Category Archives: Humor

I’m going to pin you in your face.


Alternate title: I’m addicted to Pinterest.

Mild-mannered copy editor by day. Pinning madwoman by night. Or wait. I think it might be the other way around, since I work at night.

I lurk through the pins of others. I hunt down interesting hairstyles, fun craft projects, fresh tips to keep my home clean. I pin them all, because I want to try them.

And then I don’t. Because instead of actually trying a new hairstyle, getting crafty or cleaning my apartment, I keep pinning.

I find a hilarious picture of a dog. (pinned in “makes me laugh”)

I find a picture of a spiral staircase surrounded by towering bookshelves. (pinned in “dream home”)

I find a picture of a lovely wedding gown inspired by a Disney princess. (pinned in “wedding ideas” [giggle])

I find a picture of a coffee table with a checkboard pattern made of old scarves weaved together and lacquered over. (pinned in “craft projects”)

I find more and more things I love, and as I pin I imagine that my Pinterest buddies are getting the full scope of my artistic inclinations. I mean, I may not be able to actually draw a perfect picture of a unicorn, but I pinned one and that’s basically the same, right?

As I pin more craft projects, my friends must be thinking me quite the crafty devil. I mean, not everyone will pin a project as incredible and with such a level of difficulty as a wreath made of dried orange slices wrapped around and pinned (of course) to a styrofoam ring.

These Pinterest buddies also can see how funny I am. I have such a good sense of humor! Look at this shirt with this hilarious design that I will never buy!

The act of pinning renders me completely inactive, sometimes for the better part of a day. So to keep myself in shape, I pin pictures of women running on beaches and inspirational workout quotes like, “Keep calm and use a 5-lb. dumbbell.”

Am I alone in this? Does anyone else have this strange addiction to this site? Perhaps it’s the feeling of elitism. Perhaps I like that I was invited to join, and other people have to wait in line. It’s like being on the VIP list and walking past the girls in heels whose feet will be too sore to dance once they get to the floor. Is that so wrong?

Advertisements

I saw Tommy Lee Jones at Publix on Sunday.


Let me preface this by saying that I have met celebrities in the past. I once had my picture taken with Elliott Sadler, and when I put my arm around him I grimaced because he was so sweaty. So the only proof I have of my meeting Elliott Sadler is a picture where I look disgusted to be meeting Elliott Sadler.

That same day I met Ryan Newman. In my fervor to get his autograph I may or may not have nudged a child to the side. I tend to get tunnel vision when I’m in the presence of great men. Ryan Newman looked kind of surprised, but I thought he was in awe of my beauty. Upon returning to Candice and my dad, they informed me that the look on Ryan Newman’s face was a response to my “nudging” of a child … a child who was with a group from the Make A Wish Foundation. So I pushed a Make A Wish kid. Awesome.

Most of my celebrity experiences have been awkward. But that was OK, because for the most part those encounters were expected.

I did not, however, expect to see Tommy Lee Jones at Publix on Sunday.

Mr. Lee Jones looks doubtful as to his whereabouts Sunday afternoon.

I was in the bakery looking for strudel. Candice was looking for an ice cream cake, so I pointed to the corner of the bakery and said, “The free range cakes are over there.” That’s when I saw Tommy Lee Jones, because I think he thought I was pointing at him.

Mr. Lee Jones seemed to be wandering around, and I think he was people watching. In person he has a large head — not an insult, just a fact — and he was wearing glasses. As he walked past me, my thought process was as follows:

That guy looks familiar.
Is he famous?
He looks really familiar.
Is he a doctor? No … not a doctor.
Wait, is he Tommy Lee Jones?
But that’s silly. Why would he be at Publix? It can’t be him.
Wait.
No.
That definitely is Tommy Lee Jones.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit.

In my head I was doing champion arms as I moved casually over to where Candice was standing and mouthed, “Tommy Lee Jones?” She looked around, found him, then looked back at me and said, “Been there, done that.” Working at Barnes & Noble in Wellington, she checked him out a couple times. And not in a creepy way, but in a cashier way. According to her, she asked him if he had a member card and he said no. But when his wife came in, Candice asked if she had a member card and she said yes. Candice took great offense to Tommy Lee Jones’ denial of Barnes & Noble membership.

Also, Peter worked at Barnes & Noble. He had nothing but nice things to say about Tommy Lee Jones. He even threw in a bit about how he renewed Tommy Lee Jones’ membership card. So I guess that’s something.

I think Mr. Lee Jones was purchasing lunch at Publix on Sunday. I’m not a very good member of the paparazzi.

One last thing: Peter’s favorite TLJ story is that once, while ringing up the U.S. Marshall, Peter asked the man if he wanted a bag for his books. TLJ told Peter to “keep the sack.” Peter still has the sack. Peter took it as a metaphor for manhood.

Update:  On Tommy Lee Jones’ IMDB page I found the following tidbit: “Plays polo and raises polo ponies. His team won the U.S. Polo Association’s Western Challenge Cup in 1993. Invites the Harvard’s best polo players to his ranch to practice each fall.” “The Harvard.” Hah.

Why giving your dog a human name might be a bad idea.


1. You might accidentally call someone gay. But we’ve already been over that.

2. Say you’re walking your dog outside and he tries to eat a dead lizard, so you say, “No Kevin, don’t do that!” There may be a human Kevin nearby who turns and stares at you with a confused look because he’s just trying to get into his car, and he doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t do that. Is it rigged to explode?

