Tag Archives: humor
My sis was telling me about her work and her coworkers – new-ish job. They sounded varied and interesting. Being a writer and people-watcher (non-creepy kind) 🙂 I said I should ‘shadow’ her sometime or at least visit her at work sometime.
Sis: Yeah, you could do a shadow-work.
Me: Uh, ‘shadow’. Not ‘work’. 😉 …. I could just pop in for a sec if they would let me. Can you have visitors?
Sis: Yeah…. But it’d be better if you were invisible.
Gee, thanks… Of course she tried to say it was only so I could see them in their natural camaraderie, but I wasn’t going to fall for that. 😉
In a discussion of random topics with my sister (the nutty one – oh wait, that doesn’t distinguish from them at all…), I wondered aloud at the origin of the phrase that cats have nine lives.
Why that number? Is it just that it was the 9 largest number before the double digits? (Not probable.) 😉
Sister: Yeah. It probably just sounded better. I mean, ten lives? That sounds stupid.
She cracks me up. Hilarious. Silly. Totally unexpected. Sounded like something that would be written for crazy comedy, not real life spontaneity. But, I guess that fits her. 😀 And I guess real life is the origin of comedy anyway.
By the way, I Google’d the origin of that phrase and came up with many different hypotheses. Some of which were downers, so I decided not to pursue the matter. 🙂
(In an interesting coincidence – my cat stepped across my laptop in the midst of my typing this and the number ‘9’ appeared in his wake. His paw smeared across several keys, but that was the only one to appear, and I didn’t even see his paw touch the ‘9’ key….I left it in the article as his ‘stamp’ of approval on the subject. Haha.)
Kids… Need I say more.
Two three year olds were working on a craft. One took a colored, glitter glue that the other was going to use next. This upset the first monumentally. But when he realized the other was not going to return it, he stopped his fit and settled on words.
First: You’re a bad friend.
Second: Ooh. You said a bad word.
First: Noo. It’s not a bad word. It’s mean.
Second: No, it’s a bad word.
First: It’s mean.
Kids are always, unknowingly, providing entertainment. Silly things. 🙂
One of my favorite Harry “the Hat” scenes from Cheers. 😉
Anyone else enjoy Harry on Cheers?
You’ll find out soon enough, so I might as well let the cat out of the bag. I’m pretty crazy. (Pretty: word used to soften and dress up the truth.) Or maybe I’m pretty and crazy. 😉 (Haha.) “No, Officer, on my honor, I have not been drinking. I did have a little Chinese though.”
With that ridiculous, just-to-prove-I’m-crazy introduction, I will move to the main event. I wanted to share a story with you.
I’m not the only character in this tale. You see, I have a partner in crime, and she’s just as crazy as I am. I mean it. We once stumbled, giggling, down a hotel hallway – bumping into walls and everything – at 2 o’clock in the morning – quiet as possible – each with a bottle of root beer in our hands. (Yes, I said root beer.)
But that’s not this story. For the sake of the story, for now, let’s call her Stupid and me Darlin’. Now, before you throw rotten tomatoes in my face, let me explain that these nicknames do not necessarily have any bearing on our personalities and were gained quite spontaneously with neither deserving our respective titles. I was not being a darling (happens more than I’d like to admit), and she was not being stupid. Then. Uh, scratch that. (
Then.) *cough* 😉 But that is a different story as well.
This story took place several years ago. It’s probably not the best story by which to introduce Stupid and Darlin’, as it paints us as such idiots. But, I think, everyone has their idiotic moments. It keeps us humble, and interesting. 🙂 (Please, don’t ever be this interesting.)
Back then we enjoyed taking drives, taking the long routes and enjoying the journey sans map. We would still enjoy these, but we don’t seem to have the time anymore. (Note to self: take a drive with Stupid.)
One lovely day, we were taking one of these long-route drives to meet some family. We didn’t have to get there immediately, so we took side roads virtually the whole way. We would look down a road, think, “Hm, that looks interesting” or “We haven’t been down this one” or “Let’s turn left this time”, and off we went, always moving in the general direction of the selected meeting place.
One such turn lead us down a road we had been down before, though it had been a long time. It was a straight shot, and we would not have gone all the way, but we spotted a dark, arced area where another road rose into a bridge.
Stupid or Darlin’, not sure which, said, “Look, a tunnel.” Now, maybe that’s selective memory. But, no matter. Whoever said it first became irrelevant as we both jumped on the bandwagon. “I never knew there was a tunnel under ‘Baker’ Road.” “Has that always been there?” “I wonder where it leads.” “Let’s find out.”
