It’s Not My Fault You Don’t Know Funny

I am an incredibly funny person. Some of that has come out in the blog; if you don’t actually know me, you have at least glimpsed my wonderful sense of humor. If you do know me, then I shouldn’t have to explain it…but apparently I do.

I am not a comedian. I have no desire to be a comedian. I have a friend who is a stand-up comedian, and he is a genius. I can’t compete with that, nor should I try. Instead I sit there, all starry eyed while the unsuspecting person behind me pees his or her pants. It’s much easier than his job to actually make that unsuspecting person laugh again and again and again. I rely on a much simpler technique.

You see, I, like so many non-comics, have a set of tried-and-true lines at my disposal. They have very specific situations to be utilized, perfectly timed deliveries, and the appropriate facial expressions to accompany them. And they always, always get a laugh. Because I’m just that funny.

However, after moving home to the land of minivans and working from the comfort of my big red couch, my primary interactions are through Facebook, texting, and with my mother and gigantic black dog. Not to say that my dog isn’t an excellent audience– give him a frisbee and you’re his BFF. Dogs, however, have no discerning capabilities and will laugh at anything and everything. They, therefore, are not the ideal audience because their approval really means nothing.

And so I have taken to trying my amazing lines on strangers and/or through technological communications.

Let me tell you something that William from The Bachelorette knows well: Personal jokes require a degree of intimacy and love between the comedian and the audience. My friend’s little brother, whom I had just met ten minutes before and who is much, much taller than me (no, that really doesn’t have to do with anything, just an observation), is really not this ideal audience. Actually, he loves me now. No, really, we’re kindred spirits. He would tell you that himself; I’m giving him dating advice. (I can hear you laughing. Stop.) But when I used one of my perfect jokes at the absolutely ideal moment, I had to immediately cover my mouth with both hands because Oh my gosh this kid is going to think I’m out of my freaking mind.

Then, last week, I attempted another one of my fantastic lines through texting. It was, once again, the perfect moment with a brand new audience who, up until this point, had thoroughly enjoyed my impromptu humor. Now was the time– the time to unveil one of my best and brightest of prepared jokes. And…and…annnnnnnnnnnd…it wasn’t funny. Not at all. Texting, WHY HAVE YOU RUINED ME???

Jillian, what’s the point? you’re now asking. Actually, I hope you’re not, but I am because it’s rather late at night and my thoughts are less connected than a Jackson Pollock painting. The point is that I am ridiculously funny, and no texts or awkward conversations are going to deny me of this basic tenent of my self confidence. Also, I need to actually interact with more people in person so that my best lines do not lose their potency.

Notice that this post did not actually include the excellent lines that I use. There is no way that I would reveal to the world/my 12 readers the secrets of my planned humor. I sound mysterious and protective, don’t I? Good.

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