It was the little plastic disposable razors from the dollar store that finally got to me.
By the way, don't purchase little plastic disposable razors from the dollar store.
Now you'd think little plastic disposable razors would be exactly the type of thing you'd get at the dollar store.
Right?
You definitely don't want to purchase your undies at the dollar store. Even though they're available.
And you wouldn't want to purchase your dinnerware at the dollar store. Even though it's available.
You most certainly wouldn't want to purchase your fake flowers at the dollar store. Even though there are lots of them there in all the best shades like cotton candy pink and rubber ducky yellow.
But little plastic disposable razors?
Who wouldn't trust the dollar store for little plastic disposable razors? How in the world could little plastic disposable razors be messed up? They're razors! They're plastic and disposable. It's not rocket science.
But apparently there is some art and expertise to putting a little blade inside a little plastic cover. My body bears witness. Actually, the nicks and stubble and open wounds on certain sensitive parts of my body bear witness.
Apparently, part of making a razor is making the blade part sharp but also really straight and really smooth. And apparently the dollar store's creative engineering team hasn't gotten that part down yet.
The dollar store blade is definitely sharp. But it's not smooth. It's an ever-so-slightly uneven blade that threatens any piece of skin with which it makes contact. It's kind of like playing hopscotch on a minefield.
If you'd like to try this fun razor game for yourself, I've got nine extra razors left from the pack of ten I purchased for a mere buck. Help yourself.
Now, please note that I've just shared an extremely helpful shred of wisdom through the vehicle of the anecdote.
And please note the degree to which you're not laughing.
But it's okay that you're not laughing. I've proven my point. I'm recently trying my hand at writing comedy and it's not going well. I just started and I really suck.
And unfortunately, when it comes to comedy writing, sucking isn't funny.
Farting is always funny. Falling is usually funny. The lisp thing almost always works.
But sucking?
Not funny.
But the thing is, I don't suck when I'm not trying. When I'm not trying, I can be funny. I can say things like "Hey, have a great trip! Call me when you get back! And don't buy any little disposable razors at the dollar store."
Now THAT'S funny. Unfortunately, I can't seem to get past the one-liner in the comedy writing.
But luckily, the actual foray into comedy writing is funny. Very funny.
And thank god.
Because if my comedy writing's not going to be funny, then at least the attempting to write comedy part of comedy could by funny.
Okay, let me level with you. I actually started this funny writing business about a year ago. I don't remember the exact impetus, but something in my life was just really absurd. And beyond writing about it, I remember thinking how funny a skit the specific absurdity would make.
And that was that.
I began thinking in skits. And then I began writing the skits. And then I began to think about actually performing the skits.
But you know, the problem with trying to be funny is that all of a sudden nothing seems funny.
Or actually, I guess nothing seems funny enough. Because when comedy's got a purpose, like being intentionally funny, it actually has to be funnier than "heh heh...that's funny"....it's got to be formally and officially funny.
I was losing track of what was funny.
All I knew was that I was thinking of all these skits that seemed funny and writing the product of all the thinking: a one woman show.
I also knew that my one woman show was a show for two women. Because even if a woman is really great and really substantial, you still need another woman to bring out her best. All great women have another woman standing next to them to show off how great they are.
Kind of like great earrings and a great neckline on your sweater. Both great in their own right, but each only really outstanding when paired up for maximum contrast and complement.
In my one woman show (starring two women), I'd provide stunning commentary on the life of women. It's a brand new idea. Truly innovative. Never been done.
I would tread new territory.
My one woman show (starring two women) would include, of course, a great many comical insights about men.
Because you can't be funny about women without including the contrast to men.
(Actually, you can. But including man material doubles your market.)
In my one woman show (starring two women), I'd highlight the insanity of life in the female body and in the female world. Of course.
The show would be a cross between Dilbert and The Vagina Monologues.
