Archive for August, 2008

21
Aug
08

funny stuff is too hard!

So here I am, ripe to write because I’m in one of those Emo moods. You know the moods, where you feel all witty and cliche and like the world needs to benefit from the beauty of your home-brewed sorrow and shit. Why is it that whenever I’m in these spaces I have urges to write more, but I can never get the fun stuff down onto paper?

I’m reading David Sedaris’ “When You’re Engulfed in Flames”. And while it’s hilarious, I think to myself, “I can write funnier stories than that”. I mean, with all the crazies I know, the situations I find myself in at work, my sloppy attempts at a relationship, and my unique brand of neurosis – there is a lot of ammo for a good story. But I only seem to pick up the pen (or the laptop) when I’m sulking. Boo.

I’m sorry that you have to take my word for it that I’m a funny person, I really am, but funny people are often lazy. And I don’t wanna blame it on pot or on the fact that I’m overworked and stretched too thin – but then I don’t have any other excuses, so those will have to work for now. But if I wasn’t a pothead or overworked, here are a few of the moments i would have captured for my increasingly depressing blog:

The “Male Erotic Massage” class the boy and I took. This could have been advertised more accurately as “Middle Aged Women talking about Cocks”. The BF and I were the only males there – and consequently, the only ones who chortled every time the teacher (a middle aged women with a retainer. A retainer!) would tell us how these moves had been tested all over America. After learning the 8 basic strokes and 8 “intense” strokes – he and I were convinced that there was a whole market here we could break into for money. I have a few strokes of my own that have been tried all over America. The only thing left to do is name them.

Or what about the adventures of LGBT Meditation? Whoever put this group of hippies together was really something. Unfortunately, I like the crowd and fit in. So that was a little hard to swallow. But mild Buddhism and sitting my hyper ass down in one spot for a few moments has actually been helpful, so I won’t dog the chanters that hard.

Then you have the adventures of the CQ that tried to go back to church, like maybe God had changed her mind about gay sex. Turns out you can’t tell because the church members are too busy telling you how they feel about it.

There’s even the tales of monogamy mayhem – like the weekend the BF went away, and I spent every waking moment cyber-flirting, feeling guilty about it, jacking off, getting high, and repeating the process. By the time he got home and sex was actually going to happen – my dick wouldn’t work for the life of me and I had rug burn on my head. I’m sure he was happy to see me, too.

There are a ton of glorious details to these stories. Details that I’m sure David Sedaris and his funny little notebook would capture, and embellish in Pulitzer worthy ways. But as for me, when the funny and ridiculous happens – I’m too busy enjoying the fact that something funny and ridiculous is happening. Two joints later, and it’s just a memory. Give it a week and it’s a scene in my subconscious from a movie I might have seen. These stories might live on in a parallel universe – one where I am not a lazy ass and might actually venture to write something down. But in this universe, they are only ammo I use to convince myself that I am funny. And I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.