On Saturday morning I was lying in bed doing that thing sane people do on Saturday mornings (sleep), when I was disturbed from the ultimate slumber by the annoying maniacal laughter of the downstairs neighbors. Within moments the guffaws made way out their backdoor *SLAM! cue windows rattling*, and up the stairs *thud thud thud thud thud thud* onto the deck that resides just outside my bedroom where they got louder and louder and louder until I stomped into the bathroom that overlooked their joyous *dripping with sarcasm* scene and slammed it shut with all my might.
Did this cause them to skip a beat? Only one. They then proceeded, at 9am, to scream with laughter while more and more of their friends arrived on the scene causing me to wonder aloud, 'Are these people mental in the head?' And yes I did scream it out loud from my bed.
As I laid there in my once peaceful haven trying to keep from lighting on fire due to spontaneous combustion it hit me: It's a Garfield vs. Odie world and I'm in the presence of a bunch of frickin' Odies. They, in fact, own an Odie and that in and of itself should have told me what I was up against.
The Odies of the world are annoying barkers. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from sun up 'til sun down, they are oblivious to others even though they bloody well know what's going on. They bound around, feigning clueless to use it to their advantage, thinking everyone is on their insane planet of frenetic energy. Due to the sheeple of the world they are usually hailed as wonderful when, in fact, they are nothing more than quintessential butt kissers. In true Garfield form I would like to swipe these types from my table, relegating them to the backyard...of a neighboring city. That I would never visit.
I am a Garfield: I want peace, quiet, lasagna, death to Mondays, long naps on Saturdays (and all days schedule permitting). A realist (Odies call it a pessimist, but FYI reality is what it actually is), a thinker, an easer into each day, a gazer out the window of life, spurring into action only when action is called for (intentional living). I will not scream on your Saturday mornings, stomp up and down the steps outside your window, let my cats barf on your front porch (even if Odies live there), hammer pictures into the wall at 10:30pm, open and close the garage door 18x at 6am, assume your living space as my own, or smoke 14000 cigarettes every morning in the bedroom below yours. I just won't. Because I'm Garfield. And all I want is serenity and a snack.
Rant over and out.