behind me.

Victory was (just narrowly) mine! And that salt bagel did taste great with the cream cheese and coffee that I provided, for free, back at my house. The best part was that I read a few more comments that came in between Thursday and Friday while I ate that victory bagel.

And I almost choked on said bagel when I read Natural’s last comment:

“cg, you had better be minus one coupon and there better be a bagel digesting in your stomach. i have 1/4 tank of gas and i can be there by morning.”

Yes, it was a good day last Friday and I have all of my Cardio peeps and Einstein Bros. Bagels to thank.

Thank you and peace out!

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 46.

When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

I don’t sing. Homey don’t play that game. Well I don’t sing to myself. I’ve never been one of those people who sing in the shower. And while we’re talking about that, does anyone seriously sing in the shower? When I think of a random person singing, it’s not in the shower.

I imagine lots of folks sing in the car along with the radio. I don’t do that either, so don’t ask.

Now onto singing to someone else. I don’t think this really qualifies, but it’s what I got.

I do sing along to the hymns at church. Okay, singing is sort of misrepresenting what I do. I sort of do a singing/spoken word thing, but I do that very quietly. You know, just loud enough so I can hear it, but low enough so the person in front of me is wondering if I’m singing at all.

It’s the best I can do. I don’t have a singing voice. At. All. I really have a substandard speaking voice, truth be told.

There is another situation, similar to the church gig, in which I sort of sing. It’s when I am really fed up with my kids, no one is listening and I’m ready to go ballistic. That’s when I use a sort of sing-song/singing voice.

My tune usually goes something like this.

Pick, pick, pick up your clothes
Pick, pick them up
I’m going to scream soon
if you don’t pick up your cloooooothes

Pick them up nooowww (last word goes up high)
So I don’t have to scream (last word goes down low)

Surprisingly, that makes them laugh and they start to pick up clothes. I don’t think they realize that I’m really pissed off when I do that, but I guess you’d have to ask them.

I bet if you did ask them they’d answer in all seriousness, “Yeah. My mom loves to sing! She sings to us all the time.”

There are a few helpful things I’ve learned in the last month or so and today I feel the need to share those items.

It’s really hard to find a red onion that’s not so strong it makes your taste buds scream “Uncle!”

For some reason, whenever the phrase red onion is mentioned it is usually prefaced with the word sweet. Use one sweet red onion.

I’ve been all over my grocery story. They sell one type of red onion. The sign says Red Onions. There’s no claim of sweetness and those suckers are not sweet. But I do like red onions. And Outback Steakhouse seems to find sweet red onions. How they do it, I have no idea.

But I found a really handy onion tip when I was trying to tame the frozen bananas. And no. I haven’t made banana bread yet with those frozen bananas but they are waiting patiently for me in the freezer.

To remove the bitter taste from a red onion, sprinkle the onion slices with salt. Let them sit for a couple of minutes and then rinse off the excess salt with water. That tip is gold, people. I love the red onion again.

I set those slices on a paper plate and wait for the salt to make the onions sweat — three or four minutes — rinse and enjoy. Most sandwiches and salads are better with red onion. And now I shall eat the onion with abandon.

Viva la onion!

Sunscreen works pretty well when used correctly.

Depending on how long you’re at the beach you might need to slather your kid a few times, but as you know it’s worth the effort. Sunscreen also works on adults and my face is proof of that. But when you’re the only adult with your children, it’s important to have your kid put it on your back. Especially if your back is very rarely exposed to the sun.

Using your own hands and arms to contort in an attempt to get anything back there, much less even coverage, doesn’t work. It just does not work.

So when I felt the needles dancing on my shoulder blades yesterday as the sun beat down on the beach I should have asked my kid to put sunscreen on my back.

Instead I tried to twist my arms around. I also should have considered wearing my shirt as a cape since I didn’t want to get it wet in the water. But I didn’t. Today I have a sunburn and the pressure of my shirt resting on my back is pretty uncomfortable.

I guess the neighborhood park has really hit upon something there with all of the shady trees.

OxyClean really does work well.

As you may have guessed I did some serious laundry in the last few days. I’m not caught up but I’ve made great strides and I now have a clear path to the refrigerator in the basement.

In the past I’ve been a Biz gal. I used it mostly for soaking blood out of pillow cases. You’d think my kids were boxing champions for the amount of bloody noses happening in this house. Grr. Anyway, fighting blood stains seems to be a regular occurrence. And that’s when I’ve previously used Biz.

But Costco had a coupon for a box of OxyClean the size of a Kindergartner and now it’s in my basement. I’ve been using it with each load and I’ve been soaking the blood out of various sheets. I’m shocked to announce that after soaking in OxyClean blood disappears in about an hour. It used to take at least half a day for Biz to clear that up.

The only strange thing about OxyClean is that it suggests resealing the bag of powder “for longer lasting results.” What? Biz comes in a box. Once it’s open, you just open and close the lid. OxyClean is in a plastic bag inside a box.

