I don’t like it, sam I am…

Self Help books/gurus/etc, that is.

You see, part of the plan in my other other other job revolves around self-improvement. Now, I’m all for that concept on a general basis, improve yourself all you want! There’s nothing wrong with that, of course. I just… don’t like the force feeding heavy suggestions of how to go about it. Its not just this one group though, it’s the entirety of the self-help-dom as a whole.

It may boil down to my hatred of cheerleaders. Who knows. (Yes, I’m fully aware that I WAS a cheerleader for a year, but I’m also aware that it was in a tiny school where there were little choices and also we wore football sweaters indoors and knee length skirts and had to be careful twirling so that our skirts didn’t lift and show the back of our knees lest those dirty, dirty boys get any naughty ideas by that little flash of flesh….) It just seems so… forced happy, filled with wanting to force me happy too. What if I WANT to be a cranky ole bitch, huh?

The standard book is all about the forced happy. Or maybe they really hare that happy. Or have the good drugs. Whatever. But the books are COLORFUL AND FUN! You can tell by their covers. The one at the left there is one I was recently given to try and stomach, once I admitted that these types of books put me to sleep. JN has good intentions! He does! He wants me to succeed, and I like him for that. He just doesn’t realize that I’m a snarky ole bitch who is set in her ways and will succeed anyway just to spite them and their little how-to books, too!

Ahem.

I’m having problems getting into the book. It’s not a difficult read, but there’s something right on the front cover that gives me pause every, single, time. No, not the cheesy graphics and fun colors and Smiling Happy Successful Cartoon! It’s something far simpler then that…

…the author’s name. You can’t see it in the picture, but the book is Escape to Prosperity, by Wes Beavis.

BEAVIS!

Maybe it’s my age, and the decade I grew up in, but I honestly cannot see that name without wondering where Butthead is, and doing the stupid laugh and snicker about saying “butt”… Heheh. Heheh. Heheh.

I know. I’m really in touch with my inner 16 year old boy. (heheh.heheh.heheh. I said ‘touch’.) But at least I’m HAPPY about it… right? Isn’t that the point of the whole exercise? To be fair, I’m sure that Beavis has a lot of good points, telling me things I already know and have realized and I will continue to wade through it all while I’m in my reading space (…is it bad form to borrow a book then read it in the bathroom, even if it’s the only place you really have to read? Yeah? Whoops…) or before bed where it can send me off into dreamland. And quickly, if last night is any indication.

Until then. Beavis.
BEAVIS, PEOPLE.
Sigh.

Tags: beavis, books, Reading, self-help