"VaginaBert"
In VaginaBert: A One Woman Show Starring Two Women, I'd do skits about CVS, Starbucks and Target. I'd do my dream skit about the unsympathetic psychiatrist. You know, the one who sneers things like "that bothered you?" and "I would have called you a stupid, spoiled-rotten bitch too!" in response to your vulnerability and sharing.
VaginaBert would also include montages of real life bad dates. Of course.
But not the silly and exaggerated dating clips they show in movies like Kissing Jessica Stein and Sleepless in Seattle and Fahrenheit 9/11.
No. VaginaBert would explore the absurd realities of real life dating. There would be skits about the vegetarian who wouldn't go to a DINER because he didn't know what was on the menu. (God, I hope and pray that guy's stopped checking noboo.)
And the guy who couldn't continue the date after I asked him to talk a little lower because he was screaming.
"I can't be my true self if I have to filter!"
Personally, I believe in a little filtering on the first date.
And there would definitely be a skit about the guy who thought I was spoiled because I drove my car to the Metro parking lot instead of walking on days that it rained.
Man, that guy got pretty pissy.
But dating would be just a small part of VaginaBert since dating is soooooo overdone.
Besides, the absurd world of girls - and boys - is sooooo fraught with other absurdities.
There would be skits addressing how much better The Real World would be if the partipants were forty year olds with neurosis and twitches and an inability to keep a job or maintain relationships.
And how much funnier Saturday Night Live would be if someone got kicked off each week.
But here's the problem...
Here's the rub...
Writing comedy requires fleshing out...and I suck at fleshing out.
Fleshing out is what happens after you've made your point. After you've shown your edge. After you've evidenced just how quickly you're able to find the absurd connection between two totally unrelated things.
And although I'm a man of the flesh, I'm just not a good flesher-outer.
At least not in humor.
In humor, I'm more of a drive-by.
I know that razors from the dollar store are funny, but I can't write the dollar store razors scene.
But I'm working on it.
And the research is grueling.
Basically, I now have to stop everytime something's funny and e-x-p-l-o-r-e just how funny it could get if I e-x-p-l-o-r-e-d it.
So tonight, as I sat in the bathtub, I thought about how great it would be to hire someone who would just play with Boo all day long.
But cat-sitters are expensive. And besides, you know they just ignore the cat and watch television the whole time.
So then I thought about getting a housemate who could just play with Boo all day long.
But that's a lot to ask of a housemate. So then I thought about giving somebody room and board in exchange for just playing with Boo all day long.
All day.
And it was funny.
So I stopped. Because I knew I had to e-x-p-l-o-r-e the concept.
I had to e-x-p-l-o-r-e the interactions and the dynamic and the structure.
I had to flesh out the scenes. The interviewing...and the hiring...and the actual living situation.
I imagined myself calling home to let the Boo-mate know I'd be home late.
I imagined asking the Boo-mate to keep Boo up so I could read him a book and say goodnight when I came in.
I imagined how much easier going to work would be, knowing that Boo was being watched over during the day and that Boo wouldn't invite other cats over and get in Boo-trouble.
I imagined the Boo-mate playing all sorts of "watch the airplane" games to get Boo to eat his food and tricking Boo into taking a nap even though Boo thinks he's too old now for naps.
And sitting there in the bathtub, shaving my sensitive areas with a regularly-priced pink Gillette from CVS, I suddenly saw the key to fleshing out.
The ad's only been on Craig's List for twenty minutes and I've already received ten replies.
Granted, eight of them are from the same man, but you have to expect some odd people when you talk about pet care.
Assuming a successful response from Craig's List, some person will live here free in exchange for Boo-sitting, Boo-walking, Boo-playing and general Boo-stuff. I think it should be a guy so Boo can have a positive male role model around.
And the hidden cameras will capture the exact words which make up the interactions and dynamic and structure that define humor.
And with my Boo-mate in place, I'll finally be able to see how the fleshing out happens.
I hope the Boo-mate is funny.
And I hope the Boo-mate has a thick skin.
Cause if he's not paying rent, there's no way I'm paying for the good razors.