Tag Archives: humor

It was like being the designated driver for a bunch of nerds.

10 Aug

The hosts of Planet Money: Alan Davidson & Alex Blumberg

First, an admission: I’m a huge dork and I love “behind the scenes” glimpses of programs I follow. That explains my ticket stubs from NBC’s studio tour (including the SNL set) in New York and NPR’s “Wait! Wait! Don’t Tell Me” show in Chicago.

So it should come as no surprise then that a few weeks ago when NPR hosted a live recording of Planet Money‘s podcast in DC, I eagerly snapped up a ticket. Turns out, I’m not the only nerd in DC. The venue (a Synagogue in Chinatown) was sold out with 800 attendees. I love living in a Nerd Mecca.

One of my friends — whom we’ll call Honer in this post out of a) respect for her privacy and b) her Honorary Nerd status — also picked up a ticket, so we made plans to meet at the show, 30 minutes before doors opened. As my work day wound down, I began receiving texts from Honer, regretting the wine she had consumed the night before.

Not going to call it a hangover, but my head hurts.

Not sure how I’m going to make it tonight. It’s officially a hangover.

Would you think less of me if I show up with a roadie? I think this situation calls for hair of the dog.

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If third graders worked in offices, this wouldn’t be funny.

5 Aug

First a bit of back story… I’m a pretty easy going person, so my knee jerk reaction if someone can’t do something or doesn’t have what I need is, “No worries.” And I almost always mean it.

Last week at work I was typing that exact phrase into a chat window in response to a co-worker, when it struck me as funny if — instead of saying “no worries” — I actually wrote back: “I HATE YOU.” Don’t ask me why, but that completely tickled my funny bone.

I was still giggling at the thought when a work buddy chatted me, so I had to explain why I was laughing. The great thing? He completely cracked up too. We immediately both adopted the phrase (but only in response to each other), but used it infrequently enough that each time it popped up it caught me off-guard and struck me as hilarious all over again.

I encourage you to try it, but only with a work buddy. If you do it to a non-buddy, they will think you are an asshole.

Anyway. So last night, I thought I would share this tip with the world (by which I mean the small handful of people who follow my twitter feed out of sympathy). Except, instead of posting it where you’re supposed to tweet, I sent a direct message to one of my followers. This is what I wrote:

Work tip: the next time you’re about to type “No worries” in response to someone who can’t help you, instead type “I HATE YOU.”

That triple cracked me up. First, because it’s just a hilarious tip to share. Second, because it looked like I had personally sought them out for these words of wisdom. Third, this person had reached out to me about six months ago, asking if a restaurant they represent could quote my review on their website.

Steal my content? I will cut you.

I had given them permission, and thought I was pretty cool about it. Instead of bartering for a credit at the restaurant, I simply asked that they link to my blog to drive traffic back to the source of the original article. The tweeter said she’d check and see if it was possible.

Did they link? No. Did they post the entire content of my review on the company’s website? They did. Did I get a kick that it was in the “media” section, between two legitimate restaurant reviews written by real people, while mine had to be attributed to someone named Pithy Pants? I did.

[Note: they’ve apparently since wised up and realized I’m in no way an official restaurant critic or journalist, because when I just checked the site, that entire section was under construction. Maybe they’re running background checks on all the content they repurposed from strangers?]

In any case, I like that after six months of not communicating, the way I reached out to this person was via a direct message giving her tips on how to be awkwardly aggressive. And even sweeter? That our previous exchange had ended with her promising to look into linking to my blog, and my writing back three simple words:

Cool. No worries. 

Using this logic, my kitchen is now full of trophies.

4 Aug

Earlier this week I mentioned that I don’t do “sick” very well. I didn’t elaborate, because I hate it when people hijack my Facebook feed with an on-going list of symptoms. This is how that usually plays on on my Facebook Wall:

Them: Wah! Wah!

Me: Click.

Them: Permanently hidden.

Someone once told me that there are three things no one (excepting maybe relatives) really cares to hear you talk about: 1) Your dreams, 2) Your vacations, 3) Your children. I think we should amend that statement and add 4) Your health.

The only time I want to hear about someone’s health is if something YouTube worthy has happened to them. Like a botfly larvae has been pulled from their body. Or their bowel movements have crippled an entire municipality’s sewage system. You get the idea.

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When ignorance really is bliss.

3 Aug

Whenever I travel, I try to read a book set where I’m visiting. Usually I lean toward a novel and supplement it with guided walking tours so I can get a blend of fact and fiction. In preparation for my upcoming trip to Australia, I picked up something I read years ago, a non-fiction travelogue by Bill Bryson called In a Sunburned Country.

I remembered enjoying it (from the comfort of my couch in DC), so I thought it would be a nice primer.

WRONG.

Oh sure, it’s as funny and educational and telling as I remember. The problem? Bryson is fixated on takes great joy in regaling readers with tales of all the dangerous/poisonous creatures that inhabit the land Down Under. As someone who is a bit of an arachnophobe, this is NOT helpful.

(Separately, what does it mean that I’ve managed to weave phobias into EVERY post this week? I’m scaring myself. Is that a phobia too?)

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When the fear isn’t crippling, it’s freeing…

2 Aug

While I feel horrible for anyone confronting a phobia, some of the less common phobias are, um, borderline hilarious. Fear of snakes and spiders? I understand. Fear of air? Not so much.

(And yes, fear of air actually exists — it’s called anemophobia, if you’re curious. I didn’t know what it was a called, which is how I ended up on this site, doing a reverse look-up of phobias after WebMD indicated that fear of air is a symptom of rabies.)

For today’s post-lunch distraction, here’s a list of my newly-discovered favorite phobias:

  • Caligynephobia: fear of beautiful women. I think the Beach Boys named this one.
  • Deipnophobia: fear of dinner conversation. Pretty sure I’ve dated this guy.
  • Consecotaleophobia: fear of chopsticks. I’m going to guess the diagnosis of this runs pretty low in rural America.
  • Euphobia: fear of hearing good news. I want to meet this person. Sounds like a real Debby Downer: “Do you want me to start with the bad news or the –” “NO!”
  • Basophobia: fear of the inability to stand. How does this seed even get planted in one’s mind? And does it seize them only when they’re seated?
  • Arachibutyrophobia: fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth.
  • Papaphobia: fear of the Pope. Nice to know he ranks up there with clowns for some people.

Interestingly, there is a whole list of phobias that I would argue aren’t phobias, but are, rather, NORMAL fears… like thanataphobia (fear of death) or taeniophobia (fear of tapeworms).

And of course, the men out there who are rolling their eyes, saying phobias are for sissies… I have one word for you: Medmalacuphobia.

Look it up.