I’m Running Away!

This is the longest workday eveeeer!  I’m ready to run away.  I packed up all my stuff.

Every time I get ready to make a break for it, my boss walks by.  She doesn’t say anything – but there she is again.  She must have a sixth sense for potential escapees or something.

Men’s Health

8 hours is so long!  It’s not fair.  Being a grown-up sucks.  Who invented the 40-hour work week?

Work would not be as painful if we had recess.  Why don’t we have recess?  Now our only options for freedom during the day are to either take extended bathroom breaks or develop a smoking habit.  Neither of which are much fun.  Has anyone ever really enjoyed bowel issues or lung cancer?

Plus, your coworkers will inevitably notice your extended absences from your desk.

If you try to cheat by taking extended lunches, you will have to stay in the office longer to make up for it.  Took an hour and a half for lunch?  Tack that extra 30 minutes onto the end of your workday.  Otherwise, expect to see that money gone from your paycheck.

This is so bogus!  Back in the day, if you “got lost” on the way back to the classroom from the school cafeteria, you didn’t have to stay a proportionate amount of extra time after class.  Teachers did not care if you missed class.

Why is the office norm sitting at your desk pretending to work?  Normal behavior should be skipping down the hallway singing.  Recess for grown-ups.

WHY NOT?

Sometimes, I ponder whether I’m allergic to work.  I tend to develop headaches and become irritable in the afternoon, probably because I don’t get paid naptime.  Wtf??

If corporations modeled office rules after kindergarten classrooms, employees would be a lot happier.  We’d get recess, naptime, playtime, milk & cookies, songs, occasional learning and friendships!  Yay!  What could be better?

To my fellow office sufferers:

Is it suspect if I post a standard “Out of Office” message on my email just in case I make it out of here?  I wouldn’t say anything too obvious, just something like:

Is this okay?

I’m Not Dead

Wow, those two weeks went by quickly!  I haven’t had time to do much of anything lately.  Between working full-time and yelling at my husband, who has time to write?

I’m kidding.  The real reason that I haven’t posted anything is because it’s hard to write a coherent blog post when you’re drunk.  I decided to stay sober today in an effort to reassure the Internet that Raezyn has not disappeared.  Is anyone actually tracking these things? You can call off the search party.

I haven’t even had time to read other people’s blogs.  There are a few funny writers that I have completely fallen out of touch with.  It is a shame.  Not only am I isolated in real life, I am isolated on the World Wide Web.  But today, I have returned to entertain you, Internet.  Hopefully my friends will call me back so I can go out and do something fun afterwards.  I’m kidding again.  I don’t have friends.

This morning I woke up to a half-full glass of Merlot and an open box of Milk Duds.  Leftovers from my wild and crazy Friday night.  So I had Milk Duds and wine for breakfast.  Given that I was still kind of drunk from staying up drinking until 3 AM, those last sips of wine were all the alcohol I needed to pass out and sleep some more.  I’m not an alcoholic.

I woke up at 2:30 PM with a sugar high.  Go figure.  After scolding my husband for exhibiting man-like behavior, I remembered that I had abandoned my glorious blog.  So, I made myself some coffee and powered up the ol’ laptop.  After surfing the Internet for a couple of hours, I started writing.  I hope this post is satisfactory, because it’s all you’re going to get today, Internet.

I’ve got to start getting ready to hit the bumpin’ comedy scene in D.C.  I don’t have time to edit this post and add pictures and what not.  Do I seem moody?  I feel moody.  I’m a little moody today.  I’m not sure why.

Hmm.

Notes After Dark

In my desperate efforts to put together a stand-up comedy routine, I have been carrying around a notebook to record every funny idea that I have. I write down everything that even remotely strikes me as amusing. At bedtime, my notebook and pen lie within arm’s reach. This is a brilliant strategy because I am most creative late at night, in between dreams.

One evening, I wrote:

Unexpected diarrhea is the best diarrhea.

Followed by:

But that’s the worst, when you look like your act.

I remember writing those comments down. I remember laughing about them. I don’t recall why. If only I’d had the presence of mind to clarify the joke. It’s been a week since I wrote them and I’m still perplexed. Trying to piece together the context of these statements is fun. Over time, I’ll hone my skills to figure out what they mean. If I ever have to solve a crime committed by my evil alter ego, I’ll be ready.

My last note of the night was:

I’m still more sober than some of you have been in years.

This tells me one thing. I am an unnecessarily mean person late at night. First of all, who am I berating here? I must have dreamt that I was an AA group leader and I showed up drunk to the meeting. This is the only scenario that makes sense to me.

If this is the case, then why did I only write that one line? I’m still more sober than some of you have been in years. Brutal. Once I start performing at open mics, I’ll have to convince the bookers to put me on stage early. After a certain time of night, I become inexplicably hateful.

Overwhelmed Maybe?

Whenever I set a goal for myself, I become obsessed. I eat, sleep, & drink it. It’s all or nothing for me.

In college when I was prepping myself to tour with the Bellydance Superstars, I spent so much time practicing my hip undulations that I failed Arabic 101. The irony was that I tried to learn the Arabic language in order to understand the lyrics of the music that I shimmied to. It didn’t work out.

When I aspired to be a boxer, I spent three hours a day at the gym. I would have gone home after the first two hours, but my trainers thought I was fat so they made me run on the treadmill. I am overweight but my husband says that I have a nice shape.

Now that I want to be a comedian, I spend every available second of my day reading about how to become a comedian. Everything I read tells me to write. A lot. Write down anything and everything. Words that I find funny. Things that are unusual. Events that are so incredibly mundane that the simple act of writing them down could be considered a joke (like my job maybe?).

This is the reason that I imposed the small goal of writing a mindless ramble every day. Considering the amount of thoughts that I have on a daily basis, it surprises me how difficult this task is. It’s 8:30 PM and I stare down at a blank sheet of paper. My iPad, rather. In a way, I am experiencing writer’s block.

It’s not that I don’t have anything to write about. Oh, there’s plenty, perhaps too much. So much. I’m overwhelmed. Everything hangs on the line with this post. All of my hopes and dreams could be realized, or crushed, in 333 words. Where do I begin? So many ideas… I don’t know what to write about first, so I’ll just keep reading. Just so that I’m doing something.

But who ever became famous by reading?