Wednesday, December 08, 2010

Now that's friggin' funny

I can't help it. I think I'm funny. It's a problem. Other people do find me funny, but definitely not as funny as I do. I am definitely my biggest fan. I would go to my stand-up show every night I was in town.

I re-read my old blog stuff and I find myself laughing like some unknown person came up with these clever, clever stuff. Half the time, I'm impressed with myself all over again at some of the stuff I have said. I mean, the old stuff - the 03 and 04 stuff. You know, when I used to write.

But, it is a problem. I diffuse every situation with humor. My emotions have to be at an extreme for me to not find a joke in most situations. I've been in a mentoring role with some of the new claims hires this past month, and it's been hard for me to slip into a more professional role and be serious with them. Most of the time I've been pretty unsuccessful -- surprise!

For example, one of the guys (well, there are only 2, which is average for claims world) I have nicknamed Flash because he's almost always out when the bell rings, as it were. We're talking about drinking amongst a small group of us. One of the girls was saying that no one drinks as much as Flash, which I knew was not true. But a Flash was hysterical -- he was all, I've never been hungover, I've never been to work drunk, I've never been sick, etc. I said, what are you checking out AA's website every day and going through the checklist to determine if you have a problem?? At one point, I realized that this was -- as usual -- going over the line of professionalism, but luckily someone needed help and I didn't have to worry about that any more.

And then I don't have a witty thing to wrap this up...

Saturday, December 04, 2010

I've always wanted to write a book. But the problem is that that's all I've ever had. The desire to write a book. It's not as though I have any idea what this book will be about. Or have any good ideas at all. But yet I feel all the time that it's in there. I even signed up for NaNoWriMo. You write 50000 pages in one month. It's supposed to help you kickstart writing a novel. Or something. But I just couldn't even bring myself to start.

I mean, the only thing I know anything about is me. I haven't been anywhere, I haven't done anything. Maybe I never will. That sounds more dark than I feel about it. Anyway, I have certain feelings about people who are not famous writing memoirs. Maybe that's wrong, but as arrogant as I am, why would I write my own story? Especially when there is so little of it that I can remember well.

So if I wrote fiction, then I'd be writing fluff. I don't know how to write the kind of fiction that I actually would want to read.

When I was much younger I used to start writing these books all the time. I filled up 3 subject notebooks with stories. I used to subject my dear, patient, wonderful friend Kalpana with hours of reading them to her over the phone. Why on earth she would put up with that who knows? I have searched for her on Facebook, but haven't found her yet. Anyways, she was remarkable and really probably the opening chapter in me only being able to be friends with people whom I felt adored me. But, that's perhaps another topic. And we grew apart as people tend to do when they have a narcissist in their lives from whom they want to escape.


The books. I don't even remember what they were about. And why I didn't keep them? So anyway it's there. The book. The idea in my head. The idea that I'm supposed to write one. And that maybe someone would read it.

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