Silly Humor by Melody

Where Am I?

Last night, I thought I was supposed to go to a meeting.  This group of writers meets every first and third Tuesday of the month.  In order to get there, I have to ride the bus for a half an hour.  When I arrived at our normal destination, I made all the Barnes and Noble employees run around the store, dragging chairs into a circle for the upcoming meeting.

As you've already guessed, I had the wrong day.  This began to sink in slowly as I sat alone in a circle of empty chairs.  I finally called my boyfriend, dreading his reaction.  I asked him in a meek voice, "Is it the third Tuesday of the month?"

His shrieks of laughter could probably be heard in remote regions of France.  He made fun of me all night.  And now I feel stupid.  The End.

Silly Scale: I give this a two.  I try not to get any more absent-minded then going to an appointment on the wrong night.

Cats in Sinks

If you are a human being, you will like the website catsinsinks.com.  Go there and make your day a little brighter.

Silly Scale:  2.5.  There are a LOT of pictures on this site.  And they are all cute.

Writing with the Sun

It's a lovely day to be lazy. It's 9:30 a.m. The temperature hasn't reached 75 degrees yet, and I am sitting outside my apartment in a folding chair.

It's August 26th. Summer is winding down. This streak of cooler weather seems more forgiving somehow. I don't know why I need to be forgiven in the summer heat, but today I am guilt free.

It's exactly this kind of day that makes me think back to the beginning of summer. At the beginning of June, when perfect days were lining up like Miss America contestants, I had a different life. I was a receptionist. I was an office worker. I was an eight to five lady, and I resented it. I wanted to be doing something else.

So on June 16th, I traded my steady job in for a dream. I planned to write. One of the perks to writing was going to be: when the weather was beautiful, I'd be able to enjoy it.

But the days have passed, and I've spent most of my time sitting at home huddled in front of my computer. I've been pushing myself along with the motto, "Write to make money. Write to make money."

This morning I woke up all determined. It's Friday. I write a column on Friday. That means I am required to spend the day crafting an essay about how silly life can be. I had a subject all lined up, and I was going to attack it like I used to attack my old receptionist tasks. Just do it. Just get it done.

But as the morning minutes slipped away, resentment began to curl in my gut. I didn't want to write. I wanted to sit outside and soak in the cool morning air.

That's when I realized something. In June, I arranged my time so I would have the flexibility to enjoy myself. A writer needs to capture life when it is raw and true. But I've been so busy trying to get published that I've almost traded in one joyless job for another.

It's so easy to create my own mental trap of drudgery. It's my need to be productive at all costs that makes me a slave.

Well! I didn't embark on this writing life to get discouraged. So I dragged a folding chair down three flights of stairs, placed it in my front lawn, and sat myself in a cool, sunny place. I stared at the yellowing leaves above me. I looked into the grass at my feet and wondered if an ant would start crawling over my big toe. And when I was ready, I pulled out a tiny notebook I had stashed in my pocket, just in case.

Right now, I'm enjoying myself. I'm sitting on a folding chair on the lawn outside of my apartment and I'm writing. I'm enjoying the breeze across my shoulders. And even though it's a lovely day to be lazy, I've still managed to write a column about how silly life can be.

I love self-discovery, don't you?

A Series of Boring Hours

I just watched a boring movie.  A Series of Unfortunate Events.  I'm sorry if you liked it.  We are all entitled to our opinions.

But what strikes me as odd is the fact that I continued to watch the movie LONG after I knew I didn't like it.  Why did I do this?  I don't know.  It's a mystery.  I must be a really big fan of wasting my time.

Now I feel vaguely annoyed with myself.  I could have spent the last few hours drinking Starbucks or talking to people I like.  Instead, I just made Jim Carrey a little bit richer.  Dang it.

Jump Jivin' Jelly Shoes

Actually, I didn't really jump in my jelly shoes.  Instead, I rode my bike in them. 

I remember wanting jelly shoes SOOO BAD.  They were neon.  They were flexible.  They were JELLY. 

So I finally got my jelly shoes.  (They were already going out of fashion.)  I was so proud.  I wanted to wear them everywhere.  So I rode my bike in them. 

Try to remember that jelly shoes are plastic.  There's no traction anywhere.  There was also a mammoth, Rocky Mountain-sized hill near my house.  And that's the first place I went with my super cool jelly shoes.

I promptly wiped out, took off about 30% of my knee skin, and obliterated my shoes.  And it still irks me to this day.  Maybe I should buy a new pair from THIS website?  What do you think?

The Curse of the Clutter

I wasn't born with a stack of papers strewn around my feet. That's what my mother says anyway. But she was on painkillers at the time, so what does she know?