If they want you to reseal it, they should team up with Ziplock so there’s an easy way to re-close the bag. This is where my lazy last born tendencies are coming in. I ripped the bag open on top and I just push the plastic back down to shut the cardboard box.

My box has no seal — it’s vulnerable to oxygen. But it’s still working so far.

There you go. That’s what I’ve learned in the last few weeks. So I’ll be eating more onions as I catch up on laundry inside the house away from the damaging rays of the sun.

Twice this summer I have received a coupon from Einstein Bros. Bagels for a free bagel on Fridays before 11 am for four consecutive weeks — no purchase necessary.

I received it for the month of May and left it untouched on the refrigerator. I now have the coupon for the month of June on the refrigerator, heretofore untouched.

Dunkin Donuts is in on the action as well. They’re offering a free cup of coffee on Mondays before 11 am, I think, for the month of June with no purchase necessary. I haven’t used that coupon either.

Part of the reason is that I cannot walk into a restaurant with my kids and order something just for myself. They don’t really like bagels; they don’t eat them at home when I buy them. But if we walk into the restaurant each one is going to want her own. So that free bagel of mine will actually cost the price of three more bagels — all missing one bite.

Ditto on the coffee. They’ll want a donut which means my coffee will actually cost the price of three donuts. However they will gladly gobble those donuts up. With sprinkles, please. I know this makes me a massive cheapskate. I own that, baby, and it should come as no surprise.

Quick —
did
you hear
that? That’s the
sound of
my purse strings
snapping shut.Quick — did you hear that? That’s the sound of my purse strings snapping shut.

I could use the bagel coupon, though, because I drop the girls off at a kid’s club on Friday mornings. So I am alone for four hours and that gets us to the main reason why I haven’t used the coupon.

I feel like the person who takes my coupon is going to be put out by the fact that I did not order something else so that money changes hands. I have no problem using a coupon that requires a purchase. But a coupon that’s free and clear makes me feel pressured to buy something in addition.

I suppose it’s really about that person’s opinion of me. Will he or she think I’m a tightwad? Now that runs counter to what I just said up there about owning my miserly ways, does it not? I guess it’s easier to lay out our true thoughts and opinions while hiding behind a monitor.

Standing face-to-face with the cashier at Einstein Bros would make me potentially confront that person’s negative opinion of me.

The craziest part of this is that if I were working at the bagel place I wouldn’t think twice about the person who walked in with that coupon and left with just the free bagel.

Do you even think of these things? Would you get your bagel and walk out with your head held high? Would you buy a drink to go along with it? And would it be easier for you to redeem the coupon in your car at the drive-thru?

If I could sit in my car while ordering, I would be more apt to do it. Why, I’m not sure. I guess because I could make a speedy getaway. It feels less vulnerable, I suppose, being in a car rather than having to walk in and out.

Maybe this is a good assignment for me. It would force me to confront my irrational fear and I’d probably live through the experience. And I’d get a free bagel out of it.

Okay, you talked me into it. I’m going to use it this Friday and I’ll report back.

And if this space is not updated on Monday, you’ll know I laid down my life for a bagel.

Our computer sits in an armoire in the dining room. And inside the doors of the armoire are various pieces of paper with notes and reminders. One of those items is a three-step break down of the book The Present by Spencer Johnson, MD.

It’s just a five by seven inch piece of paper with a sticker of Puss in Boots from Shrek 2 on the upper right hand corner. I like that cat, he makes me laugh.

Anyway there are three brief statements explaining how to enjoy this moment right now.

Step One: Be in the present.
Focus on what is right now.
Respond to what is important now.

Step Two: Learn from the past.
Look at what happened in the past.
Learn something valuable from it.
Do things differently in the present.

Step Three: Plan for the future.
See what a wonderful future would look like.
Make plans to help it happen.
Put your plan into action in the present.

I want to live happily in the now. But there’s a big monkey on my back preventing my happiness. Monkey, thy name is Archibald Sovereign Ruler of the Dirty Laundry.

Folks, I cannot stay on top of our laundry.

I’ve been fighting five people’s worth of laundry for the last four years and I really can’t remember what it was like when I was only washing for two or three. I cannot tell you if I was on top of it or not. But I want that to change. I want to tame Archibald. I want to walk side by side with him because he stinks and he’s really heavy.

Since I see no solution, I thought I’d try to apply those three steps up there to Archie. Yeah, I’m gonna call him Archie when I see fit. I’ve known him for so long I think I’ve earned the right to use a nickname.

Step One. Right now there’s an overflowing mountain, I kid you not, of dirty laundry in the basement. There are also three baskets worth of clothes upstairs scattered about our bedrooms.

What’s important right now is that my family is running out of clean underwear. I think we’ve identified the pieces of step one pretty well.