Excitement swirled in our stomachs. Another adventure. We had discovered something new in our very own stomping grounds. Something we never knew existed before and we were off to explore. The excitement made its way into my foot and we accelerated, though not too much as we were in a neighborhood. We were zipping down the road, eyes trained on the tunnel, when…
The car slammed into a bump and heaved over it at suddenly alarming speed. (No, we did not speed up, but it suddenly felt way too fast.) Our bodies jolted, heads touching the ceilings as our insides were stir-fried. The next second was slowed down by the speed of my now-turned-on brain, which was realizing several things. (1) That ‘bang’ had been a curb (meant to be slowed down for) that served as a speed bump for the entrance of a parking lot. (2) I was now in said parking lot and nearing the end fast. (3) There was no tunnel. That was brick with windows and a door and cars parked in front of it. The sharp inhale next to me said Stupid had realized the same things.
My foot stomped on the brake, and held till we came to a complete stop. If anyone happened to look out their window at that moment, they would have been wondering why two people were parked in the middle of the lot, sitting ridged in their seats, mouths hanging open, eyes wide and staring straight ahead. One gripping the steering wheel in a death grip. The other with a stiff arm to the dash and a similar death grip on their door handle.
Our ‘tunnel’ (unlike the one in the picture) was an apartment building. And there was another to our left, and another to our right. Nice, sturdy brick buildings with automobile bodyguards. We would not’ve had a chance. But we had noticed none of this till now. Gives new meaning to the term tunnel vision.
Now, if we had been in our right minds (if we have those) and thought it out, we would have realized a huge flaw in that ‘tunnel’. Namely, if there was a tunnel and we did drive into it, we would have dropped smack-dab in the middle of the interstate. Not a good adventure.
Back in the parking lot: We looked at each other, eyes still wide, hands still gripping, and dissolved into two puddles of laughter in the front seats. After a short while, we decided to spare ourselves the feeling of multiple sets of eyes from a multitude of windows, turned ourselves around and got out of there. We laughed all the way to our destination. I had to keep wiping tears from my eyes so I could see the road (not that it had been much help before).
Many times throughout the evening, and for several days to come (and, even now, years later) the image of our ‘tunnel’ and what we must have looked like flying into that parking lot comes back to our minds and we find ourselves puddle-ing again. Rather difficult to explain when someone walks around the corner at work and you burst into laughter. Turns out, they aren’t too eager to believe that it was just a memory and had nothing whatsoever to do with them. Alas, some things can’t be helped.
This has been an episode with Stupid & Darlin’. I hope you enjoyed. 🙂
I think every experience we, all living beings, have is sewn into our story of life, and, for writers, into our fiction. It has an effect. It gives us an insight, even if it is merely into the day-to-day ‘stuff’ of different people, or the kerfuffles of unsuspecting humanity, or even the hilarity two crazy kooks manage to talk themselves into.
Sometimes the gathering of info is so subtle we do not even realize we are doing it (*cough* Miyagi *cough*). But down the road (not the tunnel), when we need it, it bleeds into our story, adding the smack of authenticity. It really is a beautiful thing. The subconscious is an amazing tool. But let’s not fall into that deep rabbit hole of thought. 🙂
This is a story from circa 2011.
I am working on a scene, propped up in a recliner at my grandmother’s house. I was having trouble truly seeing and grasping the setting instead of letting it be a blurry background image, so I close my eyes and look past my characters to their surroundings. I shut out their sounds and matter to focus on that around them. To cement it in my mind I speak aloud (something I’m more prone to when I am having trouble shutting out the world I live in), describing trees, shrubs, the texture of the dirt, and the sound of the water.
My spoken words fade into thought, as my thoughts move faster than my mouth (unlike my sister…ahem…I didn’t say that). My grandmother sat down to watch and listen for a moment, which I didn’t mind (hence working in the open living room and starting by speaking aloud).
She’s watching, thinking it’s so neat to see me creating (because she’s a wonderful person who has the utmost faith in me and my work, though often I get discouraged) and suddenly I open my eyes and bring my pen to paper. “Creek,” I say as I write.
A laugh bursts from the side of me. I turn and look at her, and she laughs more. (And you should hear her laugh. It’s like a stand-alone punch line.) My mouth’s already quirking into a smile as I ask what she found so hilarious. And she explains.
With all the imagery of the forest and beautiful sound of the water, she had been imagining me working out an amazing scene, coming up with something fantastical and beautiful, and then I say ‘creek’. It dashed her thoughts of beauty on the rocks of hilarity.
But what she didn’t know was how the ‘creek’ had been bothering me for several days now. I heard the water, even saw a part of it, but wasn’t sure what it was. Words have meanings and connotations. A creek is different than a stream is different than a river. When I say, write, or read the words they bring up different images, different sounds, different obstacles. (As I’m sure it does for others, though probably different images, etc., to a point.)
Thus it had been nagging me that I didn’t exactly know which category it fell in to, which is because I felt the nag but never focused in to resolve it. The scene involved the creek, but I was busy writing the action, which might get in the water but didn’t necessarily require me to look at its entirety right then. Alas, that’s me.
Needless to say, ‘creek’ has become a standing joke between us, particularly when I am speaking of my writing progress. I have not shared it with anyone before, family or otherwise, because I thought it was one of those things where the person needs to be present to truly understand and enjoy the hilarity. You tell me.