Category Archives: humor

goodness, humor

Quest complete

I’m hosting a game night tomorrow night with my two roommates (Diminutive Roommate and Teacher Roommate), Treehouse Friend and Artist Friend (who have been dating for a couple of years, and would have very pretty children if they were so inclined), Office Job Friend, Stunt Sensei Friend, and White Boy Kung Fu Friend.  We decided to also include pumpkin carving!  To the pumpkin patch!

success!

Actually, we couldn’t go to a pumpkin patch because Diminutive Roommate and I couldn’t get off work in time to go to one, but the local super markets did not disappoint.  Diminutive Roommate has a very distinct idea of what she wants, and requires a tall, long pumpkin for her vision, which took some sweaty digging, but omg worth it.

In case you hadn’t heard, I love pumpkins.  Frankly, I’m having trouble picturing a better-stocked shopping cart.  Perhaps if there was a kitten.

disembodied and ADORABLE

There we are.

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family, goodness, humor, life

Halloween time is the best time

i love a good haunted house

A graphic designer named Mike Doyle recently caught my eye with his creation of abandoned houses built completely out of Legos.  These things are big enough to cover my desk, and rise about four feet high.  They’re serious business, and super cool.

I love Halloween.  I love everything about it: pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns, costumes, decorations, getting scared, all of it.  I also love having so many random encounters with people because of costumes, and asking for candy from (and trusting) one complete stranger after another.  What other non-religious holiday allows for that?  Everyone loves Halloween!  It’s the best!

JEALOUS

As a kid, I dressed up as a pirate for four or five years in a row.  I wore stockings, a red and white striped skirt with a jagged hem, and a thin white shirt and a pirate hat.  I also had a hook, if memory serves.  My mom would draw a curly mustache on my face at my behest, because apparently, even female pirates had to have Captain Hook mustaches.  Gender confused and full of sugar: needless to say, I was a typical, happy child on Halloween.

Sister dressed up as a candy devil one year, which involved Mom hot gluing candies to her tail, which she then unwrapped and ate before the end of the night.  I dressed as a werewolf one year (black clothing, All Star sneakers, and a mask), and as death another year (complete with armageddon cloak, scary face paint and scythe).  That turned out to be a semi-unfortunate choice, as I was invited to go to my first Halloween party by a 5th grade classmate where I felt forced to decline my first (and only) encounter with spin the bottle due to my awesome and really fucking creepy makeup.  I couldn’t believe we didn’t go trick-or-treating.  “What a waste,” I thought.  Plus, Sister and her friend both decided to dress as hippies, which only encouraged her to reiterate her favorite chant of “Angel, Devil, Angel, Devil” that she enjoyed cackling whenever she (often) wore pastels while I wore darker colors.  That shit went on for years.  I came to refer to her fashion choice as “Mug Me” colors, since I saw them as something that would make her look like a target.

But I digress.  Halloween is the best, even with an annoying Sister and friends trying to ruin my night with their stupid boys.

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humor, life

Incredible edible fashion

i'm diabetic! hooray!

Recently at the Salon du Chocolat in Paris, models trotted along the runway in dresses made of chocolate.

I saw these photos and laughed, but then the old woman part of me yells, “People are starving in the world!  France!  BAH!”  But fashion is nothing if not somewhat absurd.  The day fashion becomes nothing but functional is the day we all join NASA (yes plz!) and give up our aesthetics (no thx!).  I’m torn on whether I like high fashion.  It’s such a huge waste of energy and money, but I love the pure freedom of artistic expression, even if it often slips into the ridiculous and ugly.  But I love the concept of art: a semi-useless exercise of creativity for creativity’s sake.

If you’re not the type to worry about third-worlders, this must have been a seriously entertaining event.  Edible high fashion: What a great idea, in part because it’s so potentially disastrous, but also because it’s so temporary that it basically becomes performance art.  Each dress can only be worn once before it starts to go bad.  One of the dresses literally fell apart on the runway (see below).  What more do you want?  Ridiculous shenanigans are the best!  Too bad there are people starving in the world, France.

onoes! my delectably edible gown!

