Sunday, December 12, 2010
It was the night of my best friend's 18th birthday and as a gift, her mom set her up on a date with this guy she had really liked for, like, four years. My friend knew that she was being set up on a date, but she didn't know who it was with. She had no idea it was her crush. When my friend was in her room getting ready, the crush came over with a bouqet of flowers in hand waiting in the family room to surprise her. My friend comes out of her room and who does she see? Her dream man with flowers, nonetheless. What a glorious evening for her!
It wasn't just any date, but a group "date". "Date" because there were five people, three girls and two boys. Obviously there was an odd girl out. That person was probably me--I'm always the odd one. The only person I knew on this group thing was my best friend. The others invited to the group thing were the guy she had a crush on, the guy she had a crush on's cousin, and my best friend's friend. We were invited to go for a limo ride around Sacramento! We were in the limo deciding where to go, and trying to fill the limo with conversation as we made our way to the decided destinations. Since I only knew my friend and am not good at talking in groups (especially to people I don't know), I really didn't have much to say. I couldn't ask my BFF what it's like being in the same limo as her crush because, hello, he's right there. In fact, there didn't seem to be a lot of conversation going on. The whole limo ride is filled with all these strangers trying to make small talk with one another...
"Shannon, you've already told me that five times..."
Someone else says, "I've never been in a limo before."
"Yeah, me neither..."
"Limos are cool."
You know, that kind of talking.
"Why don't we put on some music?" Someone suggests.
Billie Jean can now be heard playing softly in the background of my friend's thumping heart. Hello, if you were in the same car as the guy you've liked for four years and now were officially on a date with him, you'd be nervous/excited too! Well, this Billie Jean song I faintly hear gives me an epiphany! I know! Why don't I share that Michael Jackson joke with everyone that I had only heard a few days earlier? Great idea, Shannon. I imagine patting myself on the back. Oooh, I'll be the funny person in the car. Get them all to laugh. Then my friend and her crush can start talking about how funny the joke is and branch off of that into different topics, and then, voila! They'll be talking about marriage. Okay, so maybe I wasn't really thinking like that. Rather, I was probably like, Hmm...let's see if this joke can fill the silence with a little laughter for maybe a couple of seconds. I was decided. I was going to share this hecka funny joke.
I pronounce, "Why does Michael Jackson like to shop at K-Mart?" All eyes on me. This is my moment to turn the car ride around into something where the nervousness has eased, and the ice has been broken.
"Because the boys' pants are half off!"
It was sooooo silent that you could hear a pin drop...or just hear the lyrics "People always told me be careful of what you do...". Not the reaction (or lack thereof) that I had expected. Not only was the limo even more silent than before, but now I was probably labeled as the-girl-who-tells-dumb-jokes-that-no-one-laughs-at to these three strangers. Not even a sympathy laugh. Not one. All I ask is that you at least give me a fake laugh. Is that really too much?
I couldn't figure it out. I had found that joke funny enough that I decided to share it with these new people. I would be doing them a favor if they had found it funny. Then they could share it with their families. And then their families could share it with friends. It'd be like pay it forward.
After enjoying our time playing arcades at Sunsplash and eating ice cream at Leatherby's, we made our way home. I asked my friend why no one laughed at the joke. Apparently her crush was a HUGE Michael Jackson fan and didn't much appreciate the joke. And I guess everyone (but me) knew that he loved MJ. Needless to say, the next time I'm in a limo driving around Sacramento with four other people, three of which I don't know, and no one's talking, I've learned my lesson to never tell a Michael Jackson joke because then the joke will be on me. And there still won't be laughter.
Next time you hear a joke from me that you don't find agreeable, just give me a tiny laugh, or even a smile, sit me down, put your hand on my shoulder, look at me with empathetic eyes and simply say, "Shannon, I'm sorry, but that's another Michael Jackson joke." And I will totally understand...it will mean you'd rather hear an infamous dumb blond joke...
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
On the topic of tomatoes...
What's the deal with them being classified as a fruit and then being treated as if they're a vegetable? I mean, fruit in a salad?! Bizzare...unless, it's a fruit salad. Maybe that's why I don't like salad--you just don't mix fruit with lettuce. Disgusting. Tomatoes, you're really a fruit, hence you don't belong in any kind of salad unless it's fruit salad. Wikipedia has this to say about how you should be treated:
Tomatoes have been designated the state vegetable of New Jersey. Arkansas took both sides by declaring the "South Arkansas Vine Ripe Pink Tomato" to be both the state fruit and the state vegetable in the same law. In 2009, the state of Ohio passed a law making the tomato the state's official fruit.
Different states are telling you that you're two different types of food, tomatoes. I'm sorry that you're so confused as to which role to play during your little lifetime. It must be really confusing for you. My verdict: if you're a fruit then act like a fruit. The end.
