Posts Tagged ‘Tongue-In-Cheek’

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Title Schmitel

March 13, 2013

I was not particularly popular in high school.

I was not particularly UN-popular . . . I was super-involved and very committed, but never quite seemed to be in sync (Ha!  90s joke!) with most of the people I was in school with*.

 

This has led to an interesting phenomenon.  The rise of Facebook means that I, like approximately EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD, am friends with at least 67% of the humans who also endured the humiliation of shouting TROJAN PRIDE! at our hometown football games.**

And now, having caught, killed, dismembered, distributed, and buried any semblence of a lede, because YAY, WRITING SKILLZ!, I shall get to the point.***

I have reached a point where I am likely to post utterly random, semi-stream-of-consciousness, amusing-myself inanity on Facebook when I’m bored or avoiding work or disinclined to be productive (aren’t those things synonymous?).

I use Facebook because Twitter still scares me a little (Edit myself to 140 characters while still appearing clever?  NOOOO!!!) and because most of the people in my Twitter feed are professional industry contacts that I respect and hope to earn respect from.****

Most of the people in my Facebook feed, on the other hand, have firsthand knowledge of my lifelong ambivalence towards pants#, so they bear the brunt of my un-edited cogitational downstream.
Generally, I know who will like certain things.  Once in a while, persons unknown-except-as-yearbook-names pop up with an LOL, and the effect is . . . a little ridiculous.

Like, put on a curtain-as-a-cape-and-fly-around-the-house-‘cuz-clearly-I’m-now-awesome ridiculous.  Like, please-ye-gods-don’t-give-Ali-that-much-validation ridiculous.

Like, seriously-Ali-you-don’t-need-to-write-an-actual-blog-post ridiculous.

‘Cause I did.

 

 

 

*I also suspect this is true for anyone maintaining a body temperature of 98 degrees in high school.  (Too labored?  Yeah, probably too labored.  Great. . . now I gotta get back street cred.)

**Generally, we were losing.  It got kind of hard to take.  (OMG, these puns are NOT getting better.  Please, someone stop me . . . )

*** What point?  POINT BREAK!  Boom!  ANOTHER 90s joke! Because all things lead to Point Break!  (Seriously, can we get a doctor?  Nurse?  Night watchman?  Compassionate bystander transfixed with horror at the impossibly unnecessary carnage?  Anyone?)

****This shall not, however, prevent me from cross-posting this blog on Twitter because Consistency. (Any professional-type Twitter link-clickers, please go ahead and ignore absolutely all of the terrible, terrible jokes I’ve made thus far, and shall continue to make for the remainder of the piece.)

# Also chairs, elephants, the state of Montana, and low-frequency sounds.  (This . . . actually, this is entirely true.)

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Outsmarting Myself

October 16, 2012

According to WordPress, on May 11 I saved a draft called, “I could TOTALLY be MacGyver.”

 

Now, every so often a girl needs to know exactly how that would work, so of course I had to see what bit of awesomeness and ingenuity I’d accomplished last May.

 

Probably, I figured, I’d saved a planeload of people using a breakfast cookie and the cravat from the passenger in 7C.  Or disarmed a nuclear warhead with quick logarithmic computations, an etch-a-sketch, and 6 milliliters of embalming fluid.

 

Oooh!  Maybe I kept a sourcerer from taking over the world using just a sock and a half-brick.  (somehow, that one seemed familiar . . . . )

 

Clearly, whatever it was would dazzle, boggle, goggle, transfix, and plain old hornswoggle the mind. Fully prepared to be awed and amazed, I clicked the link.

 

The post was blank.

 

*blink blink*

 

That’s right, folks.  I’m so awesome I can’t even tell *MYSELF*.

 

(Now why on earth do I have the sudden urge to listen to Kenny Rogers?  Strange, that.)

 

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Being Jabez Dawes

October 15, 2012

Okay, I’ll be honest about this:

In real life, my badass quotient runs somewhere akin to a cross between Ned Flanders and your average eighth-grade hall monitor.

(You know the one–that girl with no verifiable sense of humor yet possessing an ironically humorous overbite.  Not that I’m channeling any old middle school enemies or anything.)

Hell, I don’t even walk through doors marked “No Admittance”.