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humor, life

Shut up about my hometown, already

OMFG STFU

I was reminded recently that I’m hyper-sensitive to people criticizing Los Angeles.  I met a neighbor who lives in my building last week, and our smalltalk led to the standard “Where are you from?”  When I said LA, he joked, “Oh, I’m sorry.”  He and my roommate had a good chuckle while I grinned and thought to myself, “Thanks, asshole.  I’m sorry that you feel forced to continue to live in such an awful city.”  What came out was, “I love LA.”  He backpedaled a bit and said he liked it here, at which point I decided his opinion was worthless, since what he had said could basically be summed up as the following:

“I pity you for being forced as a child to live in a city where, as an adult, I have chosen to reside.  How sad for you.  No, I don’t want to move away.  Why do you ask?”

I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve heard this totally meaningless opinion: I hate it here, but I choose to stay.  This is the thought pattern of a crazy person.  Luckily, I’ve found a solution of all those live-in haters: go away.  This remarkable breakthrough is the solution to the following common complaints:

–Traffic is awful– Because apparently no other major city in the world has traffic, people who come to Los Angeles are just shocked that a city with a population of almost ten million might have a few too many cars on the road.
Solution: Leave.  The people on the road aren’t a bunch of yahoos with nothing to do.  They’re people like you who came from somewhere else and decided to stay and complain rather than learn how to take a bus, stay off the road at rush hour, find an alternate route, or leave.

–It’s unsafe– Because apparently no other major city has similar crime rates, reading the LA Times makes people fear for their lives daily.  And unnecessarily.
Solution: Leave.  LA’s murder stats are almost five times lower than Baltimore, Maryland.  Chances are you’ll live through the day, and as major cities go, there are far worse places to get stabbed.  If you don’t feel safe in a city, move somewhere you’ll feel safe.  Fresno is nice this time of year.

hey look, it's you. GTFO

–I don’t know my neighbors– Because apparently every other major city is full of people who have become best friends living side-by-side, people who come to LA are just appalled that their neighbors don’t bring over cake and lasagna to welcome them to the neighborhood.  I have never encountered a neighbor who was opposed to stopping in the hall or on the sidewalk for a quick chat.  My parents introduced themselves to our new neighbors growing up.  Getting to know your neighbors takes a little bit of courage and time, neither of which the people complaining have in spades.
Solution: Leave.  Or introduce yourself to your neighbors, you anti-social shut-in.  Most of the people who log this complaint have never even knocked on their neighbor’s door to say hello.

The point is this: All these LA-specific complaints are not LA-specific, they’re big-city specific.  Here are some legitimate problems with LA:

Public transportation- I know, I just said people should learn to take the bus (I did between ages 12-20 all the time).  And yes, loads of people take the bus and *sigh* metro all over LA, but our public transportation system just sucks out loud.  It’s slow, unpredictable, crowded, and it just gets more and more expensive without any real improvements.

Bike lanes- Where do I start?  There are not enough significant bike lanes in LA to get around on a bike without being afraid for your life, and if there were, it would take a long time for the drivers here to get used to sharing the road.  Biking the streets of LA is a life-flashing-before-your-eyes experience.

Hollywood- If every waiter/waitress that was trying to be an actor/actress just picked up and left LA, the city’s population would be cut by 10% overnight.  Now take all the people trying to become models or stunt doubles, and their agents, and there goes another 10%.  Now remove all the tourists who want to see the Hollywood sign (2.5%), and the illegal immigrants who don’t pay taxes (2.5%), and there’s another 5% right there.  I’ve cut our population by a  quarter.  Yes, our economy would slow way down, and there would be no one to serve that thing you like at that restaurant you just discovered, but it would make the city a manageable size again, and make the remaining residents’ experience of the city exponentially better.

I’m not saying only people born in LA should live here.  That’s just ridiculous.  What I would like to see is more people who want to be here, people who enjoy living here instead of those who stay only because that’s what their industry demands.  Those of us who actually do love LA would love it even more if it weren’t overpopulated with unhappy people who trap themselves in a city they hate for no (or few) good reason(s)!

If you live in LA but you hate LA, the solution is simple.  Leave, or find something to love about it.  There is so much to love.  But seriously, gtfo.

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badness, humor, work

Haiku distraction: Murphy’s law

The kind of haikus I write are either spawned from boredom, disappointment, or a severe dislike of the situation in which I’ve (usually forcibly) been placed.  I went to another late-night meeting, and naturally another set of haikus resulted because everything that could have gone wrong during this meeting did go wrong.  The AV wasn’t set up like it was supposed to be, and when it was set up it buzzed the whole time, and then it stopped working.  The man in charge treated me like his own personal servant…again.  There weren’t enough chairs, so my coworkers and I had to sit outside and eat at the check-in table.  The meeting could have easily been half as long as it was, but the people in charge couldn’t stop plugging their shit to make money for their organization.

