Janet Evanovich’s writing is funny, sparkling, and a bit off the wall. In a recent interview she stated that she’s not all that funny in person. If I were a wildly successful, petite redhead, we could be twins.
I don’t entertain often, because my guests tend to slip into comas before they can even finish their ramen noodles. My mealtime conversations consist mainly of slurps, and when I whip out my Power Point presentation on cute monkey tricks it’s generally met with “look at the time!”
I used to enjoy watching late night talk shows so I could take perverse pleasure in the look of panic in the eyes of un-funny celebrities when the host would deviate from their pre-planned patter.
“…then the raccoon bared it’s little fangs at me…”
“I hear that Paris Hilton keeps a sacrificial Chihuahua on hand for just that eventuality.”
“…and gave me the finger.”
I like to hang out with clever people, who can make witty remarks at the same time that they are calculating the value of pi in their heads, and training their ferrets to jump through a hoop. Who wouldn’t?
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There are probably one or two scientists out there using government grants to figure out if being funny is nature or nurture. If funny is hereditary, I’m doomed. Dad told very bad puns and planned out his funny well in advance. He owned a foam rubber crab hat.
Being a mother didn’t help. I thought that stories of how the baby burped up on me were worth hours of hilarity. My accounts of their growth percentile met with polite smiles, and at cocktail hour even the other moms fled to the far side of the room when they saw me coming. Really, you’d think that if people were sufficiently liquored up, they’d laugh at my poop jokes.
My funniest comeback: a friend was telling my husband how the new socially acceptable term for nerds was “dweebs.”
Me: “Gee, honey. I guess that means we’ll have to change the monograms in your underwear.”
You had to be there.
I actually am already worrying about what to say when I become a famous humor writer and have to go to book signings. I’ll be the one walking around in the crab hat.
Have I mentioned how much I appreciate that your posts are in a type size I can actually see without getting out my magnifying glass? And come on, dad’s three legged man bit used to crack up their square dance friends.
Well, I certainly don’t fit the pattern for people you like to hang out with. However, your funniest comeback? No, I didn’t have to be there. hee hee-Good One!
My son is one of those clever conversationalists. I like being with him because he can keep up my end of the conversation without breaking a sweat.
Love the crabhat. Might get one for summer so when I turn lobster red, I’ll have a “head” start. Oh, and on the ramen noodles, would you recommend china soup bowls for formal dinners?
My fine china says Corelle on the bottom.
Being funny on paper (or computer) is the distorted way that I entertain myself. (You guessed it. My life is not that much of a party.) Being funny in public, however, takes on a whole other set of personal characteristics (not to mention balls) that I do not possess. I am the girl who sits there and laughs at others’ quips and secretly wishes I would have said that! And (always!) after leaving any social situation, I can think of so many funny things I could have said, but didn’t. To be friends in person, I fear, you and I would have to first drink heavily, and then sit together and pass notes……..really funny notes, of course! Wouldn’t be unheard of, would it? Want to be friends? LOL
Terri
We can definitely handle funny notes, my friend. If I’m out in Vegas I’ll look you up and we can be boring together.
I wish I was one of those ‘quick-witted’ people…I think of funny things to say later….like, much later. I might be re-telling the story, and something humorous comes out…but, I wish I could have thought about that before. I’ll never be quick enough…or witted enough, I guess…
But, you Karla…you make me laugh every time.
*Had* to post this to Facebook and Twitter 🙂
Karla, I find it hard to believe you’re not funny in person.
You’ve read my stuff, so you know it’s mostly serious. I’ve been asked why I write that when I’m (they say) so funny in person. Strange, very strange.
You mean….you were only being polite when you laughed maniacally about my story of how my son shat all over me in coach class on the way to Florida?
Tee-hee. I don’t remember that story, but it sounds hysterical!
Uh, no it wasn’t, Karla. It really wasn’t.
That explains why Paris’ little mutts keep looking different.