Go ahead, make my day.

What better way to start a day than with a little Clint Eastwood, eh?

Since I was on about making other people's day, week, or even a year yesterday by giving into trust and doing something nice for a change (I know, yada, yada, yada, moderately profound Extranjera, where did you emerge from?), I thought about what has been making my day, week and year lately.

Since, oddly enough, instead of the highly insightful comments that always seemed to contain something about fingernail clippings (by now so passé), wigs (and whether pigs should wear them) or aerobics, I have been leaving comments that have ended in either 'too cool' or 'thanks for making my day' (and cacti, but we won't go into details on that one).

Weird, huh?

No, not really. Could this mean that I am ....GASP... growing up?

*farts and then giggles loudly*

No, no fear of that. Thank goodness!

But apart from the fun found in farting loudly there are also other things that have been making my day, week, and year (Where did month go? I don't know.), and that do not involve any of my own orifices.

Now, how bad does that sound? Did she just connect making someone's day with an orifice? 
Yes, she did, and she thinks the connection is far more valid than people like to admit out loud. But, hey, it's not that kind of a blog. Really, it isn't. 

One thing that always makes my day is when someone in my sphere gives me advice. It means that they care enough to put themselves into my shoes and give my situation a second, or even a third thought. I will almost never take heed of the advice, since that is not how I was put together (how I ever learned anything boggles me, and many people in my life, greatly) and I need to make my own mistakes and learn without appearing to do so. But it still makes me feel loved when people care enough to want to help me not to screw up (or possibly kill myself) by trying to steer my behavior. Unless of course they are being annoying about giving advice (it's a fine line) in which case farts make my day much more.

It makes my year to own this Mielie bag:

And that I was able to give my Albugherkin™ friend Gringa this one:

Notice how my bag is bigger than hers. Complete coincidence. No?

And that she took it everywhere with her for as long as I was in New Mexico.

It made my day that a bloggy friend by the name of an Open Heart made up an award and gave it to me (Okay. She also gave it to some other people, but I like to think it was tailored just for me. Shhhhh! My blog, my delusions. Thanks.), and then Judearoo gave me cake (with a catch I really doubt I'll be fulfilling because my track record consists of gracefully accepting, followed by misplacing, and then completely forgetting an award, but anyhoo) on her new blog Babble Value (or is it valve, Jude?).

Can you believe it? Completely unsolicited cake. Cool!

Actually, I have received quite a few awards lately (read: since the beginning of this blog, and not so many, but who will pat my back if I don't myself, hey?), and really, I love the fact that so many folks are thinking of me, and think that I'm funny. I mean, I have always thought myself that I am funny, just sometimes misunderstood as gross, scary, or possibly mean/boring/consisting completely of swear words and toilet humor, but that so many of you should think so too. Totally awesome! Although, as I wrote to one of the kind bloggers who awarded me with [insert name of award here, since I seem to be in stage two of my cycle of forgetting], and as I state above, I really, really, utterly suck at this 'being all reciprocative' stuff. Am I exonerated yet? Cause I have more excuses lined up. Those I am extremely good at.

Point?

Yes. Point.

It also makes my day when you comment. But that's old news. Still, I am, like totally and shit, working up to answering the comments. I'm just waiting for the fever fog to completely clear and for the ear to stay firmly attached, and you know, for the buzz to be killed, my gills to fully develop, and the butterfly to croak.... See, this is what I mean by excuses.

It makes my year that the Hubby would send me all the way to America to hang out with my Mexican BFF (Yes, I'm exactly like Paris Hilton, I have BFFs all over the world too, and drive a jewel encrusted iPhone to prison, like, every day) just because I needed a break from South Africa. He's also offering to send me to Finland, but I'm not sure how I feel about seeing my mother in real life since the ear-incident. She is not into piercings, especially if they turn out to be potentially disfiguring on her kin. And it's not for appearances sakes I have in the past referred to her as Ironfist.

I'm joking mom, really I am. I love you!

It makes my day when a photo comes out way better than expected. And the complicated camera actually does what I want it to.

It makes my week to have an intelligent discussion about a really good book. In fact, just such a discussion will make my Friday this week. We will be discussing DBC Pierre's Vernon God Little on the Hermit Book Club blog. Come join us. Unless you don't want to read the book and thus have nothing insightful to say, in which case laughing at farts with me right here on my blog is also totally okay. The fun created by farting is largely to do with the audience.

Let's see, what have I got so far:

• farts
• advice
• Mielie bag
• awards
• cake
• more awards
• you commenting on my blog
• Hubby sending me away, far away (doesn't sound so good, must research this point further)
• some photo stuff, so that I can post my current favorite picture
• discussing a good book, and
• farting

Yup. Pretty much there. Should put in some insightful stuff too though. To balance out the ubiquitous talk of farting.

Hmmm.

It makes my day to see someone clearly for who they are. Because no one wants a "friend" (no, those are not unnecessary quotation marks), but someone loyal, supportive, and real. And when someone of the latter description comes along, it makes my year.

It makes my life every single day to have the Hubs. Sap, sap, sap, but really, without his snoring ass, I couldn't exist. And not only because without him cooking for me I would be on my scurvious deathbed by now.

Hubs taking a photo of ....water. Yah.

Now, what makes your day? And don't say cakes and farting. I'm having the combination patented, or trademarked, or something.