Unlease the haiku beast!

"i'm really excited about this year's numbers."

Cheshire cat lady,
smile and grin and never frown;
whose trust do you have?

The woman in charge never stops smiling, even when discussing unpleasant topics.  It’s super creepy.  My coworker noticed and made a comment about how she never knew what to think of what she was saying.

Poor athletics guy.
Your report encourages,
but why are you here?

The guy from athletics gave his update about how the university teams are doing really well and he kept it short.  Then he sat down and looked neglected and bored for the rest of the next hour and a half.  Poor bastard.

Little disasters
know me by name.  “Be our friend,”
they say.  No thank you.

My office was not in charge of this event, but when things went wrong, we were the ones who worked to make it right because the people in charge were too busy milling around feeling important, not realizing that hosting means making sure things go smoothly, and not acting like the lord and lady of the land, greeting subjects and making long-winded speeches.

Stop talking, ladies
and gentlemen.  Eight o’clock,
and I miss my boy.

Around eight I realized that I could be snuggled up on the couch in my pajamas with Boyfriend watching Star Trek: The Next Generation instead of hearing reports on adorable new merchandise the hosting organization hoped to overcharge the population for.  My poems broke out of their calm haiku exterior, and became more biting.

There once was a man who would speak.
His speech is what made our ears leak.
It started alright,
but later that night,
he kept speaking and made us all shriek!

When I get bored, I can literally feel some kind of invisible plasma slipping out of my ears, making me stupider somehow.  I’m not bored very often; I usually find some way to entertain myself, but my stamina drains away at these meetings, and I can only play in Imaginationland so long without looking like a space cadet.

Marching cult of the Fluffy Hat,
you’re crazier than my roommate’s cat.

It’s clear why you’re so proud of yourselves:
you make earplugs fly right off their shelves!
Your drums go ‘thump,’ your horns go ‘splat.’
You sound just like my roommate’s cat.

You prance around like little ponies,
and act like musicians, you little phonies.
You’re rude and untalented and smelly and fat,
you’re nowhere near as cute as my roommate’s cat.

My coworker loves my haikus and requested that I write about the band, which we all agree is like a creepy religious cult.  Diminutive Roommate has a pretty severe dislike of the band; I was so excited to show her this poem, I called her on my way home last night to recite it to her.

I don’t know anyone who thinks these four-hour meetings are helpful.  It’s like elevator music: If everyone hates it, why play it at all?

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goodness, humor

History, today

"Mmm, yes, quite."

Check out this lady (Queen Beatrix of Netherlands) in her amazing carriage.  That’s right, it’s a fucking carriage, complete with horses and all.  Yes, that’s real gold covering the coach, and I’d bet my bonnet that whole rig was carved by hand over a hundred years ago.  Let’s do some research…

RESEARCH COMPLETE!
The carriage is 112 years old!  Apparently this coach has been involved in all kinds of royal shit.  When the Crown Princess Beatrix married the German Claus van Amsberg during World War II, there was significant disapproval from the masses: “As the royal pair rode through the streets of Amsterdam in the carriage, smoke bombs exploded. Many photos show the golden coach, bearing the happy couple, emerging from clouds of smoke.”  History, you are awesome.  Apparently the coach was also involved in “…sexual escapades by members of the Royal Constabulary.”  I might have to buy this book to find out in what kind of scandal that carriage assisted (if it ever gets translated into English).

it's the cinderella carriage!

My favorite part: “… the roof had to be raised in order to accommodate voluminous royal hairstyles and hats.” HA!  Royalty.

UPDATE: 2:48pm
OMFG it’s her, lol!  You can find the original (I’m going to call it a portrait) here, at one of my favorite online comics, Hark a Vagrant.

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goodness, humor

God help me, I know this man

He was my neighbor for a few years in high school.  A nice enough guy, he can do some gymnastics, and was an actor when he lived next-door with another nice, male, actor roommate.  And now he is this (whatever that is):

wtf happened

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goodness, humor

Sign of the times

baman... bamanbamanbaman

As I’ve said before, harmless pranks are the best, especially anonymous public ones.  If you do nothing else today, enjoy the spontaneous fun people have with signs in public places recorded here on Happy Place.