Step Two. In the past I have let laundry pile up until it morphed into my buddy Archie. I’ve learned that I hate Archie and I avoid him at all costs, to the point of leaping over the clothes as I pass through to the refrigerator in the basement.

I have learned that I dread walking into the basement to retrieve a new container of half and half for my coffee.

In this moment I will push the clothes out of the pathway to the refrigerator — that’s what I can do differently right now.

Step Three. A wonderful future would be a clear, unobstructed path to the refrigerator. There might be one laundry basket of clothes, roughly half full, in front of the washer.

To make this happen I see a marathon day of washing clothes to get caught up. By then I should be able to see the front of the washer and dryer again. And in the future, if I wash one to two loads of laundry each day I should be able to make this happen.

I guess I’m gonna be washing a shet load of clothes today.

But if I implement this plan (I mean when I implement this plan) Archie might lose some weight and start using Mr. C’s deodorant to create a fresh aroma when he’s around me. He might even learn to play the organ so I have something to listen to while happily deconstructing my clothing mountain.

Maybe I can even teach him how to play Springsteen’s “Born to Run” on that organ. Now that would make me happy.

Right now.

I think most people are on a quest for happiness, right? I am, I’m usually searching high and low for that happy place. So I was intrigued when I tripped over the following WebMD article “Why You’re Not Happy.”

Most of the tips are common sense, but some have interesting nuggets buried inside.

The first — eliminate the complexities of life by simplifying — gives a concrete example. In an effort to simplify life, monks and nuns shave their heads. I’ve seen enough TV to know that a shaved head is a requirement of the Hare Krishnas. But nuns?

The religious chicks out there are bald? I’ve never seen a bald nun, but they’re always wearing habits. I’ve had the thought that a habit would be pretty toasty in the middle of summer, but I’ve never seen a photo of Mother Teresa sans the head gear.

Whoa, whoa ginga. Just remembered a Bruce Springsteen song and a dream I had last night. I was a back up singer on tour with The Boss — that is a dream, isn’t it? Wow, sorry to go stream of consciousness on you.

Anyway, the lyrics are, “Nuns run bald down Vatican halls…” from “Lost in the Flood.”

I guess even Springsteen knew nuns are bald. Huh.

Obviously negativity is a huge barrier, as the article notes and the solution it provided — let go — is quite elusive, I’ve found. It’s just one of those things that’s easier said than done. I know, plenty of people do it and they do it successfully. It’s just something I constantly struggle with. Even the article realizes the limitations.

Techniques like mindful meditation can help with this, but may not be for everyone, especially those experiencing severe depression, says Philippe R. Goldin, PhD, research associate in the department of psychology at Stanford University.

But there are other simple steps you can take to counteract negativity and enhance your happiness. Practicing gratitude is one.

People appear to have a certain set point for happiness, a range that’s influenced by genetics. But those who regularly practice gratitude can enhance this set point by as much as 25%, reports Robert Emmons, PhD in his book, Thanks!: How Practicing Gratitude Can Make You Happier.

Through his research, Emmons found that people who kept gratitude journals felt better about their lives, exercised more, and were more optimistic.

That’s pretty interesting that we have a set point for happiness influenced by genetics. My dad is a negative a-hole, just throwing that out there. Solomon it looks like you’re right on track with this gratitude gig. I’ve said I could learn a lot from you. Now I have proof.

The fifth problem and solution — Suppressing sadness Solution: Feel the real — is something I’m sort of stuck in right now.

“Happiness is not the absence of sadness,” says David Spiegel, MD, medical director of the Center for Integrative Medicine at Stanford University School of Medicine. It is not a stiff upper lip or the pop psychology mantra, intoning “always stay upbeat” in the face of cancer. “Phony happiness is not good.” By suppressing sadness, you suppress other, more positive emotions, as well, he says, so people who try to suppress emotions actually become more anxious and depressed.

By finding outlets for sadness and frustration, you gain some measure of control, Spiegel says. Using others as a sounding board — not as a toxic dumping ground — can help convert generalized anxiety and depression into targeted feelings you can address with specific solutions.

Well now, that’s the exact opposite of what I’ve been taught all of my life. Right now I’ve been mired in “feeling the real.” It’s almost like a pendulum heading in the opposite direction after spending most of my adult life trying to ignore the sadness and depression.

It would take a novel to give my back story — some of my regulars know about the skeletons — but suffice it to say there are a lot of elephants in the room and they’ve been sitting on my chest suffocating me for many, many years. And for all of that time, whenever I coughed or sputtered I was smacked back into denial.

Now the flood gates are open and I’m having a hard time riding that wave without drowning. I know it’s a necessary step but I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever experience low tide.

And at the same time, I’m really tired of feeling it, you know? Eventually you just want to be done with it. Put a fork in it, alright? My logical side is poking the issues with a set of tongs but the emotional side hasn’t gotten the memo yet.

Maybe I just need to shave off my ponytail.