I Love to Laugh

I haven’t belly laughed in a long time. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m so irritated with everything these days. I’ve laughed; I laugh almost every day about something. I’m talking about the kind of laughter where tears stream down my face, my stomach hurts, and I can’t talk because anyone listening would have no clue what I was saying. I haven’t laughed like that in a while. It sucks, too, because I love to laugh. Remember the movie “Mary Poppins” and the character Uncle Albert? “I love to laugh, loud and long and clear. I love to laugh, so everybody can hear.” I love laughing.

Lately, though, nothing has come up in conversation that has really gotten me on a laughing roll. Ellen and I can usually get each other laughing, and we usually do. When one is in a bad mood and calls the other, the purpose is to vent and try to get some laughter going. It works pretty well, too; we can usually bring each other out of a funk when necessary. Lately, though, the big laugh fests have just been your basic run-of-the-mill laughter, nothing exceptionally outrageous. It hasn’t been as funny as when we were talking about Yummy Boy and his pal; or the time we discussed being disgruntled with someone and using his or her toothbrush to clean the bathroom and not telling until after the toothbrush had been used. You know, just your basic, everyday girl talk. We’ve been slackin’, probably because we’ve both been in and out of funks lately. We’ll get back there – to that laughing place, one of these days.

My friend Joe hasn’t even made me laugh recently, probably because he hasn’t been calling me. Up until about two months ago he called me every single night. Then it dwindled to every weekend, because he gets unlimited weekends on his cell phone. Now, I’m lucky to hear from him three times a month. What the fuck is up with that? He and I can laugh for hours simply because we talk about the most stupid shit imaginable. Yea, trust me, when I say stupid, I mean stupid, with a capital STUPID. Joe and I have had conversations about, pretty much, anything that can be discussed. I can have the same types of conversations with Ellen; I’ve just known Joe longer so we’ve covered more territory.

Joe and I have actually just spent evenings throwing questions at one another to find out the answers. You know; questions like, “Toilet paper over or under?” “Do you face into the shower or away from it?” “Do you twirl spaghetti or cut it?” Just the basic questions friends would ask one another. These questions can lead to some pretty interesting answers, and lots of laughter. Joe even asked me one day how many sheets of toilet paper I use to wipe after I’ve taken a shit. I kid you not. I couldn’t even answer the question until I stopped laughing. He was serious, though, because he had unwanted, temporary house guests and one of them, a person of the heavyweight persuasion, kept clogging the toilet and thinking nothing of it.

After I went into the house, sat on the commode and then counted the sheets I pulled off the roll, and then taking into account all the variables that come with shitting, we determined that this house guest was wasting toilet paper. He confirmed it by replacing the roll just before Guest used the bathroom (yes, Guest had a schedule). Joe would take whatever partial roll was in the bathroom and replace it with a brand new roll – without Guest knowing, of course. When Guest left the bathroom, Joe would return and determine that half a roll was gone in just that one visit. We couldn’t figure out why so much was used. Just because your ass is bigger, doesn’t mean you need to wipe more. I suggested he get Scott tissue. That’s what I use here for me and three kids; it prevents waste. He said he’d love to get Scott but his wife said it hurt her ass and would only use the soft, fluffy, three-ply kind that is gone in a day. Whatever.

I’m sure you can imagine how we laughed when we had that conversation. Who wouldn’t laugh? Next time you’re talking with friends, ask them how many sheets they use, provided, that is, you have friends that will not be disgusted with the ensuing conversation. It can get pretty graphic, especially when talking about the aforementioned “variables” of shitting. Yea, I know, you’re thinking, “Chicks don’t really talk about things like that; especially with guys.” Believe me, we do. It’s sometimes even funnier talking about it with a guy just because of his incredulity over the subject matter. Once a guy knows you’re game to discuss a topic, though, it’s usually no holds barred.

Those conversations, though, are the ones that make me laugh the hardest. It’s just too bad I haven’t had any recently. I blame Joe, for not calling me and not telling me anything funny. I’ll have to email him the link to tonight’s blog post so he can read what I think about him. Yea, it would be easy for me to sit and think of funny things while I’m sitting here by myself but how fucked up would that look to an outsider? My kids are outside so I’m either sitting at my desk, in front of the front door, or I’m sitting on the stoop listening to my MP3 player. Then I start thinking funny thoughts. Granted, I’ve done that before – thought funny thoughts that made me chuckle or laugh a bit. We’ve all done it. I’m talking about me thinking of something so funny that I’m belly laughing with nobody else around. Get a visual of that. I’d look like a crazy freak to anyone walking by or just watching from across the parking lot.

It’s not like I don’t look crazy, sometimes, as it is. I talk to myself. “So do I,” you’re saying. I bet you do. Do you actually answer yourself, though? Out loud? I do that. Can’t find something: me, myself, and I will have a talk about where we might possibly find whatever is lost. When I’m agitated with someone I’ll rehearse a conversation with said person in my head, but I speak my part out loud, until I have it right. Now, add the belly laughing into that. What have you got? You’ve got a middle-aged, divorced mother of three small children sitting on her stoop talking out loud and laughing so hard she’s falling over. Do you just consider her circumstances and let her be, or do you call the Whacky Shack immediately? I don’t know; I haven’t reached that point yet. See, even this isn’t making me laugh out loud. Maybe you’re laughing, though. That would be a good thing. If you’re not, however, I make no apologies. I never said I was a comedian and it’s your fault for thinking I am. I’m just thinking and writing because I want to laugh. Perhaps soon I’ll have something to laugh-until-I-cry about. It would be nice.

Until next time…peace to all.