Why so not serious?

When I was told I had epilepsy, one of my closest friends was quite upset.
“How do you think I feel?” I asked her one evening, “if I collapse at a strobe light party, people will just assume I’m pop and locking.”

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An epileptic seizure is only about twenty percent as fun

She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

I considered her question. I take some things seriously. Like choosing pizza toppings. (If you are one of those people who thinks pineapple is an acceptable choice for a pizza topping then I’m sorry, we can’t be friends anymore.) Or what kind of head dress my dogs should wear on Christmas Day (I usually go with reindeer antlers, but elf hat is always a contender).

Of course I am serious sometimes. It’s not like I show up to funerals dressed as a court jester…anymore. I even have a bonafide serious face. Sometimes I wear a monocle.

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My serious face has slightly less feathers. And also, OWL!

The thing is, I have always turned to humour even in the most difficult of times. I don’t mean to be insensitive or inappropriate, but I find that having a sense of humour in difficult situations is one of my best coping mechanisms. I mean sure, I could cry my eyes out, eat my own weight in cookie dough and wallow in self pity and Blue Nun OR I could cry my eyes, eat my own weight in cookie dough, wallow in self pity and Blue Nun and laugh about it afterwards. I try not to take life too seriously because being Kim Jong Un does not look like much fun (except for the bouffant which he totally rocks).

I know some people could accuse me of being immature. I say, I know you are but what am I? And also, we get one shot at this whole life malarkey. Why not spend it laughing and making inappropriate poo jokes? Or getting drunk and riding roller coasters? (Aside: that’s probably not the best idea. You may end up getting vomit in your hair and crying on the shoulder of a stranger. Or something.)
There are so many fun things to do. There are so many silly things to say. There are so many ways to smile. And all of these are a lot more fun than stressing out. There’s nothing more attractive to me than a person who is self deprecating. I love someone who can make mistakes and then laugh at themselves, or someone who is okay with not being perfect.

So, you can either scoff at my post and resent my futile attempt at making you smile or you can come throw water balloons at my grumpy neighbours with me. Your call.

My face gets me into trouble

I attract weirdos. It’s true. If you happen to like me, it doesn’t mean you’re weird, just that…er, okay…you’re weird. Sorry.

Maybe it’s some kind of radar I give off, like “hey weirdos, come talk to me about owls and taxidermy because I’m weird tooooo!”. And usually, it’s okay and I don’t mind. I like people and I like having random chats with strangers. There are times, however, when I just do not want to make idle small talk, know peoples’ most intimate secrets or be hit on by guys who get sick on my shoes (yes, that happened).

Jack says that people radiate towards me because of my face. He says I have a kind of wide-eyed innocence and friendliness that people probably find approachable. I’m not bragging about that, I actually didn’t want to hear that. It makes me sound gullible; the kind of schmuck that lights up the eyes of charity muggers on the street. I knew that there had to be something though. A few years ago, a perfect stranger walked down to length of a bus to ask me to reassure her mother, who was on the phone, that she was okay and the bus had not swerved off a cliff (long story). I asked my sister, who was sitting on the outside seat and looks far more responsible than I do, why on earth the girl chose me.
“It’s probably your face,” she murmured, in an annoying nonchalant manner. WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP SAYING THIS?!

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I’m pretty sure this is what people see when they look at my face

My sister wouldn’t explain what she meant by that, but it wasn’t the first or the last time that I have heard that. Would you like to hear about the other times my face got me into trouble? Of course you would.

The time I attracted a for realsies stalker

So I’m out at a pub about five years ago, doing my thing (you know, dancing awkwardly and making bad life decisions) when this girl just came up and started enthusiastically dancing with me. Normally, I love this kind of thing. Come, grind with me, let’s make bad life decisions togethaaaar! But there was something about this chick. Firstly, I’m pretty sure she had vomit in her hair. Secondly, she was wearing what appeared to be two different shoes. She also appeared to be alone and was laughing at her own reflection in a mirror behind the bar. After we finished dancing, I tipped my invisible hat to her and went outside for a cigarette (I’ve since quit).
As I was lighting up, BAM, there she was. She just appeared out of nowhere, or a cloud of smoke or something. She just stood about a foot from my face, just smiling. Before I could say “Okay, take my kidney, just take iiittt!” she was blubbering. She screeched something along the lines of:
“myboyfriendjustleftmeandmygoldfishdiedandIkilledmyfavoutitehouseplantandDonnyWalhbergwon’treplytomyfanmail…”

Then she just (and I promise this is true) fell into my arms. While I awkwardly patted her back,
I felt compelled to ask her one kinda important question.
“Erm, I don’t want to appear insensitive here, but….do I know you?”
She looked up at me with a mascara stained face while I looked around waiting for Ashton Kutcher and his stupid hat to jump out from behind a beer keg. Didn’t happen.
“No…I just…you seem…nice…”
Please don’t wipe your nose on my dress and get your face outta my breasts…
“Do I?”
“I think it’s-”
“My face? It’s my face, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it.”