And, sadly, it’s not because my moral compass is actually calibrated in a permanent northwardly-pointing orientation.

Doing bad things just makes me feel . . . well . .. guilty.  Getting caught feels like hellfire and boiled turnips for lunch.  And if you *really* want to destroy me, you let people know I was caught being bad.

Yeah. Your psychological indexing utility read that right.  I’m not an evil genius because I there’s no way I could handle the press coverage.

Sad, isn’t it?  I was preemptively brung low by the PR department.  That’s like being out-dorked by the high school varsity cheerleading squad.

That being said, I have a dangling-sleeve-to-gas-burning-stove fascination with spies, thieves, confidence men, and rogues of every stripe.

(Especially red stripes on a grey x-wing base, y’know what I’m sayin’?  Go Rogue!  Go Star Wars!  Up with the Geeks! Down with the Jeedai!  Pilots Save The Wo  . . . Ahem.)

And it’s LifeHacker’s Evil Week, and I’m trying to figure out a why for adding “lock pick set” to my Christmas list.

You have to admit. . . I would be the most unlikely spy in the world.

Hey!  Hold on a second!  I DO brush my teeth side-to-side!

Yeah . . . . that’s right.  An outlaw, forever isolated from society.  Existing on the fringes.  Getting nicknames like “Razor” or “Mad Dog”.

Hide your chi’ren and alert the lawman. Here comes trouble.

Yeah . . . .

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Comical Inspiration

October 14, 2012

Cons set off the word-muse in my brain.

Erika also sets off the word-muse in my brain.

Consequently, emailing Erika a con report resulted in quite possibly one of my favorite things I’ve ever written.

Be amused, damn it.

I was talking to an editor yesterday who asked me what I wrote. I said something to get past the moment, and then worked on my elevator speech this morning in the shower. (I *also* spent all-the-water-in-NYC this morning making zombie arms in the shower, so I am now clean, literarily acute, and fully prepared to play dead with any passing armies of hygienically adept shamble men.)

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M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E!

June 23, 2011

If I am ever rich enough to be “eccentric”, I want to have a special getaway cottage for vacations.

Only, I want it to be decorated like a real, working cartoon house.

I believe Disney World’s Toon Town may have unfairly influenced me in this dream.

(By the way, did you know that Disney created the Toon Town area after the tremendous audience response to Who Framed Roger Rabbit? It makes sense, in retrospect, to capture and capitalize on that secret craving to make fantasy real, but I was surprised that such a gritty property inspired such a haven of dreambuilding.)

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Sunblock and Aloe and Pools, Oh My!

June 17, 2011

I’ve got gazillions of things to get done tonight, but the giddy excitement of being Off The Island two weekends in a row has my responsibility instinct all knotted up and shoved in a closet by the can’t-wait-squee!writing-craving-instinct.

Yeah, this’ll be good.

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For Future Reference

February 27, 2011

I had a Completely Unrelated Thought in the shower just now, which will immediately tell anyone that knows me three things:

Point the First: People that are Going To The Store will often Remember To Check The Marinara In The Fridge before they go, to see if it’s Still Good (or even if it’s developed that green mold around the rim yet). The nutritional status of mine remains undetermined, but adhesive makers everywhere are missing out on a pizza-flavored superglue/splat gun opportunity. And there ain’t no splat like a tomato-sauce splat. Also, there ain’t no smell like a tomato-sauce smell, either.

Point the Second: My roommate is on vacation at the moment. I generally do my best thinking in the shower (I’m sure it has something to do with the metaphysical aspects of water in motion, the removal of unnecessary thoughts, and the release of the Id, but I never actually figured out what the Id did, so I’m dubious about that part), and she’s the one who most often experiences a robe-clad Ali emerging, hair in some semblence of spiky creation, proclaiming, “Look! I’m Mr. T!” (or Darth Maul. Or Pat Benatar. It really depends on what I watched that day.) Since she’s been gone more than 13 minutes, the internet at large gets to hear the Wanderings of My Subconscious.

Point the Third: Because my brain tends to operate on a time-delay, what I’m about to say has absolutely no further relevance to any conversation anywhere. This is how you know it’s me talking.

Lexicology