Regardless of how I was born, it is undeniable that I'm messy now. I'm like a prisoner carrying around a ball and chain on my ankle, except my ball is more like a wad of unpaid bills stuck together with bits of outdated post-it notes.

Neat people do not understand the strain of being messy. They think we disorganized people clutter our living space on purpose. But I tell you right now I cannot help myself. When I take my shoes off, it is my instinct to fling them. It is only by the strongest methods of concentration that I am able to set my shoes together on a mat in a "shoe-friendly zone."

You can imagine how I suffer from being messy. I lose things. Important things like invitations, paychecks, and even candy bars. Losing chocolate should be listed as the eighth deadly sin.

I remember when I was sixteen; I lost my wallet in my bedroom. Now you have to understand that my bedroom was basically a large box full of dirty clothes and crumpled papers. There was a bed stuffed in a corner, and every night I had to sift through the debris so that I could get some rest. At some point, I must have set my wallet down on top of a pile of papers. The wallet would have been in plain view. Then I went to watch TV, and when I came back to the bedroom the wallet was gone.

My theory is that my pile of papers acted like a whirlpool. As soon as I had my back turned, the papers sucked my wallet down towards the carpet monster waiting in the darkness below. It took me nearly two hours to find and rescue my wallet. And all the while I was making promises to God like, "Please, Sir, if you help me find my wallet, I will NEVER be messy again."

But I didn't keep my promise. For many years afterwards, I treated all of my bedrooms like they were glorified junk drawers.

Eventually I started using a hamper for dirty clothes. And I don't put papers on my bedroom floor anymore. Now I scatter them across my desk. I have seven piles of papers in no particular order sitting next to my computer. I would feel ashamed, but I truly believe this is not my fault. I am a victim of genetics.

DNA makes me think I've lost my glasses when they are, in fact, hiding in my glasses' case. Think of all my relatives who must have suffered before me. Was there a great uncle who couldn't keep his chickens out of the outhouse? Maybe a long lost great grandmother in Germany couldn't keep her weiner schnitzel separated from her bratwurst and everyone hated her? I feel sorry for these bumbling Platz ancestors. Being a slob is not easy.

And don't think I haven't tried to change. I make lists of things clean. I bustle around my apartment for an hour every few weeks trying to banish the vicious papers. I pray to all neatness-giving Gods, "Please make me organized."

But it all ends in chaos. I watch helplessly as my hand cream jumps onto my gift certificates. I plead for my camera to stop throttling my calculator. And I yelp when my Harry Potter book makes off with my package of M&Ms. It's a cruel world.

But on the other hand it's…well…it's got some good points…uh…? Okay. No. It's just bad. I'm a horrible person and I deserve to live for the rest of my life in a pile of discarded kitchen equipment.

Well, that is all. If you'll excuse me, I have some shoes that need flinging in the other room.

Men: Cat got your toes?

Most of the men I know only wear five colors:  black, brown, blue, white and beige.

So when I did a search for men's apparel, I did not expect to see these marketed towards men.

Now I want you to be honest.  Are you guys all hiding a secret desire to wear cute things?  If so, can you convince The Boyfriend to wear purple?

Silly Scale:  Three and a half.  If you haven't looked at the link, then you are completely missing the joke.

Plant (watering) Job Update

Watering plants is hard work.  I like all their leafy goodness, but carrying watering cans for 6 hours is heck on my  back.

Here is a link to my favorite plant...the pothos.  And here is the picture of that hardy, climbing devil.

The Boyfriend won't like this post because he thinks plants are boring.  But let me tell you a little secret, The Boyfriend wants TONS of plants.  He would like to turn our apartment into a jungle.  He is just opposed to pictures of plants.

Silly Scale - Five.  If The Boyfriend posts a comment, then the silly scale will probably raise to a four...because The Boyfriend is just silly.

Starting the Carrot Top Watch

Are you bored?

Why not go visit the site of a man with EXTREMELY red hair? www.carrottop.com

Meanwhile, here's a picture of Carrot Top and Mel Gibson.  See how Mel Gibson looks lost and confused and a little concerned.  I think Carrot Top was trying to sell him some cheap long distance minutes.

 

Silly Scale -  3.5.  I think Carrot Top has more potential to be funny in the future.  We shall see.  Mhuahahahaha!

Cuteness Therapy

After a long day of walking, bending, and battling vicious plant eating bugs, a girl needs something to make her smile.  Everybody, say Ahhhhhhhhh!

This picture and many other sweet animal pictures can be found at http://www.cutefunnyanimals.com

Silly Scale:  Four.  Power to heal...priceless.