Wingoov the Alpha Goof

I’m sure this will be hard for any of you to believe, but I am not actually perfect. Yeah.  I know. You’re all probably shaking your heads in denial right now, wondering how The Wingoov you love (I’m pretty sure, right?) could be anything less than the paragon of preposterously perfect perfection you’ve all come to know and admire and blindly follow and stuff.

But, it is true. I am, in fact  (hope you’re sitting down),  a goof.

There is a mounting pile of evidence that points to this great truth. Allow me to share some of this evidence with you now – you may draw your own conclusions:

When my husband was getting our old house ready to sell, one of the things he had to do was rip up the rotten boards on our front porch to replace them with fresh lumber.  This work went on for several weeks.  I was well-aware there was a big gaping hole in our front porch, and always steered myself around it whilst going in and out of the house. But one day I heard this car full of young people going through the neighborhood. I can’t remember now exactly what the kids in the car were doing – but I know there was a lot of volume, and I think there might have been some racing and tire-screeching, too. Concerned about the animals and young children in the neighborhood, I put on my Bossy Mom hat and marched out onto the porch to administer a sermon. Pointing finger raised to begin my lecture, mouth open to bark orders, the young faces beginning to turn my direction to hear what I had to say, I suddenly disappeared to their view. They must have been really bewildered by it all. One minute this cranky lady is standing on her front porch, about to lecture them, the next she’s gone.

I had fallen kiester-first through the hole in the porch.

After the initial shock of it wore off, I sat there – kiester dangling, arms and legs still holding me onto the porch – and started laughing so hard I couldn’t immediately extricate myself from my predicament. I pictured the looks on the faces of the teens in the car as I disappeared – befuddled frowns, mouths open in surprise.

The important thing, of course, is that they stopped the racing and the volume decreased and everyone – both two-legged and four-legged – was, once again, safe and secure in the neighborhood thanks to my brave and daring sacrifice.

But…well…I submit the evidence here points to the fact of my goofiness.

If this story has not yet convinced you, though, I shall share another example:

I have this wall-hanging from India hanging in my living room. It’s made of silk and has beads running along the bottom and top of it. It can’t be washed and laundered – it’s too delicate. But it needed to be cleaned, and I got it in my noggin that what might work to get the dust off it, would be for me to take it out to the back porch and shake it really hard.

So I took the wall-hanging off the wall and took it out to the back porch and, holding it from the top, gave it a really good “whap.”

One of the beads on the bottom whipped up and whacked me right in the middle of my forehead. Ohmygosh. It hurt so bad! But it was so dang funny, that I couldn’t stop laughing. My husband heard me laughing and crying simultaneously and thought he should take a gander to see what I’d gotten myself into this time. He noticed that I had a lump developing in the middle of my forehead – sort of giving me the look of a unicorn. “That thing leaves a permanent scar, and people are going to be thinking you’ve got the mark of the beast there,” he pointed out helpfully.  And this remark, of course, set me to laughing so hard I wondered if I’d make it to the bathroom before peeing my pants.

I’m happy to report there is no permanent scar from the bead.  I’m sure you’ll be happy to know, too, that I did manage to make it to the bathroom in time.

And now I’ll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions regarding my goofiness. But I think after you ponder it from all sides, you’ll have to conclude that, not only am I a goof – I am the ALPHA Goof.

Laughter Therapy

So I’m thinking of becoming a laughter therapist.  I envision people coming to me with their problems, and then paying me to laugh with them about stuff. Of course, it wouldn’t work if my client didn’t bring a sense of humor with her.  I’d have to put that in the fine print, I guess – “This laughter therapist takes no responsibility for being unable to make people laugh who have no sense of humor.”

I suppose there are some things it’d be really hard to laugh about. Death and mass destruction are hard ones. But my clients and I could laugh together about job stress and bills and Big Business and Fox News and things lost and friendships ended and depression and failure.  There’s a lot of great material to work with there.

What do you think I should charge for this kind of service?

Misfits of the blogs, unite!

“Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the
round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently —
they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or
vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change
things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the
crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that
they can change the world, are the ones who do.” – Steve Jobs

Yeah, you know who you are. You’re the ones who doodle at meetings – and by “doodle” I mean that you probably create an entire new world while you’re sitting there – maybe you do the geometric shapes thing – fill the page up with pentagons and triangles and cool little stars inside the triangles – or maybe you create a fantasy world of snow-capped mountains and flying horses and flora and fauna never before seen by man. By the time the people conducting the meeting have gotten to their nifty little acronyms – GLE, ELAR, STAR, MYD, CIT, LO (if you recognize these, you’ll know what profession I am in) – you’re already deep into your own world, entertaining yourself with whatever it is that puts a grin on your face.

You do not want to be ordered about.  You do not want to be micro-managed. You do not want to be censored, regimented, restricted, collated, and stapled. You have a deep yearning to soar, to climb, to fly unencumbered by “statistics,” “data,” and “market research” and to explore byways and skyways not yet picked apart and researched by those dear cautious souls fearful of taking a step into unknown territory without their “data” in hand.

You yearn for freedom.  You yearn for fun. You learn because you want to. And you’re not afraid to use “to” at the end of a sentence, either…you rebel, you!

Dear faithful members of the one true fallacious faith,

My dear Humoristian hooligans,

 

As we begin another day in battle against the stodgy, the pompous, and the ridiculously indignant, may we always keep our eye on the mission we have enlisted to achieve: To overcome bossy britches bigotry and bullying with humor, sass, and good-natured joie de vivre.  Yes, as we (cue in the music here – something rousing, something that stirs the heart and…what? My orchestra is protesting on Wall Street? Man, I love those guys…okay…so maybe we could all just humm? Or…well, I can’t actually humm and speak at the same time…so, maybe if you all could humm…and is that how you spell humm? Two m’s? One?…) Oh, just go out there and make ’em laugh!

 

Popellina High Priestess Paba fach and a bunch of other stuff Karen I

The Humoristian Chronicles: A Most Unusual Fellowship

The Humoristian Chronicles: A Most Unusual Fellowship went on sale on Amazon last week as a Kindle book.  Our book talks about  the unlikely and wonderful fellowship that developed between people from a wide range of viewpoints, backgrounds, and geographical locations as they came together on the Amazon religion forum, and established the one true fallacious faith of Humoristianity.  (Our book will soon be available as a paperback on lulu.com.)