Thoughtless Thursday

I’ve had my caffeine.  I’ve eaten my shredded wheat.  Still I can extract nothing from the brain today.  I think I’m still suffering from a “Book of Eli” induced stupor.  Seriously, DO NOT SEE that horrid thing.  C.S. Lewis is more subtle.

Besides, my uterus hurts.  It’s making me whiney.  My thinking is so fuzzy I actually considered trying that DivaCup thing one more time before taking my bedazzler to its silicone hide.

So rather than stare at this annoying blinking cursor as it endlessly taunts my inability to come up with something witty, I’m recycling some shit.  I’m greener than Kermit, doncha know (and it’s not just from the PMS).

Looking through the same journal that held the Firefly tale, I found this account of a job interview in my past.  It happened somewhere between the heavy metal marketing gig and my stint in corporate America.  I’m guessing 2005-ish.

The interview was amazing.  I was kicking ass left and right.  She was laughing.  I was laughing.  Her husband is a songwriter.  We both are carbon-based life forms.  We TOTALLY bonded.  And then….the moment of despair.

“I like to see how people think on their feet,” she began.  “I ask this of everyone.  Tell me a joke.”

Blood rushed through my ears.  I can do this, I thought.  I know tons of jokes.  Rocco tells jokes all the time.  Granted they usually suck but…

Utter blankness.

Awkward silence.

Nervous smiles.

Pen scratches on notebooks.

And then THE joke leapt to the front of my brain and refused to share my conscious mind with any other joke.  Shit, I couldn’t stall anymore.  This was the only joke I had.  I did one last frantic brain scan hoping to find a lame knock, knock or dead baby joke.  There was only THE one.

Well, I wasn’t sure about this gig anyway.  Just go with it, then try and play it off, El.

“Well, it’s not clean but…” I looked at her for a reaction.  She was smiling innocently in anticipation.  I took a deep breath and dove in.

“These two women are sitting together at a table visiting, much as we are right now.  The first woman says, ‘That jerk husband of mine went and got me a dozen roses, so now I’ll have to spend the next three days with my knees in the air.’  The other woman mulled that over for several moments then asked, ‘Don’t you have a vase?'”

I followed that doozie up with a nervous smile and waited for her to call security.

“Oh,” was her response.  “That’s cute.”

Cute?  Um, ok.  That joke is a lot of things, but not cute. I had clearly tanked the interview.

“Well, it was nice meeting you.  Thanks so much for coming by.”  With that she quickly ushered me out the door.

So what’s the first thing an empowered independent gal does in such a situation?  Call Mom!  Ever supportive, she managed to gasp out short encouraging sentences between her guffaws.  “Wait till I tell the tennis girls!” and “Oooh that’s good!”

Then she said, “Well Girl, you certainly conveyed your personality in that interview.”  If you cross your eyes, I suppose that could be taken as a compliment.  We both giggled for a solid five minutes longer before I headed to the subway.  If I hurried, I might even still make it to the current job on time.

As I bounced along the tracks beneath the city, I mulled over other punch lines of the various jokes rumbling around in my head – “He fucks pigs,” “Turn her over, six year old boy,” “Super Pussy,” “One time I fucked a parrot – are you my kid?”  I felt mild relief.  Never mind, I went with the right one. Note to self: find new friends and family with cleaner minds before next interview.

Back above ground, my little red cell phone shook excitedly – voicemail.  Who could Mom have told already?

“Hi, this is Carey.  Could you come in for a second interview tomorrow?”

Mom and I laughed for another fifteen minutes…


  1. I’ll share a joke that I was JUST told:

    A nun was taking a bath when she heard a knock at the door. “Can I come in? It’s the blind man,” said a voice.
    She thought about it and decided it would OK, so she said, “Sure, come on in.”
    The man walked in and said, “Whoa! Nice tits! Now where should I hang this blind?”

    Now your joke is even more genius! If this doesn’t work, just get on the table and hump their faces. That shows your dominance and empowerment. Then you win either way.
    .-= KeepingYouAwake´s last blog ..OMFG MAH NEW FONE ROCKZ! =-.

      1. Great. That’s yet another image I’ll never get out of my head. God help anyone who finds a way to project thoughts onto a big screen and experiments on *my* body. (Assuming I died during the zombie uprising that occurred between now and then.)
        .-= KeepingYouAwake´s last blog ..OMFG MAH NEW FONE ROCKZ! =-.

  2. I have the world’s absolute worst memory for jokes. The only one I can ever remember involves Jesus and bees and is totally visual in nature, so I can’t even write it out in this comment.
    .-= Debra She Who Seeks´s last blog ..The Druid Trees =-.

  3. You rock like Zeppelin. Or The Raconteurs that @KeepingYouAwake listens to while commenting, or defecating, since he does that simultaneously. Steady As (s)He Goes.


  4. bra-vo!
    outstanding jokes, yours and KYA’s
    but seriously, you didn’t get the job?
    fucktard here, asking if your mom is carey?

    1. Giggle. I did not get the job. Nor is Mom Carey. My Mom is Mariah Carey. Ew. Grossed myself out again. I’m still having nightmares about HER golden globes. Why can’t she just put those things away? (Mariah, not my mom.)

  5. I can relate. My brain hasn’t worked in about 19 days, no matter how many vegetables and oatmeal I shove down my throat. Ok, not really the vegetables. Anyway, I think you did the best you could with what you had to work with. It’s way better than my favorite joke ever…the caterpillar joke, that absolutely nobody ever laughs at but it’s hysterical everytime I tell it so WHATEVER.

    1. You too, eh? Is 2010 going to be the year of the zombie invasion? Are our brains not working because the fluid in there has already been replaced with marinade?

  6. Ouch, I feel your pain, Sister. Once upon a time somebody introduced me to their mother and the introduction was all about how funny I was (sometimes true but usually requires alcohol and nudity). “Tell my mom a joke,” he wailed.


    [me stammering]

    “So … what’s the difference between acne and a pedophile?”

    [more crickets, accompanied by my friend’s collapsing grin because he knows the punchline]

    “Acne doesn’t come on your face until you’re at least thirteen.”:

    [even the crickets are silent]
    .-= Miss Spoken´s last blog ..His Uterus and Her Need to Scrub the Floor =-.

    1. Use it while you’re in Canada. They know about clocks because they spend the entire winter timing how long it takes all that damn snow to melt.

  7. I love that joke…I would have hired you right then and there.
    I suck at telling jokes. I probally would have done a knock knock
    but actually acted it out…gone out the door shut it, knocked and
    then ran away. That is how much I hate telling a proper joke.

  8. The joke wasn’t so bad, doll. She would have made a shit boss if one of her hiring criteria really was, can you tell me a joke while you are on an interview…WTF!! Good thing I didn’t interview for a position with her, only joke I can ever remember on the spot offends the fuck out of everyone who hears it, even non-Christians, I’m offended when I think about it. I only tell it if I have accidentally had 4 margaritas instead of 2.
    .-= Wicked Shawn´s last blog ..Wicked Girls……..On A Weekender =-.

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