Knock Knock Me Out

Jokes backfire. My philosophy until now has always been, "anything's worth a laugh." I have made this startlingly evident on many occasions to the embarrassment of those who associate with me.

Examples? Well, my senior quote in the yearbook reads, "Hyacinths for the soul" (an attempt at jest since my grandma forced my mother to submit the same dandy line as her senior quote). Now all my high school peers think of me as sensitive and introspective -two of the worst qualities to be known for in high school.

Another time I signaled "LOSER" to a friend

who I'd sped past on the road only to receive a harsher gesture in return from the 70-year-old driver who I'd mistaken for my friend.

Every choice has its consequence and every joke has its risk, but I have really put myself into a pickle this time.

Eric loves the game Animal Crossing on Game Cube. I first witnessed his obsession while in Texas soon after our wedding. You see, his eight-year-old niece, whom the game was more appropriately designed for, would yell for help. Eric would grumble, trudge to her rescue, and "show" her how to play the game for a co

uple hours.

The game consists of talking animals (a sin against nature), repetitive musical tracks, ugly characters, and tedious tasks resembling indentured servitude. I swore to Eric that I would die if I ever saw the game again, so when we found a version for Wii, I thought my world was ending.

But my vocalized hatred of this game only reinforced the potential hilarity of buying the Wii version for Eric's birthday. Big mistake.

I may as well have addressed the birthday package to "Pandora".

So now I sit, lamenting my shortsightedness, listening to the garbled voices of ugly animals ordering my husband's avatar around instead of hearing my own garbled voice ordering him around.

I think it's time for some Animal Crossing Frisbee. Or, better yet, Animal Crossing road kill.

Zzz He He

I think of the funniest jokes when I'm asleep. Or maybe my head is just a really good audience. Doesn't matter, though, cuz I can't ever remember them. Ha, but oh are they GOOD.

Fear Everything

Doing yardwork makes me jumpy. A branch grazing the top of my head feels like a bird stealthily launching itself into my hair, rolling leaves look like scurrying mice, and any itch must be a giant bug crawling up my pant leg or arm or neck.

You know what else makes me jumpy? Going to the doctor's office. The doctor always walks in right when you are licking the last tongue depressor or before you can get your napkin outfit properly situated.

Zoos also make me jumpy. I can't help but imagine myself toppling into the lion's pit or getting tapped on the shoulder by a giant gorilla. You know, zoos are almost as scary as an overflowing toilet. Almost. Don't worry, though, the glass and bars that come up to your hip will protect you from the unpredictable animals six times your size who endure the stares and taunting of passersby everyday.

Subtleties

Whenever I need something that I can't just come out askin' about (how rude would that be?) I simply hint around at the subject until the other person thinks my idea was in fact his/her idea all along. Let's face it, confrontation just gets people into trouble. Look at Tiger Woods!

Is your life full of embarrassing confrontations and awkward inquisitions? Would you rather eat cold cereal than call the pizza guy? Does your laziness restrict your mobility?

If you answered "YES!" to any of these questions, throw away the anti-depressants and follow me as I take you on a journey of interpersonal improvement. I'll show you how to avoid even positive confrontation and protect your fragile comfort zone with these neat tricks!

Problem 1: Your dad asks you to call your grandma to set up a family dinner date while you're in town. Both your parents and sister are perfectly capable of setting up the appointment, but they asked you. What should you do? Just call your grandma as a warm gesture of love and obedience? Maybe... before you learned these tricks.

Solution:

Always start with making up logical excuses for yourself. For instance, say things like, "I thought you wanted to call her to catch up. You forgot her birthday last year and still haven't made it up to her." or "I would love to call her, but I (trail off here)." If that doesn't work, feign stupidity, sleep, or deafness.

Problem 2: Your mom asks you to invite the new girl over for a "play date." The thought of building social interconnectedness within your heart and neighborhood frightens you. What should you do?

Solution: If you haven't overused the "Maybe another time, I think I am coming down with something" excuse, try faking an injury or spreading rumors about the neighbor's infectious disease.

Problem 3: Oops, you forgot to buy noodles at the store. Oops, you also forgot that you hate doing things that other people can do for you. What should you do?

Solution: Make the problem seem a lot bigger than it really is. Complain about every facet of your day until pity puts the other person into action. Be sure to say, "No, you don't have to do that. Are you sure?" a few times before accepting so as to keep up courtesies.

As we have learned, appearance is everything and maintaining self-comfort at any cost is always worth it. If you found this article helpful, you may also enjoy:

"Excuses for Being Late: Scattergories Approved"

"Build Yourself Up by Pulling Others Down"

"Justifying Procrastination: You Deserve This!"

