The idea about the pizza neck pillow was a good one

So I'm not sure what's gotten in to me today, but rather than feeling angry and sullen as I typically do on a Monday, I'm feeling quite silly. Exhibit A, e-mail chain from 5 minutes ago:

Me: Maybe its a post-lunch sugar low talking, but when will the Girl Scout cookies be available for consumption?

Superior: No [sic] not for a few weeks.

Me: Okay, it's probably better to have a cooling-off period anyway.

I have asked a colleague to keep tabs on me in case I have a spaz attack of jocularity.

I saw Mike Birbiglia at his off-Broadway show, "Sleepwalk with Me" Saturday night, and I realized that (1) he is a comedic genius and (2) I sort of love him, except that I accidentally said that out loud on Facebook, and now he is my Facebook friend (pity-friending if ever there was one), so now he's maybe AWARE, and he's very possibly scared of me now.

After the show, I was telling Jim how much I was amazed by not just the things he says, but by his delivery, which is so much of the funny. And then I was all fired up, like, "I want to be a comedian, so people will laugh at and/or fall in love with me, too" which is really true, except that anyone will tell you that I'm not funny in person except when I've fallen down. And I was telling Jim how I want to write funny things in nonfiction book form, but I have some concerns. Like, it's funny to tell stories about your family and loved ones, because they're inevitably bizarre, and I have this fear that said loved ones would not appreciate the humor and would hate me forever and ever amen.

I would tell the story about how just a few short weeks ago, Jim was trying to install a new Pur water filtration knob on our sink because we're tired of recycling water bottles, what with all of the walking out to the recycling bin and the depositing of the bottles and whatnot. Except that he couldn't get the old piece off. He was cursing up a storm, red in the face, getting me involved by bracing my hand against the faucet thing while he wrenched it with a...wrench. Being from the Midwest, the best I can describe this so that normal people understand is that he was being very Long Island about it. Eventually he got so pissed that he stormed off to Home Depot to get some WD-40 because by God, we were going to have clean water. And it still didn't work, and that's when things really got ugly. And as a bonus, now our faucet was in pieces and spraying water in such a manner that we could have had a very competitive wet t-shirt contest on a daily basis.

The end of the story is that Jim had been trying to unscrew the piece by turning it the wrong way. He had been tightening it the entire time. You see, Jim never learned "righty tighty, lefty loosey" like me, and America. He learned something like, "piece of sh&#$^ballsI(@*#%mother*(*&%^q&@#$WHYTHEF*&%$*$*(&T#$^($#untilitleaksoutyourundercarriage."

The point is, I don't know if Jim would be pleased to know that I'm posting this seriously humiliating and demoralizing story that would make your average man cry. And I only have, at last count, maybe 2 readers to share in the shame. And I don't want to have to pre-clear everything, because that's not as fun, but I'm sensitive to these things, and I'd probably preface everything with, "Is it okay..." as in, "Is it okay if I include the part about the leakage?" But if I ask nicely, please say yes.