Before I go on to write this post, I suppose I should insert a little disclaimer: All characters [me?] appearing in this work as well as
certain all the activities said characters are described to be partaking in are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, and real events are purely coincidental.
Okay…so now that we have the legal mumbo-jumbo out of the way, I just have one question for you. Do you know what a french inhale is? I do. I was informed about it one night in the back shadowy corner of a dark soccer field of a town that shall remain undisclosed by a group of people who may not even exist. Give me a moment while I mourn the passage of my youthful years… Ok. So, her name was Vanessa, I seem to recall. She had long blonde hair and calves of steel. Soccer player and dorm neighbor from 4 doors down the hall. She was a cool kid and I was a new kid. I was a kid who apparently did not know what a french inhale was.
She turned the small joint around and inserted the lit end into her mouth. I puckered my lips. She blew. I inhaled the swirling smoke of cannabis into my innocent lungs. So, the story goes. The lapse of time between this memory and the next one is pretty much blank as I’m sure I massacred 81 hundred thousand brain cells within that time frame. But the important ones didn’t die. The important cells held on to a sequence of synapses that formed this next memory – I found myself telling a joke. It was a very long joke that I read in a chain letter email once; the type that if you don’t forward it to 10 people, something bad happens to you. I thought I picked the funnier one because I really only knew a total of TWO jokes.
Apparently I should have forwarded it, because something bad did happen. Several somethings. 1) I started laughing for a long time at my joke before I actually told it to the others. 2) I couldn’t stop laughing in between every. single. word. 3) I forgot parts of the joke, remembered, and started over again to include the forgotten parts. 4) I kept pausing during the joke to hallucinate. 5) It took me an hour to tell the joke.
Well…I was never invited to the soccer field again. I don’t think I ever told the joke again. That one was definitely scratched OFF my joke list, which leaves me with the other one. I don’t remember that one, so now I really don’t know any except for this story in which, naturally, I am the joke.
So, now that we have that foundation laid down, let me tell you about someone we are going to call Mr. Huggie Monster. Mr. HM said, “Jojo, you know if you really want to attract more people, you should maybe be less serious. You are a good writer, but maybe you should write more about mainstream kind of things. You know, use different words maybe?” Then he came back with, “There is this blogger I know. She is so funny, she is hilarious…and her blog is SO popular.”
“Are you saying I’m not funny?!” – I quivered. He says, “Well, you CAN be funny but I don’t think of you as a funny person.” Wow. Just wow. I don’t know HOW after that altercation I let this person remain in my roster of friends! But inside my dark, little, humorless heart…I knew he was right. I am just not a funny person as evidenced by the events of that night on the soccer field.
I actually Googled [how to be funny]. Seriously, there are instructions on how to be funny. They said: cause emotional or physical pain to someone and laugh at them; lie because unexpected and untrue things are inherently funny; make ethnic jokes and laugh hysterically at anyone who talks funny or talks in an accent; et cetera. A majority of women and men say that “sense of humor” is the most important characteristic they look for in a partner. This is probably why I’m doomed to die mateless and miserably alone because I can’t crack a joke. And then another site said that having a sense of humor means being spontaneous, witty, and sharp. So, I’m not funny AND I’m dumb AND I’m witless AND undateable? Awesome.
I’m going to start watching YouTube videos and mimic people being funny and maybe learn some new jokes to tell at non-smoking parties. Fake it till you make it, right?