I need to keep a sharpie handy for just such occasions.

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goodness, humor, life

Color me defined

It’s a harsh truth that, as complex as people are, just one or two pertinent questions usually tells us all we care to know about a person.  This is true at any age, though the questions change from elementary school to our mid-20s in the following pattern: visual aesthetic, intelligence, personality type, and personal ambition and economic status.

Mid-20s: What are you up to?
Also known as, “Are you currently employed?” this question determines if you’re a self-motivated go-getter and are therefore worth continuing to talk to, or if you’re just some jerk who bounces from job to job, complaining until you inevitably quit.

we're unique because we dress the same!

Where are you living?
In LA, there are only so many places we 20-somethings can afford to live:
Hollywood: I’m fucking poor, but I love the night life (but if you know of something opening up on the Westside, please let me know).
Silverlake: I ride my one-speed to art shows whenever my tight pants permit.  I eat pho and anything soy based; if it’s not organic, it’s murder.
Westside: I’d rather pay more rent and have gorgeous weather than save $150/mo to get mugged on my five-block walk from my car to my tiny apartment in K-town.
Culver City: I found that one affordable apartment near downtown Culver.  My friends are jealous.

College: What’s your major?
If your answer is Business or Communications, it’s like saying “I don’t know what interests me because I’m too lazy or too thick to be self-reflective,” or “My parents still control my life.”  Every other major is awesome in comparison to these conversation killers.

Are you rushing?
This is a question for freshmen, and a contentious one for some.  From my perspective:
Yes– You’re as lost as I am, but not confident enough to try this “college” thing out before attaching yourself to a group of people who look just like you.
Nah– I approve.
No way– What are you doing for lunch?  Let’s be friends.

High school:
Are you taking any APs this year?
If you weren’t in at least one AP class, you were one of those kids.  My friends were smart, and we had egos to match.  I’m not proud of it, but intellectual prowess was (and still kinda is) like a currency to buy the approval of our peers.

this is the face of judgement

Elementary school: What’s your favorite color?
I wish we could still ask people this.  It would be so telling.
Blue– not creative enough to think of another color
Green– one step up from blue, you decided you like plants (hippy)
Yellow– I can bully you later
Purple– you like dumb stuff like unicorns, and you’re nice to everyone
Black– the coolest person you know is your older (teenage) sibling
Brown– liar, no one likes brown more than blue
Orange– we should be friends
Red– you’re going to disrupt class later (it’s gonna be awesome)

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goodness, humor

Is this NSFW or what?

Before you ask, yeah, I’m a little drunk.  I’m a total light weight.  There is no such thing as “Sure, I’ll have a beer,” for me.  It’s more like “Sure, I have time to get drunk then sober up before I have to drive home.”  Tonight I had one beer with dinner, so YES, I am drunk.

mmmmm, boobies...

I don’t like falling asleep drunk.  Rather, it’s hard for me to fall asleep drunk because I’m so dizzy.  Then, because being supine results in equal distribution of blood to all parts of the body, my head gets all blood-swollen and I get dizzier.  Also hot.  Because of the beer’s exothermic reaction with my fabulous body.

So instead of going to bed, I hop on my compy and cruise around looking at online comics I neglected to read at work (what a slacker).  Picture, if you will, a damn beautiful tipsy brunette (I get pretty when drunk cus my face softens up and I’m usually out with friends so I put a little makeup on and put some effort into my clothes, plus my standards probably drop a little once I start drinking, etc.) reading one of her favorite online comics (SMBC) when she comes across THIS (see picture).

Yes, it’s a woman fondling herself.  Why?  Because Verizon made her crazy with their horrendously terrible customer service, and she’s become one of those lunatics that touch themselves in public.  And what more public place to experience your own body than the interwebz.

Later they show us that they intentionally photoshopped out a perfectly good laptop, which she is cradling against her breast for what can surely be no good fucking reason.  Is it her love child with Steve (as of today) Jobless?  Did Verizon create a human cyborg that can love machines and people equally?  Being less than sober, I thought, “Maybe this is normal, and my blood alcohol level is altering my perception to make me think this is weird.”  Public self-groping is weird, though, right?  Right?

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