funny

What Happened on the Train Today-- A True Story Told in Verse

I sat upon the train today

Having had enough of work.

A dame was seated next to me

As the train began to lurch.

She made a move as if to leave

So I offered up a path.

“Oh no,” she muttered quietly.

“I’ve a different pressing task.

“My glasses have got lost, you see,

And I think they’re where you are.”

“Oh dear,” I said, “They are not here,

They must be somewhere in this car.”

“Tut tut,” she said, “Forget it all,

I don’t want them anyway.”

“But do you not need them to see?”

I protested in dismay.

She heaved and sighed and shook her head,

Then turned her face from me.

She scoffed and huffed and rolled her eyes,

Irked by my audacity.

“I said I do not need the things!”

She snapped with rising ire.

“I told you to leave it alone,

You kids make small things dire.”

And then she stood and brushed right past

As I sat with mouth agape.

She shuffled off the train with haste

And tripped on a suitcase.

The last I saw my irate friend,

She was glaring through the glass.

I swear I only tried to help,

But she thinks I’m an ass.

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Hired Hands in The Wild Wild Western Suburbs

My biggest problem, if I had to admit to one (aside from my totally rational fear of fruit), is my seeming determination to make the same mistakes over and over again. Like how I keep thinking I can pull off blonde hair (it might help if I didn’t keep going to cheap salons and ending up with a color less “Blonde” and more “Dehydrated Pee Yellow”) and how I have made out with not one, but three, improv actors. Which is great if you like noisy dudes in skinny ties, but problematic if you are made uncomfortable by emphatic gesticulation and disproportionate reactions when doing such innocuous things as ordering a beer they’re not particularly fond of or breaking up with them out of left field. (You’re clamorously pretending to ride a statue in a city park for the third time today? Yes, and... I think we should see other people.)

I had a hard time finding a full-time job after college, and it got to a point where…

CALL TO ACTION: Read Below to Make Me Famous Because My Mom Talking About My Blog to Her High School Friends Isn't Cutting It Right Now

I get it. We're all busy. There are so many things to read and so many memes to keep up with, it can be overwhelming to stay informed. After an evening of lying prostrate on the couch buried under a pile of crumbs and dirty t-shirts of yore while scrolling idly through Facebook, Twitter, and GhostSingles.com (you've been warned), sometimes you just don't have the energy to read a blog on top of that, despite how funny and witty and charming it is and how desperate the author is for attention. Because, let's be real here, everyone has a blog. There are ferrets that have blogs. I once had a blog about quitting smoking, but I deleted it because the relentless irritation of cravings transformed me into wet socks personified. So you don't have to read it, per se. Just follow it and throw me the occasional sympathetic nod like you would for your dumbass niece who can't be bothered to acknowledge that the ABC's have a melody. And send me a link to her blog. I'll follow the shit out of it. If she promises to reciprocate, of course. I mean, I'm busy, too.

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Things I Have Overheard My Boyfriend Say Out Loud to Himself While Playing Video Games

  • Of course! The cheese is in the closet!

  • I only had regular cheese so I shot holes in it!

  • Oooh, there’s a stink bomb?! Stinkyyyyy…

  • That’s a pretty umbrella.

  • I’m comin for that booty where you at

  • My heart is beating too fast, I’m going to have a heart attack

  • There you go! There's the lady that talks in my ear and tells me what to do!

  • Tooooomaaatooooo!!!

  • DIVE!!! [Hums "Ride of the Valkyries"]

  • Did I make a horrible mistake, or am I a genius?

  • Do I really have to have this battle with these two fuckin assholes right now?

  • I have a horse I can ride? Isn't that just the neatest.

  • Come here you little fuckin chicken.

  • It's going to be barbarian or wizard, that's what it always is!

  • I enjoy crusaders!

  • He picks up gold for me? What a nice little guy!

  • Two guys [sings] "round the outside, round the outside, round the outside…"

  • I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that I have Windows updates to run. My computer is running like a b-hole.

Related Posts:

Things I Have Overheard My Boyfriend Say Out Loud to Himself While Playing Video Games, Part II

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A Most Satisfying Tale of Revenge: The Blu Cantrell Story

Writer’s note: As I have sent this to a few friends for review, it has come to my attention that the inspiration for this story, this absolute masterpiece of a song (also embedded below), may not be as widely recognized as I had hoped in writing this. I feared that an introduction might sap some of the drama of the story itself, but then I thought, who gives a shit? Everyone should listen to this song every day. In fact, how do you NOT know this song? Blu Cantrell is a genius and a treasure. I burned this song on three consecutive mix CD’s in high school because it’s a banger, and because I don’t know a lot of other music. And the story is utter nonsense without context, so just do me a favor and give it a listen. You probably already know it, you just don’t know you know it. I bet you grinded on some sweaty guy in a puka shell necklace at your freshman turnabout to this song, clammy palms hoverhanding over your rainbow spaghetti straps, your platform clogs putting you a solid three inches above his sticky middle part. You remember. Either way, this is a story of betrayal, unabashed misdeeds, and the most gratifying vengeance. This is thrilling stuff. This could be Shakespeare. But it’s not, it’s a one hit wonder from 2001 (but one that I truly adore.) And with that, I’ll leave you to it…

Beauty is Pain, First Impressions are Forever

I started a new job in March after almost six months of unemployment. I had worked at my previous company for six years, so beginning a new role at that point was a herculean task, like diving headfirst into fog-obscured depths or dragging yourself to the kitchen pantry when you’ve run out of bed-donuts. Unemployment is a slippery beast. You always think you’re going to get all this stuff done when approached with an abundance of free time, but then suddenly it’s two months later (or is it three? Who can tell?) and you’re picking crumbs out of your bed sheets while Friends barrels through its fourth consecutive loop. You didn’t clean the apartment like you meant to. And you definitely didn’t write that novel. But you did discover several plot holes in a show that’s been off the air for fourteen years and you only posted about it on Facebook like twice, so accomplishment comes in many forms. Successes like these make the world go round. And so does self-delusion.