"Flaking Out With Finesse"

Good luck on your comfortable journey of avoidance and non-obligation.

Meditation I

The other day I walked near a beautiful, blossoming plum tree and took in a big whiff of the sweet fragrance. Summer is here, I so gayly (that one 'gay' that doesn't mean homosexual) noted. Then, I realized what I was smelling was really the open box of Froot Loops in my arms. So I shoved a handful of Froot Loops into my mouth, shrugged, and walked upstairs.

Well, needless to say, those Froot Loops put me in a pensive mood, prompting both reflection and ingenuity. Below is a list of said ideas:

Life's Questions Unanswered:

1. Am I addicted to ice cream or to Mcflurry spoons?

2. Are tomatoes REALLY a fruit? And why does everybody know that?

3. If I were to eat while walking, something would have to even out, right?

4. Why do people persist in naming their children nonsense words?

5. Can I name my baby Peanut Butter Anderson? Mmm... peanut butter.

6. Are there any butlers not named Martin or Jeeves? Just because I have a friend named Martin can I treat him like my butler? (Martin, if you are reading this, you forgot to fold my socks)

7. I forgot about Toblerones. Those are delightful. Nut Rolls too. But Nut Rolls are unexpectedly delightful. Oops that's not a question. Or is it?

8. Pirates, time machines, unicorns, and lasik eye surgery... real or imaginary?

9. Where did clementines come from? Rhode Island?

10. Canadians???????????????

Life's Questions Answered:

1. What do teachers really discuss in the teachers' lounge?

Your assumptions are completely correct. They complain about you.

2. Did we really elect a man named Barack Hussein Obama Hitler as President?

What a silly mess we got ourselves into! Oh well. What's in a name?

3. Why does everything smell like toots on car trips?

Those really are toots that you are smelling.

4. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

I'll tell you when you're older.

5. Was it cool to like Power Rangers when you were a kid?

Maybe. If you also thought Pokemon and having no friends was cool. (Just kidding, my popular/dynamite fiancé)

6. This is pathetic. 22 years and I only know 5 things. My investigative efficiency is clearly lacking.

Signing off.

That's my new phrase that means, "Ending? Who wants to think of an ending when it's taken you 22 years to think of the answers to 5 life questions?"

Pigeons

I foster an unorthodox degree of animosity toward pigeons. In fact, when I think of pigeons, I think of stupid. Prancing around, warbling nonsense, their big heads sliding back and forth.

I think what bothers me most is their lack of self awareness. They don't understand their current position as bane of the bird species or bane of all the earth species. They don't even look over their shoulders when you tell them how stupid they look standing around like that.

Well, to be honest, I am not proud of my unwarranted loathing of pigeons, but surrendering my hostility toward them is impossible. I promise I've tried. I stared at a group of pigeons for two whole minutes the other day searching for redeeming qualities. The only redeeming qualities I could find were that:

1. There were nine of them standing there instead of ten

2. They didn't bully me with their warbling (this time)

3. They all flew away when I happened to tread briskly in their general direction

Not redeeming enough, pigeons. Upon closer observation, I also discovered that pigeons look like fish with wings. They also have pig in their name and they eat trash.

Pigeons. Hmm... I suppose they rocked Home Alone II. How did they get them to sit on the bird lady like that?

Not Putting a Title Here Might Make Me Seem Edgy

Four score and seven years ago, I found myself faking originality. For instance, nobody likes burnt popcorn. I thought I did, but nobody does. Because nobody does, I thought I did. In truth, it tastes like a blossom of ash and smells like a carcinogen. There's no getting past that.

Sometimes deciphering originality from the mainstream can be nearly impossible because of originality's widespread popularity. A paradox, indeed. In fact, I still can't decide if I'm for Obama or Socialism. Oh, whoops, same thing.

Oh yeah, and what the heck am I supposed to be wearing these days? Skinny jeans? Psh... try NOT finding those in every store you walk into. Obnoxious looking geek glasses? A headband across the middle of my forehead? Footie pajamas and a cowboy hat? (wait... that was one of my unintentional fashion statements).

At least I can count on Disney Channel movies to keep me original. Especially High School Musical. I mean, nothing's more unheard of than a college student obsessing over High School Musical.

I suppose my originality comes from doing things nobody else wants to do. Like spraying cooking spray directly into my mouth or actually eating that mystery concoction.

I have also convinced myself that being dubbed "Designated Brownie Batter Spoon-Licker" each year of college isn't at all degrading. I am not too proud to look like a starving lard consuming the dregs of the brownie bowl.

So, friends, Romans, countrymen, give me your batter-dipped spoons, your over-hyped adolescent films, your blackened ashy cancer-causing popcorn...

and I will show you true originality.

(On an end note, I invented blogging.)