Social Circles

Left unhindered in a social situation, a person will gravitate towards whatever group of people they feel the most comfortable with, usually based on gender, mutual interests, and similar intellectual capacity.

That’s why I’m kind of scared.

I just attended Bible Class, and after it was over, the socializing began. After a quick cup of coffee and some random small talk, I spied several of my young nieces and nephews sitting at a table with their treats, miraculously not actively destroying anything. (Note to TJH: It's a joke!) Since I hadn’t heard about their Christmas, I walked over to get the scoop. I pulled up a chair and began to engage them in a conversation both fascinating and stimulating. Just kidding. Here’s what happened:

• A brief rundown of Christmas which took less than a minute, which included the children all talking at once.
• An impromptu game developed where you see if you can “eat” the opposing players by using your hand to chomp their hands before they can chomp yours. This game had no real end and was complete with mandatory sound effects that are reminiscent of a four-hundred pound man attempting to stuff down a five pound hamburger in fifteen minutes or less. ("Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!") There was also lots of giggling, some of it by the children.
• Seeing the commotion, several other children came over to see what was going on, and ended up showing off their toy motorcycles. Everybody agreed that they were very nice.
• I used my niece’s doll and pretended to make it eat my niece’s cake. This was considered hilarious by all, so I repeated it roughly seventy-seven times, each time enjoying the same astounding level of postive feedback.

At this point I looked up and noticed that the room had broken down into three distinct groups. The ladies were all sitting together, talking quietly. The men were all sitting together, talking quietly. I was sitting at a table surrounded by children who were either in diapers or had just recently made the leap out of them, playing with a doll.

The thing is, I didn’t feel all that out of place.

I mean, I didn’t want to be sitting with the men. They would have been talking about mortgages or sump pumps or complaining that their wives talk too much and never let them watch the game.

I didn’t want to be sitting with the women, because they would have been talking about their feelings or how their husbands never listen to them. Plus they would have figured I was a spy for the husbands and would have probably hit me repeatedly with their purses.

So I ended up hanging out with the kids, and it kind of scares me. What does it say when that’s the social circle I gravitate towards? Also, what does it say that I still don’t really regret the decision, even though it involved playing with a doll?

These are perplexing questions, ones that I may not even want to have answered. So, instead I guess I’ll just look at the bright side. Nobody else would have wanted to play “Chomp The Hand” anyway, and it’s a fun game. Plus, it’s way more interesting than discussing sump pumps. As for the doll, I’m just going to pretend that never happened.

Straight To My Head

So this is kind of cool. A while back I decided that it might be fun to enter a writing contest. Using the in-depth research skills usually associated with an inattentive high school student playing on their phone, I googled “humor writing contests” and clicked on the first link that came up. It was HumorPress.com. They bill themselves as one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, offer bi-monthly writing contests. That sounded good to me, so I polished up a few old pieces, paid the entry fee, and submitted them.

The universe must have somehow owed me a favor, because I managed to place several times. It wasn’t high enough to make any money, but I’m still happy. Of the pieces that placed, a couple of them were previously posted here on my blog, while two others will probably be in the future.

Anyway, if you’re interested:
Let's Wrap
Morning Radio
No Thanks To Christmas
Birthday Ponderings

This means, by the way, that I’m going to milk this for all its worth, and I’m most definitely going to let it go to my head. For example, I’ll probably start prefacing everything I say with something like, “Well, as a published writer at HumorPress.com, one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, I think that…”

Basically, you’re going to get real sick of me real quick, to the point where you’re going to be hoping to hear about my car’s remote start. However, please try and bear with me. I’ve never dealt with fame before, and if I say something like, “As a published writer at HumorPress.com, one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, I order you to peel me a grape,” just ignore me. Eventually I’ll be able to contain myself.

I would guess.

One would hope.

Maybe just buy earplugs.

Anyway, as a published writer at HumorPress.com, one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, I deem this post done.

Now bring me M&Ms. Only the red ones. They’re my favorite.

Remote Start

Winter’s icy grip has finally descended upon us, and I can’t say that I’m thrilled. Perhaps it’s because the season tends to drag, since I’m not involved in many winter activities besides driving around with a hockey stick in my car and drinking hot cocoa in a heated room while watching the thermometer as temperatures plummet to concerning levels.

There is, however, one thing that I like about winter; my remote car start. In fact, I like it so much that if you see me even occasionally over the next few months, you’ll be sick of me before the spring, because I’ll always find a way to slip it into any conversation:

“Yeah that was a great game, almost as great as having my car warmed up by the time I get out to it!”