Dog Kevin has wonderful ears.

3. Your maintenance guy comes to inspect your air conditioner. He’s charmed by your dog, but gives you strange looks whenever you say, “Come here, Kevin!” As he leaves, he asks your dog’s name. When you say it’s Kevin, he says, “No, really, what’s his name?” When you explain that you named your dog after a baseball player and a TV sitcom character, he begins laughing uncontrollably and declares, “I am Kevin as well!”

4. Imagine your dog’s name is Jenny. She gets out of the yard a lot and you have to go driving around looking for her. When you do, sometimes there is a little girl named Jenny who lives down the street and comes running over to your car whenever you yell, “Jenny! Come here, girl!”

5. Put yourself in my shoes when I decided to name my guinea pig Mr. Mort Guffman of the Oppenheimer Foundation. Try to picture the looks on the faces of passersby as I tried to walk my guinea pig down the street on a leash and harness, and whenever he slid out of it (“like a sausage”) I yelled, “No, Mr. Mort Guffman! God, you’re such a silly pig!” I bet 90 percent of the people who heard that thought I was talking on a bluetooth device.

Also, I used to set up a pen in my front yard so my guinea pig could romp in and nibble on the grass.

 

Facebook face slap. Also, how I accidentally told a PetSmart cashier he’s gay.


Let’s say there’s someone you really don’t like. You wouldn’t be friends with them on Facebook anyways, but just to make sure they never see your bizness, you block them.

I never have blocked anyone. I’ve done the thing where I stay friends with someone but can’t see their status updates anymore, usually when they spam my wall with tons of nonsense related to games (oh Farmville, you crazy bastard). So to get a better idea of why this goes on, I asked people on Facebook if they’ve blocked someone and why.

Responses:

  • “Does it count if you were only friends with the person on facebook because he was the bf of your best friend?”
  • “Farmville.”
  • Two other people liked this one: “yes. i hated the updates every 5 minutes on the games they were playing (farmville is SO stupid), and the other questions/quizzes…it was annoying….so i blocked them…then deleted them. and don’t feel bad at all!”
  • One other person liked this one: “I blocked my exhusband….does that count?”
  • “people who post 20 things per hr so my phone is blown up with wahh wahh waahhhh and if ur a yankee fan u must go”
  • The inimitable Steam Me Up, Kid chimed in with this one: “I block angry people, and people who post photos of the carcasses of animals they shot. That’s about it.”
  • “ive been blocked numerous times. i guess im an asshole. but ive never blocked anyone myself.”
  • “i block people who are negative, vulgar and curse a lot… just don’t need to see that :)”
  • “No, I wouldn’t know how”
  • And, my sister: “I was blocked by someone for being friends with someone else they didn’t like. So, I blocked the person who blocked me cuz I thought it was stupid. I think I still have her blocked, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that she took the block off of me.”

This got me thinking: Why haven’t I ever blocked an ex-boyfriend? The short answer is that I want them to see how successful I am. The long answer involves me printing out any messages they try to send me and having my NEW DOG, KEVIN, release his bowels on them.

So why haven’t I blocked any of my adversaries? Surely there must be someone who is just downright rude to me, and I don’t want them to ever try to contact me or look at my photos. Wrong. Again, this category mostly consists of people with whom I went to high school or college. Mostly college. And they can see that I have a great job and graduated with honors as the outstanding graduate for my school and choke on their lemon drops.

Of course, as I write this I’m speaking sternly to my NEW DOG, KEVIN, telling him not to eat his stuffed hedgehog.

Oh, I’m sorry. Did I mention that I have a NEW DOG, and his named is KEVIN?

O hai there.

Kevin enjoys fetch, rope toys and more fetch. He’s my apartment buddy. He’s almost 8 months old, and he doesn’t evacuate indoors … unless we’re at Peter’s house, because Kevin gets really confused.

I named him after Kevin Youkilis from the Red Sox, and also after Kevin Malone from “The Office,” because every time he eats I yell, “Superfeast!”

Kevin will be a dog about town once he is neutered and has all of his shots, so I’m really looking forward to exploring the dog-friendly side of Martin County.

Where is this going? I don’t know. I got a mild concussion on Saturday and my brain has worked well since. Also, Kevin just ate the foot off his hedgehog.

Also, I promise my next post will be more interesting.

One last quick anecdote:

The day before I went to pick up Kevin, Peter and I went shopping to get puppy supplies. We went to PetSmart, and I got a little squeaky cupcake toy for $1.17.

I love the little cherry on top.

At the register, I turned to Peter and said, “Do you think the cupcake is too girly?” Both Peter and the guy behind the register replied that yes, it is girly. “Oh well,” I said. “If Kevin doesn’t like it, I’ll just give it to Patrick. He’s gay.”

The cashier stopped and stared at me. He was glaring, and it was really uncomfortable. The first thought to dart through my head was, “Oh crap, is he gay?” Then I looked at his name tag: Patrick.

I started laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I had tears running down my face and I was trying so hard to apologize, to tell him the Patrick to which I was referring is this guy:

The Official Patrick.

Peter helped me recover, and the cashier was just as embarrassed as we were. “I’m definitely not gay,” he said, handing me my receipt. All I could say as we walked to the door was, “Sorry I called you gay.”

And in the time it took me to write this, we have lost our dear friend, the Tiny Hedgehog. May he rest in peace.

Poor little guy.