What's the deal with them being classified as a vegetable and then being treated as if they're a fruit? I mean, vegetable in a pie?! Bizarre...unless, it's...no, vegetables should never be made into a pie. That would be like me saying, Hey, I have this great idea. Let's make celery pie! Umm, no thanks. Rhubarb, you're really a vegetable, hence you don't belong in any kind of pie. Period. Wikipedia has this to say about your identity:
Rhubarb is considered to be a vegetable; however, in the United States a New York court decided in 1947 that since it was used in the United States as a fruit it was to be counted as a fruit for the purposes of regulations and duties.
Let me get this straight: You're born a vegetable. You have all the vegetable parts. But since you're being treated as if you're a fruit, the USA changes your identity to fruit? I can see the confusion displayed all over your little stick body. My verdict: if you're a vegetable then act like a vegetable. The end.
The name "ladybird" originated in Britain where the insects became known as "Our Lady's bird" or the "Lady beetle". Mary (Our Lady) was often depicted wearing a red cloak in early paintings and the spots of the seven spot ladybird (the most common in Europe) were said to symbolise her seven joys and seven sorrows. In the US, the name was adapted to ladybug.
So, Britain pinned this on ya little guys. Oh gosh, am I blurring your self-image even more by calling you guys since you're apparently ladies? Now I'M confused. I just don't know what to call you. Just change your name altogether. I have an idea; how about Those Insects That Everyone Calls Bugs But Who Aren't Bugs That Everyone Thinks Are Sooooo Cute That They're Often Associated With Little Girls Along With Butterflies (Aww man, are butterflies actually made from butter...?) And Rainbows.
Besides the whole lady thing, we now have the fact from the ever-trustworthy Wikipedia (again) that you are in fact NOT bugs. That's right. You heard me. Apparently you're really coccinellids, a type of insect. I'm done trying to fit you into a certain category. My verdict: if you're an insect that act like an insect. Oh wait, you already do that. Well then, if you're a lady, then act like a lady. But, not all of you are ladies. You're probably an even mixture of males and females. Hmm...here we go: if you're cute, then continue acting cute. The end.
"It don't matter if you're black or white". Oh really, Michael? Then...what's with all the changes...to your hair?
My verdict: if you're Michael Jackson then you make really good music. The end.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
I'm out prowling for prey. Then I spot it from across the room. Under the small wooden table in front of the windows is a perfect brownie. What? I've never come upon a brownie in the living room before. A brownie just sitting there under the table on the beige carpet. What a nice surprise.
I crawl myself right up to it. Dare I touch it? What if this brownie isn't for me? Whose brownie is sitting here on the carpet in the living room? Do cats even eat brownies? Did Mom decide to bake brownies and disperse them throughout the house as like, a scavenger hunt for her children's pure enjoyment? Would I get in trouble for eating it? What if my brother or sister hid their brownie here for a later occasion? (I'm sure this wasn't my thought process at four years of age. Most likely I was just like, Brownie!! For me!)
I couldn't take the temptation any longer. Gazing at this wonder that I accidentally happened upon, I stick my finger into the warm brownie and bring it towards my mouth. The ooziness and warmth of the brownie felt just right on my finger that I shut out any doubts from my mind that this brownie could belong to anyone but me. I slide my brownie-tipped finger into my mouth expecting nothing but chocolate goodness and a warm feeling of satisfaction throughout my body.
The brownie touched my tongue and immediately I felt a warm sensation thoughout my body...but not one of satisfaction. More of, like, vomit rising through my throat making its way to the cavity that had just encompassed what I had now figured to be cat poop. A nice, warm pile of cat poop.
I was in shock. How could this warm, gooey, chocolate-looking thing not be a brownie? I had opened my mouth expecting Ghirardelli chocolate chips scattered throughout a brownie, but I definitely had the taste of sheer disappointment plaguing my mouth, not to mention crappy-smelling breath. I shouldn't complain, though. Afterall, I did just happen to eat pie. Not chocolate Ghirardelli pie, but a very special homemade pie from a loving feline.
Looking back, I'm guessing Mom didn't get any brownie points from me for the supposed scavenger hunt she had planned. Needless to say, I will never eat brownies that I spot on the floor ever again, thanks to this brownie incident.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
- Beverly Hills-Weezer
- California Girls-The Beach Boys
- Hotel California-Eagles
- California Dreamin'-The Mamas & the Papas
- California-Phantom Planet
- Californication-Red Hot Chili Peppers
- Dani California-Red Hot Chili Peppers
- California Sky-Unwritten Law
- California Love-2Pac
...and it looks like I have a lot more downloading to do.
You mean you still don't know why no one sings about you? Here's a hint (see pictures below):
Picture on the left: Utah, December 2010--after a snowfall lasting 24 hours
Picture on the right: Laguna Beach, December 2007--after visiting Disneyland the previous day
Picture on the left: white, annoying substance dominating everything in its path
Picture on the right: beige, annoying substance dominating everything in its path but is clearly welcomed with open arms
Bottom line: Choose the right.