“Yes, officer, I realize I was speeding, but it was because I was so excited that my car was warm when I got out to it, because of my remote start. Wanna hear about it in excruciating detail?”

“Talk about bad luck! I didn’t know it was possible to get charged by a bear and a moose in a parking lot at the same time! What are the odds? You know what might cheer you up? Getting a remote car start, like me! Let me tell you all about it! Hey, where are you going? I don’t think you should be running with casts on your legs!”

I’ll also spend a lot of time telling you of all the places I got the remote start to work, and how happy it made me:

“So I was in the grocery store, and I couldn’t even see my car. Still, I hit the button, and sure enough, when I got out to the parking lot, there it was, running like a champ! Isn’t that amazing!? Hey, where are you going?”

So, I apologize in advance for being annoying, it’s just that I can’t help myself. I need something to help me through these coming days of no sun or warmth, and this is it.

I am, however, taking somewhat of a risk with it. This is because I was initially given two remove fobs upon purchase, but last year I accidentally ran one of them through the wash. While not disabling it, something far worse happened: It began to randomly send its single out, which meant that my car was starting intermittently in the parking garage below my apartment. Beyond repair, I had to put the fob out of its misery, which was actually kind of fun because it involved smashing stuff with other stuff.

So now I’m left with only one fob, and hopefully I’ll manage to keep it out of the wash and not lose it. Still, I’m not too worried. I’m pretty responsible, and once I put my mind to something like this, I can usually accomplish it. Just as long as nobody does anything malicious to it, although I don’t see any reason why somebody would do that.

Anyway, let me tell you a little more about this thing. It’s made by Compustar. Unfortunately, to save money, I only got a 1-way, and not a 2-way. In retrospect, I should have gone with the 2-way, and here’s why: When you have a 2-way remote start – Hey! Where are you going?

What's In A Name?

This blog is called From The Desk Of Curly. That would make it seem that my desk is a very important spot. If it weren’t, one would think that the blog would be named something like From The Unswept Corners Of Curly’s Mind.

So, what about my desk?

When I started this blog in Wisconsin, I had an old, cheap, wooden desk, one that would probably collapse if a cup of coffee filled to the brim was placed upon it. Still, it did the job, and I was rather fond of it.

When I moved to the Twin Cities, however, I wanted something new, something modern, something to mark the new path my life was taking. I looked around and eventually found something that seemed appropriate. Here is the description of the desk I bought, straight from the manufacturer:
A bold contemporary play on the international architectural style. Like it's skyscraper inspiration, it is driven by function with storage drawers and pull-outs to serve contemporary office and entertainment needs and constructed of steel and glass in rectilinear proportions. Black on black glass and metal with nickel hardware highlights bring a bit of the big city to any room.

Basically, I bought a yuppy desk built consisting of black metal and a glass top. If my desk were a person, it would never like the food brought to it at a restaurant and would always send it back. (“Do you think this food is fit for somebody whose style is a bold contemporary play on international architecture? I think not!”) It would never take public transportation, for fear of mingling with “common folk”, all of whom would be swarming with dangerous germs. It would wear suits and ties everywhere it went, even to bed. 

Essentially, my desk is a total snob. That is not, however, the only issue with "bringing a bit of the big city to any room". For one thing, the entire thing weighs approximately eight-thousand pounds, probably because it’s inspired by skyscrapers. (That should have been a tip-off for me, but I ignored it.) Also, the glass top seems like a good idea, but all it does it collects fingerprints and dust.

Not that I dislike my desk. Who could? It has rectilinear proportions, whatever those are! Still, the whole monstrosity is basically unmovable, and I don’t plan to ever try. Whenever I leave my current residence, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to blow it up with dynamite.

On my desk is a container of office supplies. It’s filled with pens, pencils, markers, and erasers. It conveys the idea that I’m ready for anything, should I be hit with a burst of creativity. However, I don’t use any of them. I type on my computer, and that’s all. I don’t remember the last time I even used an eraser. Still, the cup of office supplies looks important, so I keep it around. Plus, it gives the desk something to make snarky comments about behind its back. (“That thing mixes number 2 pencils with ball point pens! How tacky!)

So, what does my desk say about this blog? Is my blog a natural extension of it, pretentious and snobby? Or does my blog have a personality of its own, and is just a victim of misfortune to be saddled with an unfortunate reference in its name to something pretentious and snobby?

I don’t have the answer to that, just one more question: How in the world did I just manage to write an entire entry about my desk? How pathetic is that? In fact, I’ll bet my desk is snickering at me right now. I think I’m going to kick it in the leg.