R.I.P. Dearly Missed

It began like any other Tuesday, but ended as the most devastating day of the week.

I was at work, finishing off the last spoonful of oatmeal from my trusty coffee mug. This was no ordinary coffee mug. My employer had graciously bestowed it upon me as a gift during my first week on the job. Since then, it has served me well as a reliable vessel for hot water, tea, soup, and the occasional serving of breakfast cereal.

I was walking back from the kitchen, freshly washed mug in hand. At my desk, I shook the mug to remove the lingering droplets of water, thoughts distracted by my next task. Suddenly, the mug slipped from my hand. My mouth silently formed a horrified “NO” as I watched my friend fall. A loud “DAMMIT!” erupted through the office as white ceramic scattered across the floor. I cried.

I had lost everything in a moment of carelessness. I paused and glanced around at my office mates, ready to apologize for my momentary indiscretion. No one looked up to witness the commotion. Phone conversations continued uninterrupted. I heard the casual typing of a nearby keyboard. Nobody cared.

I must be invisible. Invisible and mute. Feeling a huge wave of heartbreak and no one available to comfort me. People working all around me but I am alone in my grief.

I somberly knelt to scoop up the fragments of my fallen comrade. ‘Why me?’ I thought, ‘Why us?’ Our time together was abruptly cut short months after it began.

I slowly dropped the ceramic into the trashcan as I said my last goodbye.

Rest in pieces, little one.

I’m Too Hot to be Funny

I’m too hot to be funny. This has brought me great distress as an aspiring comedian.

Some of the funniest humor is self-deprecating. If you want people to laugh, make fun of yourself. People find it hilarious when you bond with them over the mean things that they’re thinking about you.

I recently learned that comedy is truth and pain. If you were born with a big forehead or creepily small hands, all you have to do is talk about how much of a freak you are. Then your audience will stop staring at you and start laughing at (with?) you.

Unfortunately, I was not born with free comedic material. My complementary genes, good health and reasonable fashion sense will always put me at a disadvantage. It’s just not fair. My good looks don’t cause me pain in life, but they are a huge handicap on stage.

“Laugh at Me”


Nobody wants to laugh at the hot girl. Picture this: a 5’3″ tall man walks on stage and asks to have his mike lowered. Hilarious. Look at how comically short he is.

Now picture this: A gorgeous 5’3″ woman walks on stage and asks to have her mike lowered. People get annoyed. Women think, “I can’t believe she’s not wearing heels!”

Another example: an obviously overweight woman walks onstage and asks a guy in the front row if he’s going to eat that last cookie. Mean laughter ensues. I walk on stage and ask the same question. Awkward silence. Judgment. Maybe a “boo” or two.

Why do people find such entertainment in others’ pain? Maybe I could complain that I get hit on too often. Is that funny?