I love making my friend Sandi laugh. When I get around her, I always act like
any facet of me, concentrated. It's usually the clown side of me, the one whose life is making others laugh, not taking life too seriously. Often, the one being made fun of is either me or other people. I tell her things that will make her laugh. I'm practically addicted to her laugh, and so
I am addicted to making her laugh.
It is such a frequent occurrence, since we work in the same office for about 50 hours a week, that if the employees hadn't already known me for two years already, they may have assumed that we were gay. It seems that, according to the workers in the body shop, any strange or unusual behavior between women is grounds for homosexuality. I really think that they are not used to seeing two women genuinely enjoying each other's company. And I agree, it rarely happens. It doesn't happen enough.
Sandi inspires me to be creative; I think of all these silly things and tell them to her to get her response:
What if you could have your children's vocal chords removed until they moved out of the house? I thought of this because when I hang out at her house, her four year old son drives us both nuts.
I wish it were legal, at certain specific times, to hit other cars. I mean we spend all our lives being trained to not hit them, but we all have been sitting there, inching up at a red light, thinking about it. If bumper cars were invented for that purpose, then they need to be available more regularly.
I wonder if heckling tourists is really such a bad thing. Whenever we go to a bar in the French Quarter, we run the risk of being swarmed with people on one of those Haunted History Tours who come in for a quick drink before they walk to the next haunted house. Her and I try to behave, we really do.
Thoughts like these get at least a giggle, so I figured they're worth a giggle. I know I work to make Sandi laugh because sometimes, it's all I can do. I can't get really emotional with her when tragedy strikes her life (which has been happening frequently enough). I don't know why. I've had things happen to me, but a lot of what she goes through I have no experience with. At times, I know that this inability to break down in front of her can be taken as an indication that I don't care. I can't think of one woman that I could easily be emotional around, period.
Who are you a clown for?