And as I sat avoiding eye contact and trying to dodge physical contact with, er,…Alison? Jenny? Christina?…I shook my fist in anger at whoever is responsible for my overly-approachable face. Curse you, genetics.

I’m going to end the story there, partially because I want to and partially on the advice of my solicitor but let’s just say, she found me on Facebook and tried to steal my life. DAMMIT, FACE.

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The time I made a guy cry

Guys, I’m going to tell you a little secret. ACTUALLY IT’S A FRIGGIN’ HUGE SECRET. Sorry, I got a little excited there. You’ve probably wondered why girls go to the bathroom in groups, and if you haven’t then great for you with your relevant musings *rolls eyes*
Girls go to the bathroom together for many reasons: to talk about you, to whore up their faces some more, to actually go to the bathroom (rarely) and to take bathroom selfies (standard). But we also go together because the alternative is being left alone in a bar where guys pretty much lock onto you the instant your friends disappear. I learned this the hard way.

This encounter starts off pretty standard. Guy comes over and engages in pretty awkward small talk. I remain polite and wonder when I should mention that I have a boyfriend without coming across like a total cow. I hate the idea of embarrassing anyone, or leading some poor guy on, but this guy is a trier.

“Your dress is nice.”
“Oh, thank you. It’s actually my friend’s. She’ll be out in a minute.”
“You have nice eyes.”
“Oh, my boyfriend says that too. Thanks.”
There you go, I managed to drop it into conversation. Man, I’m subtle as hell. I nod back at myself, smiling smugly.
“I bet I could write a song about your eyes.”
WHAT?
“What?” Wait, dude, I just mentioned my boyfriend. Give it up, man.“Er, yeah…my boyfriend is a singer.” No, he’s not.
“How could anyone leave you sitting here alone?”
“My boyfriend’s favourite film is “Home Alone”.” Janey, can you even hear yourself?!
“Some girls look so bitchy when they’re sitting alone. It’s like they’re holding up a sign reading ‘do not approach’.” Darn, I should’ve thought of that.
“And you just don’t look like that…”
DAMN IT, FACE! Next thing I know, he’s leaning in with his lips puckered.
“Oh no, no. Er, sorry. I…I have a boyfriend. Sorry.”
“But…you said..-”
“-that I have a boyfriend. About three times. Hey, I’m sorry. Look, there’s plenty of single girls around. I could be like your wingman. Goose. Whatever.”
“Cougar was the wingman.”
“Oh.”
There’s an awkward silence.
“I’m sorry for trying to kiss you.”
Oh no. No, no NOOO. He’s crying. He’s actually crying. I can’t deal with men crying. I can’t deal with *anyone* crying..
“Hey. Woah. Erm….it’s okay…”
“You just seemed friendly. You were smiling…”
Was I?
“You just have a friendly-”
“-face.”
“Right.”

Dammit face.

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Where’s Oprah with ice cream when you need her?!

The time(s) Jack doesn’t take me seriously.

“Jack, I’m so mad at you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“But look at your face. That’s not the face of someone who is mad.”
“This is my mad face.”
“No, that’s your happy face.”
“YOU LOST MY USB!”
“Then why aren’t you mad at me?”
“I AM MAD AT YOU!”

DAMMIT FAAAAACE!

Tell me about your face.

Owl Make You Smile

I feel like I can honest with you guys. You guys get me. You guys know how weird I am.
So I’m gonna share one of my many weird quirks with you guys. Sometimes I get sad. And when I get sad, I go on the internet and I look at pictures. I look at pictures of…owls. Yes, owls. Before you judge me, have a look at the gallery I have specially compiled for your viewing pleasure and then judge me. Just be advised, any negative comments about owls and I’ll get my army of owls after you. Okay, I don’t have an army of owls.

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I know, right??
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Will you laugh?

This is a no laugh challenge that I GUARANTEE you will fail. If you don’t laugh, then you’re possibly a robot.

The clip is from the show Big Brother in Denmark. The contestants were told that they were to keep a straight face at all times. Then this happened:

So…did you laugh?