I’m not OCD about many things, but I am obsessed with making lists, categorizing and cross-referencing. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. I even went to library school. So it’s driving me crazy that wordpress.com doesn’t allow me to add categories – or even tags – to pages, only posts. And even though there IS the option to assign categories to posts, as a default they are filed under “uncategorized.” Oh hell no. That is as offensive as “miscellaneous” or “other.”

The posts I have written so far have been silly tales. While it might be difficult to apply a meaningful category structure to them; I gleefully accept the challenge. And as for my current (and subsequent) pages, I will write a corresponding post, cross-reference the post to the page, and categorize the shit out of it. Then I will be able to sleep at night.

I’m filing this post under “uncategorized.” Obviously.

The Comedy Club, the marriage proposal, and mortification

My husband and I went to a comedy club last night. We also went to one on our second date, which is the night he fell in love with me (I waited until our third date, like a lady.) I cannot go to one of these clubs now without thinking back to our second date. I wasn’t paying attention to the comedians; I was overwhelmed by the thought of touching my date. I started with the nonchalant leg grazing classic move and then tried the laugh/lean a few times so my shoulder touched his arm. Several times I moved my hand to hover over his thigh, but each time I chickened out and quickly moved it back. After the show he walked me to my car and we stood there on the sidewalk and “made out” for almost four hours. Eight months later, it was to this place he took me, got down on one knee, and proposed.

The comedy club we went to last night was not the same one as our second date, but we had been there one other time. That time, we sat in the front row, and the warm-up comedian called on me. I do not do well on the spot. I freeze, and it’s anyone’s guess what might happen next. He pointed right at me, and said “Pick a word, any word.” Now, the key here is “any.” I was given free reign to pick any word in the English language. Hell, I could pick any word in any language. It was probably the easiest question ever asked. And what I selected as my answer – and yelled out – was this word.


Let me be clear. I hate this word! I do not use it. But, did I mention that I don’t do well on the spot? I would like to say that I said it to help out the comedian by giving him some great material to work with, but even he was confused and flustered. And no Andrew Dice Clay. He ignored me and quickly moved on. “Ahh, you there,” he stammered, pointing to the big Italian guy with gold chains, who would surely say something less offensive than me, “Give me the name of a mammal, any mammal.”

So now when I go to a comedy club, I think of both the site of my marriage proposal, and the site of where I yelled “TITS” in public for no apparent reason.

No wonder I keep going back.

Excuse me!

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting in my living room trying to think about what to write for my first ever blog post when I saw the UPS driver pull up and drop a box on our front porch. I figured (rightly) that it was something from amazon.com as we are obsessed with amazon and receive packages from them nearly every day.

I was still sitting, gazing out the window a few minutes later when a nondescript white pick-up truck came to an abrupt stop in front of the house. The driver jumped out, ran to the front porch, snatched the box, and ran back to her car. It all went down in mere seconds.

Shocked, I somehow managed to run outside to confront the assailant. For reasons still unclear, I yelled:

“Excuse me!”

She turned and gave me a strange look. As if she wasn’t expecting to see a middle-aged woman on the front porch in slippers, politely berating her as she sped off.

It wasn’t the Steve Martin version of excuse me either, which would’ve been awesome.