Tag Archives: funny

Just when I think I’m clever…

21 Nov

This morning I heated my oven to 475 degrees to cook an Alsatian Tarte Flambee for breakfast. (Let’s not even discuss my food choices.) Since my oven was so incredibly hot, in an attempt at environmental responsibility I decided I shouldn’t just waste the residual heat on an empty oven.

Instead, I prepped a tray of walnuts, thinking I’d toast them for a dessert I plan to make later this week. Every few minutes I checked them, and each time I felt somewhat smug, pleased with myself for this burst of efficiency. An added bonus: as the walnuts took on a golden color, my entire place smelled heavenly.

So heavenly, in fact, that when Alan’s sister made a comment on Facebook about how great her place smelled as a result of something she was baking, I felt inclined to comment. And it was only as I typed the following words (which I then erased), that I realized what an idiot I was:

My place smells great too! Get excited: I’m toasting some walnuts for a Mexican Pecan Torte to share with you this week!

In case you’re curious: the pecan torte recipe doesn’t call for any walnuts.

I am a dipshit.

 

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I didn’t expect to leave part of myself in that room.

9 Nov

This year I set-up a healthcare Flex Spending Account. I didn’t put much in it, but still, it was a pretty healthy year for me so I have a balance of $300 that threatens to disappear come January if I don’t use it.

I tell you that by way of explaining why I was at a dermatologist’s office this afternoon for the first time in my adult life. Apparently it’s on the list of annual inspections that adults over 35 should do, and since I am just sitting on a pile of money I can’t touch, I figured a bit of preventative care would be a good start.

As I sat in the waiting room (for a full hour, which is a different story), I noticed something: every patient walking out of the treatment area had at least one (and as many as six) circular bandaids affixed to his/her face. The first one I saw, I thought, “Wonder what she had done?” The second one, I was like, “Mole, mole mole…” a la Austin Powers. But by the third one, I was thinking we had a scalpel-happy doctor waiting on the other side of the door.

Turns out I was right. After a head-to-toe inspection (including a glance at my bikini  line – REALLY? – do people even GET moles there?) the doctor uttered the words, “I just want to do a biopsy on this one…” and the next thing I knew, I was on my stomach having a small and flat (but apparently dark) mole completely sliced off my back.

Say what?! The doctor left and her assistant came in to dress the wound. He looked to be an African American guy in his early 40s and was very friendly. “All right! You’re not even bleeding. Good stuff!” he informed me, rubbing his hands together.

“Apparently I’m awesome,” I told him, eyeing the mole formerly known as “mine,” which was now suspended in a sealed container of liquid.

He stopped and looked at me. “Women ARE awesome. Seriously. It’s the men that are a pain, always wanting to know how much something is gonna hurt or passing out when they see the needle. Big babies.”

Right on. I should’ve asked for his name so I could quote him on that.

When I walked out through the waiting room, I could feel all eyes on me. I wasn’t sure if I should run around and high-five everyone since I didn’t sport a bandaid on my face, or if I should turn around and lift my shirt to show everyone the bandage on my back so they’d know I wasn’t a pharmaceutical rep.

I wish I had been more prepared. Next week my friend Margaret is going. I’m going to send some fancy kids’ bandaids with her and recommend that she stop in the bathroom and put at least ten on her face before walking through the waiting room. Because the only thing more terrifying than a doctor who’s a cutter, it’s a cutter who loves Hello Kitty.

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His last name should be “Sedarious” so it rhymes with “hilarious.”

9 Oct

 

Waiting for Godot. But Sedaris.

 

Earlier this week Alan and I saw David Sedaris speak at the Lisner Auditorium at GWU. If you don’t know who he is, then you must either be a) So conservative you crap tea bags, or b) Dead.

He’s one of my favorite authors of all time, because he knows how to tell a great story. Well, that, and he’s from a pretty wacky family and is willing to exploit it for my amusement. And he moved to France with a limited grasp on French, much like I did. So, he’s kind of like an older, gayer, funnier, more talented version of me. And whereas I would pass a drug test, I’m pretty sure he would fail.

Alan had never seen him before, so the night got off to a bang when Sedaris took the stage and opened with, “I hate to be a dick, but…” And proceeded to stop and watch the sign language interpreter, just so he could see her sign the word, “dick.”

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I blame the internet for making me dumb and callous.

24 Aug

One of my friends shared the link to this story via Facebook.

Please take three minutes and read it, so you understand why I’m rolling on the floor while I type. (And yes, I recognize that sexual predators are NOT a laughing matter. What? Do I have your attention NOW? See why you need to read it?)

If you haven’t yet read it, let me offer a visual teaser:

Classic: Business up front, party in the rear.

My thoughts – in no particular order:

Nothing like someone who self-identifies as a pervert. If only he would lose the mustache and mullet, people might not cross the street when they see him coming. And he might actually get to finish a massage without someone asking to see his credentials.

That is a cocky smile for a mug shot, no? It’s because deep down, he knows that the policeman who arrested him thinks his plan was somewhat brilliant. I mean: posing as a masseuse and wandering around a movie set? How many men across America are slapping their foreheads, wishing they had thought of this themselves? Answer: All of them.

And please tell me you appreciate the irony here… The movie that was being filmed was called “Touchback.” Apparently this man took that literally. But who can blame him, with a last name like “Ketchapaw,” it’s almost like he was fulfilling his destiny.

Finally, since I’m already going to hell for finding humor in tragedy, let me leave you with this story, which is NOT AT ALL funny, except for the neighbor’s comment of “whoa!” and the fact that the cat had been seasoned and the  idea that the male cat was pregnant:

Sorry, PETA.

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