On Monday, the most exciting thing that happened to me was when I went to my nephew's baseball game (he's on the all-star league, thankyouverymuch) and it started thundering. They didn't call the game, but I high-tailed it out of there pretty quickly, leaving my sister, brother-in-law, parents, aunt, and of course, my nephew and his teammates there to get struck by lightning while I sat in the comfort of my own home, eating grilled cheese sandwiches. It turned out nobody was hit with lightning after all, so there's really nothing funny to tell there.
On Tuesday, I had to clean up dog poop on the pathway to our store. Our landlords have these tenants who are truly vile and disgusting people, and see no reason why feces might need to be cleaned up. We've complained several times. We've strategically relocated the poop back on their front steps. Nothing helps. I suppose I could write a funny blog post about how repulsive it is to leave dog poop lying around, or perhaps the most effective way to clean it off of one's flip-flops after stepping in a warm pile of it, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be very whimsical about the topic. At all. (Excuse me while I go fling some poo at the tenants' door.)
On Wednesday, I started reading The Book Thief by Mark Zusak. Big mistake. If you haven't read it, let me set the scene: it takes place in Nazi Germany, and Death is the narrator. I couldn't put it down, and I cried a lot. It's kind of hard to write something amusing and lighthearted after your soul has been trampled on by a book. I crawled into bed and stayed there until Friday.
(I did make myself to get out of bed a couple of times on Thursday to make coffee and eat some cookies. I felt a little better.)
Today, I forced myself to rejoin the world. I opened the store and went through some recently-donated books. There were a couple of books I would have normally set aside to read later, like one on Jack the Ripper, and another on JFK, but after what I just went through (Death is the narrator--during the Holocaust!) I thought it might be better to just put them on the shelves. Then I watched some Animaniacs cartoons and read some Erma Bombeck to cheer myself up.
To finish off the week, Jason and I rented Venom, a movie about a woman and her daughter who hit a snake in the desert, and now every snake within a 100-mile radius is chasing them to get their revenge. Of course, their car breaks down, they lose their phone, and drug dealers are scouring the desert looking for lost drug money (as they do), and overall, it was a real stinkeroo. It only served to remind me that my blog writing would be just as terrible as this movie if I couldn't find something ridiculous to write about, and fast. But what? If only something would strike me, much like an angry coral snake intent on revenge!
Alas, it was not to be. No banana cream pies hit me in the face; I didn't step on any rakes or bees which might have resulted in a hilarious post about an emergency room visit. Nothing. Nada. Just thunderstorms, dog poo, a book that left me emotionally drained, and a movie about vengeance-seeking snakes with a score to settle. Nothing funny to see here, folks.
Hopefully, something witty will strike me next week. Maybe this copy of The Lovely Bones will inspire me to write an extended funny anecdote or something. Hey, it's got "lovely" in the title, right? How bad could it be?