Keriosity

…that’s a loong time with no posts, I know. Unacceptable really. What’s my excuse?

A major life change - some people will find it shocking, others will win some longtime bets, and many will say they always knew I’d eventually feel my clock ticking.   I had always insisted it would never ever happen, but, I’m 35 and I’m not getting any younger.  I changed my mind and I don’t believe I will regret it.  Of course, I say this now with a little time left until the blessed event actually occurs.  I hear the pain is almost unbearable but once it’s over, you forget all of the pain and focus on this new beautiful life you’ve created.

And today I see this video that opens up a whole new world of why the decision is the right one for someone like me…

….oh my god I am SO only kidding.  That would be insane!

I’m not having a baby. I’m just getting divorced.

Yikes…I know this post is very glib about something that’s very sad. Remember my keriosity manta - “annoying stuff happens. always find the humor.” up there at the top of the right sidebar? In the “About Keriosity” section?  Under the little bird and above “subscribe”?   Well right now the mantra is more like “devastating stuff happens, try to keep your sense of humor.”  And I’m really trying.  I haven’t been able to find the humor in quite some time, which is the real excuse for why I haven’t posted anything.   Now, more than ever, I need to keep my sense of humor, because, in reality, I am far from laughing.

Although if I had a mop baby, maybe I’d chuckle a little.

If you’ve read enough of my essays, you know that I am a ridiculously clumsy person both in action and in speech. But in case you’re new, you can catch up by reading my posts about this email blunder, this hour of dumbassery, the time I got molested by a giant ice-cream cone (which sounds much more graphic than it was), my always-fun “paranoia mode”, and how I guaranteed my place in hell, sent my air-conditioner on a 5-story free-fall, and sustained a head injury that required physical therapy for my eyeballs. And those are only the ones I’ve written about.

But for now, I will tell you this short story of stupidity:

Last Friday, Emil and I were taking a post-dinner stroll down a little shopping street in our town.

We came upon an outdoor art show featuring the work of Sophia Gasparian, an artist neither of us had heard of. Her art was sort of cartoonish, some featuring children and animals, sort of a dark tone overall. We were reminded of another artist we like - Yoshitomo Nara. Here are two of Nara’s pieces:

Weird, sarcastic, dark humor appeals to us. So, when we saw the below piece at Sophia’s show, we felt it was of the same vein:

It also appealed to our OCD. (Instead of the normal ghost activities like shuffling around, banging on walls, and moaning, my ghost is going to vacuum and rearrange the dishes in people’s dishwashers. This painting spoke to me.)

And we had wine earlier. And I love Edward Gorey. And I’m an idiot. So…

We met the curators and asked how we could purchase it. Emil said “It’s such a great piece!” and I said “Yeah, it’s totally our sense of humor.” They seemed confused, but they gave us the artist’s card.

When we got home, I went to her website and learned that Sophia Gasparian’s work is inspired by her childhood experiences growing up in Armenia. This particular piece is part of a collection of works depicting the Armenian Genocide of 1915. It’s a painting of an orphan who obviously knows her death is near and that she has no family left to care for her grave.

I wanted to vomit.

I am beyond embarrassed. I sent an apology email to the curators, attaching the Yashitomo Nara work to explain my spectacular ignorance.

I’d like to say this is the first time I have made an accidental yet terribly offensive remark involving someone’s cultural history. But no, I’ve done it once before.

Emil and I were at Disney World, in the Little Mermaid/Under the Sea exhibit, and there was a very clever demonstration of bioluminescence in sea creatures. We walked through a little cave and a light flashed, leaving our shadows on a glow-in-the-dark wall.   I blurted out…”Oh like Hiroshima”* and Emil shot me an angry look - we were at the Disney World in Tokyo.

I’m just going to stop talking in public.

*I’d like to clarify that I was not trying to make light of the tragedy at Hiroshima, I was in science mode, and while the Hiroshima shadows have nothing to do with bioluminescence, they are both effects of radiation absorption.

No posts in a long time - I know. I am taking screenwriting classes at UCLA and it’s taking up my writing energy. Sorry!

The classes have been great so far - we were even able to film our best scenes! Here’s mine - and watch it until the end. That last line is my best writing ever.

Also, it’s not easy to incorporate the word “lookit” into a serious dramatic scene between two adults. This writer is brilliant.

If I ever do write anything as bad as this - someone please kill me. Seriously - you have my permission. Just make sure it’s quick and I don’t see you coming.

My ability to embarrass myself hits another sickening milestone.

So last week, I got an email from Emil that said “Enjoy!” and contained a link to a website. The website had a list of the first 50 years of Playboy centerfolds - clickable links to the photos starting with December 1953 (Marilyn Monroe) and ending with July 2004 (some tramp.)

Why he sent it to me is not important to the story - what is important is that I was in the middle of doing about 20 different things when the email came in. Once I saw it had to do with Playboy, I forwarded it to my friend Randy, which is what I do every time someone sends me a racy email. Normally, I include some sort of saucy comment to go with the racy email, but this time, I was in such a rush that I didn’t put any message. Just forwarded it to him robotically.

As it got whooshed from of my outbox and sent on its racy way, I realized that I didn’t send it to my friend Randy. I sent it to Randy The Realtor who was coming to my house the next day.*

oh….god….

I wish someone would program a voice recognition widget for email applications so that if you hit “send” and immediately shout an expletive, it stops sending the email. Like a 5-second FCC delay - but for email. It can’t be a complicated drop-down menu and click on three things - because when something like this happens, you don’t have the mental wherewithal to do anything but grab both sides of your head and curse.

Anyway…

Once I exhausted my list of known curse-words and made up a few new ones, I let go of my head and immediately sent an apology email: “I am SO sorry, that was meant for my friend Randy, I am really embarrassed, please disregard that last email, wow am I embarrassed,” etc.

Then it occurred to me that I should really see how bad the damage was. I went back to the website, but instead of clicking on some of the earlier centerfolds as I had already done (the old centerfolds are rather classy and artistic) I scrolled down the page, which revealed actual photos, not links. Large recent photos of unclassy and unartistic nakedness. My stomach started to hurt. Then I saw a link on the top of the page for “Gallery 2″, which contained even more nakedness that was even more unclassy. And now, Randy the Realtor knows thinks that I “Enjoy!” such material. And he is probably wondering why I would send that to him the day before our meeting. “Hey, Randy - there’s more of this over at my house! See you tomorrow…” Oh the awful repercussions are just endless.

I doubted that my email was sufficient damage control. If I had checked the website first, I would have sent an email that said something along the lines of “Ooops, I meant to send that to Reverend Randy who runs the ‘Christians Against Nakedness Except When It’s Necessary For Procreation’ watchdog group, of which I am an avid member.”

Randy the Realtor either doesn’t check his email, or he is the epitome of good manners because he sent no reply and did not even acknowledge my unthinkable blunder when I saw him the next day. At least someone in this situation has some class.

As embarrassing as this was, it could have been much much worse:

Why yes, those are handcuffs attached to her bedpost - forever documented in the Weekend Shopper and now immortalized on the internet. (click on the pic to enlarge) I love her oblivious smile.

*do not panic. we are not selling our house.