A few weeks after I started…

Why Have Fun Vices When You Can Be Sweaty Instead?

Today marks one month on the patch and one month smoke-free. I celebrated by working out for the first time in months, and by working out, I mean doing a surprisingly grueling six minute phone app circuit under the supervision of my cat, who was, of course, staring me dead in the eye and licking her butthole the entire time. Which I took as a sort of encouragement to cleanse myself of former bad habits. I can do this! I thought to myself, her metered slurps like a chant propelling me onward. Kate! Kate! Kate! Kate! Emboldened, I obeyed the robotic voice emanating from my phone, my scalp beading with sweat, which is the only place I sweat most of the time, so even in comfort, I look like it's raining. I jumping-jacked, I squat-jumped, I crunched. I gritted my teeth and worked the fuck out. The minutes went by like kidney stones through a urethra, and I thought, well, this sucks. I'd rather chew off my own foot and then legally marry it than do this again. And then timer rang. My six minutes was up. I heaved myself out of the push-up position and then strutted over to the mirror. You look the same, but damp and sad. Hell yeah. Day One in the books.

Things I Thought Were Cool When I Was Younger But Am Now Realizing May In Fact Not Be

  • Pretending to sleep at parties where no drinking was taking place because I thought this made me “cooler than the party”

  • Drinking a lot of orange juice (“Oh, what am I doing? Just listening to some music, drinking orange juice.” -Me, feeling fly, circa 2002)

  • Wearing candy necklaces until the color started to wear off on my skin

  • The band Mest

  • Sneaking up to people’s houses in the middle of the night (before curfew, of course) and sidewalk chalking up their driveways (That wild, unpredictable suburban life, you know?)

  • Pretending I had never heard of various pop artists

  • Pretending to be afraid of E.T.

  • Coughing when someone made eye contact with me because I thought that made me more mysterious (???)

  • The three foot marionette I insisted on bringing to parties (There was the occasional clumsy performance)

  • The cloak I wore for two weeks

  • The fact that I had never eaten Cookie Crisp

  • The mushroom cut I got in fourth grade that I so desperately wanted (My hair looks like a botched circumcision and I love it! Take that haters!)

  • My imagined alter-ego as a sexy, wisecracking, American exchange student in the Harry Potter universe who had alternate affairs with both of the Weasley twins

  • “Practicing” my softball pitching skills in front of people with no ball or mitt so as to display my immense talent

  • “Playing” the piano on the gym floor while waiting for warm-ups to begin (Note: I did not know how to play the piano)

  • Memorizing Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “El Dorado” and proudly forcing people to listen to me recite it

  • Smoking cigarettes

  • My Fine Arts degree

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Written After Four Days of Quarantine Due to a Nasty Bout of the Flu in Which I Have Had Zero Social Contact with Actual Human Beings and Am Starting to Freak Out

Captain's Log: Day Four

Cabin fever is beginning to set in. I haven't seen the sunlight or known a man's touch in four endless days. The cat paces wearily about the apartment, longing desperately for the stimulation and companionship my enfeebled mind can no longer provide. As the sun stretches lazily across the afternoon sky, I seize an opportunity. Clad only in soup-stained sweats and salty snow boots, I descend the stairs with the tepid anticipation of one who has nothing left, a husk of the woman I had once striven to be. Timidly, I open the door and the wind rushes my face, stealing my breath. I set an intrepid course for CVS, strangers floating past me like ghosts, as if in a dream, their faces contorting before me with such hideously transparent ponderings as, "The shadow of death is imminent upon her" and "Egads! What’s that smell?" I can no longer comprehend their horror. I have been gone away too long.

I return fifteen minutes later…

Reasons I am Super Chill

Author’s Note: Now, I am not exactly what one would call a “chill person.” Just last night, I was reading about pancreatic cancer and became convinced that this slight pain in my back meant that I had it (and not, of course, that I had been immobile for several hours googling things like “kesha best friends” and “whale sex” and my body had likely started to atrophy from inactivity) and I had to look up a diagram of the human body to determine where my pancreas actually was and the likelihood that it would revolt against me like The Order of the Phoenix and assassinate me for my tyrannical refusal to feed it anything but cheese and Mountain Dew. I also get stressed out by such terrifying monstrosities as voicemails, the cold, and my clock being wrong, so clearly I am a paragon of calm and comfort. I’m like wet socks personified.

So here are some things people other than just me tend to worry about:

  • When I sneeze with headphones in and can’t tell if someone said “Bless you” or not so I don’t know if I should say “Thank you” so I sneeze and then say “Thank you” to the world just in case as though thanking the universe for the privilege of sneezing…