Sharing the hilarity. (It’s funny ‘cos it’s true!)

So my friend Caitlin, whom I mention all the time, posted this on her blog recently and it was so friggin’ funny that I had to repost it:

“The other day, I was talking to a dear friend whom I legitimately like and deeply respect. The conversation sailed along, fueled by bullshit, until he told me something really nice about myself.

Skreeeeeeeeee, went the conversation to a horrible halt.

Like the meta, Liberal-arts fuckheads we are, we clawed our way out of the awkwardness by discussing how frigging hard it is to hear you’re awesome. And how I would probably more easily take a punch than take a compliment.

“Let’s see a crazed fan kill you with nice words, you asshole.” –Harry Houdini

Thus, Compliment Club was born.

The first rule of Compliment Club is, do not talk about Compliment Club.

The second rule of Compliment Club is, make sure you’re cuddling a pillow like a baby.

There is so far no third rule for Compliment Club.

Anyone can join and anyone can start their own local branches. And when I show up to work tomorrow with a black eye and a bloody lip? Don’t say a word, unless you want to hear that I like your shoes.”

I hope she appreciates that the act of posting this is, in itself, my first punch/method of entry into Compliment Club.  How d’ya like this shiner, ‘natch?

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This is a stellar example of why we’re friends.

I was gchatting with Caitlin this morning (*coughyesIreallydohavemorethanonefriendIswearcough*) while composing an email to another friend (See? Told you.), and our conversation went a little something like this:

Me: A friend asked me to elaborate on some brief comments I made the other day about my reaction to his artwork, and I’m having a difficult time articulating what I felt.  It was more of a visceral reaction than a complete thought.

Caitlin: Say, “Your work makes me feel,” and attach a picture of a wedding dress.

Me: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!

Caitlin: “As a girl, I only have two feelings: ‘:(‘ and ‘wedding dress’.  This makes me feel the latter.”

My god, I love that girl.

I especially love how this wedding dress has Hello Kitty on it, thus enhancing its inherent contextual comedic value.

Life lessons

This is another one that I sent to Caitlin and then decided it was again too humiliating/hilarious not to share.  And yes, I realize that of the whopping four blog entries I’ve done so far, I’ve mentioned Caitlin twice and literally no one else even once, making it appear that I only have one friend.  Mmm, I’m just getting more and more attractive every day, aren’t I, world?

“I just read your blog entry.  Funny thing: that almost happened to me this morning.  Ok, I do yoga in my underwear.  I also feed Ixchel in my underwear, because she always makes a big mess and slings formula everywhere, and it’s easier to clean formula splatters off skin than clothing.  And then, because I’ve already been walking around in my underwear doing yoga and feeding Ixchel, I go ahead and feed the rest of the birds in my underwear, too.  ‘Cos why the hell not?  I live alone.  So before giving them fresh water, I dump the birds’ old water into my hanging plants that are out on my front porch.  If I didn’t do that, they’d otherwise never get watered.

So this morning, the birds were all out of their cages, I was in my underwear, and I took a couple of old water bowls out to the porch to water the plants (I should clarify here that my front yard is fully enclosed in a privacy fence, so it’s not like I’m flashing the neighbors).  I shut the door behind me so that none of the birds would fly out the door.  The problem is that my door knob has a little button on it that, if it’s pressed in, locks the door automatically.  So I went out, watered the plants, and then when I turned to walk back in, realized that the knob was locked.  FUCK.  I was envisioning myself running down S_____ in my underwear screaming at the top of my lungs: “BFF NEEDS PHONE!  BFF NEEDS LOCKSMITH!”  And then getting arrested and sent to the State Hospital for apparent mental illness.  Fortunately for me, I have a flare for the dramatic, as you well know, so I half-jokingly threw myself against the front door crying, “Nooooo!”  As it turns out, I hadn’t shut the door all the way, so the bolt hadn’t completely engaged.  My weight was enough to push it back open.  Talk about a stroke of luck.  I mean, for the good citizens of Austin who happened to be on S_____ this morning, more so than for me.  Poor people would have had PTSD if they witnessed me running down the street in my undies.
Lesson learned: always get dressed before taking the birds’ water out to the plants.  I would say, “Always make sure you have your keys with you before you walk outside,” but I think you and I both know that’s a bit of an unrealistic expectation!”

Wherein “BFF” stands for “Big Fat Fatty”

I sent this to my friend Caitlin a few days ago but decided that it was far too humiliating/hilarious not to make publicly available.  Oh, world.  With posts like this, you’ll be in love with me in no time:

“This actually just happened. I have been super sad and stressed out and worried today, so the Official BFF Solution is, naturally, bacon. So here I am, at 10 pm, sitting in my rocking chair, alone, my hair a tangled mess, eating bacon out of a cheap plastic container. I pause from shoveling the salty fatty goodness in my mouth long enough to grab the hem of my pajamas to wipe bacon grease from my face (although, really, what’s the point? I’m only going to resume the bacon-shoveling). When I lift the PJ skirt to my face – I shit you not – a seed moth flies out from my underwear/crotch region.  Ahhh, yes. Not even *I* can tell whether I’m laughing or crying right now.”