Cracking Myself Up

I have been keeping myself in stitches lately. Not like go to the ER and get stitched up stitches, or even cross stitch stitches (although I do stitch cross stitch) but just generally finding myself hilarious. It's highly entertaining. I recommend it. Finding yourself hilarious, that is. Because you probably won't find me hilarious. None of my coworkers do. But that's ok.

Example 1
My coworker's shoes squeak. His revolutionary name is Shabaz Muffaletta, so we'll just refer to him as Shabaz Muffalet for short. (ha! I'm cracking myself up again! will this ever end?!?!?). Anyway, to give you some background information I must tell you that I kind of work in sales. So I'm constantly on the phone and usually making cold calls. Somehow or another I got fixated on the squeak of Shabaz Muffalet's shoe, so that every time he walked by I cracked up. Needless to say, this has impeded my productivity today. Not to mention there are going to be a ton of people listening to phone messages that end abruptly in laughter (if you are in Maryland, DC or Virginia and get a voicemail full of laughter and snorts, that's me. I apologize).

Example 2
I call my sister to say hi. Turns out she is cleaning out her infant's closet. [That girl does have a LOT of clothes. So many that I was forbidden to buy any for her. How cruel! Seriously, the first girl baby in the family and I can't buy any pink? Where is the justice in this world?]. Anyway, back to the closet. The minute she told me that do you know what popped into my head?

Eminem*.

Specifically his "Cleaning Out My Closet" song. I don't know if that is the exact title, but I do know how the chorus goes. So I sang it to my sister:

I'm sorry mama,
I never meant to hurt you-oo.
I never meant to make you cry
But tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet.

One more time...

Multiple times.

Off key.

Whenever she tried to change the subject.

And all the time I'm finding myself hy.ster.i.cal.

Example 3
Bosslady wore a dress to work today. It's a hand me down from a good friend of hers who died in an accident**. The dress is pretty, but not Bosslady's normal style. Everyone in the office has commented on this fact - it's not just me. At which point I said "Hey Bosslady, Gilligan's Island called. Marianne wants her dress back." Except that I messed up and said Ginger because I couldn't remember Marianne. Which sparked a whole Gilligan's Island conversation. Which was eclipsed by Shabaz Muffalet's squeak stoppage on account of the Gold Bond Powder that Bosslady brought back from the Walmart.

Maybe now I can make some calls. Or maybe I'll just remember the squeakage and crack up again. Either way I have to get back to work.

*Explicit lyrics. Be warned. Eminem has some issues.

** I know I have no couth. Or would that actually be better phrased, "I know I am uncouth"? Anyway, couth = not me.

First Post

Oh my goodness. The pressure! Will I be pithy? funny? amusing? entertaining? None of the above?

Today let's talk about buying men gifts. Specifically my brother in law. For starters, the man lives across the country. So it's not like I know his daily habits. Would he enjoy a Starb*cks card, or is he in a committed relationship with a local coffeehouse? [OK, even knowing my brother in law just a little I think he's more likely to be a pot of coffee at home kind of guy instead of mingling with some hippie-coffee-roasting commmies. But really, what do I know?] Well, I do know that my BIL likes to hunt. Would sending a gun across the country send the wrong message? "Hey! Happy Birthday! Don't pull a Dick Cheney on my sister, ok?!" And is the correct terminology actually a gun? Or is it a rifle? Shotgun?

So no gun. Or Starb*cks. Which leaves me to my backup plan: ask my sister what to get. Per her advice my BIL is getting a Target gift card.

Who knows, maybe he'll buy a rifle.