A Little Story From Out West

Happy Monday little pandas! Sorry there are no memes, all the news seemed either too sad (wage disparity, the second attack on protesters in Egypt, every train/plane/boat crash) or too obvious (Lindsey Lohan is out of rehab on Thursday, Shep Smith loves True Blood, the royal baby is in the world) to meme this week. Please accept this panda picture and a little story instead.Panda

Last week, I was in Wyoming for my cousin’s wedding. I saw two moose and rode a horse who did not care for me, so it was all very exciting. I also met a guy who commutes between Jackson Hole and Boston. Let’s call him Ralph. We chatted at the rehearsal dinner and kind of hit it off. He makes software, I make calendar appointments. He likes mountains and I like improv comedy.

Whenever I mention that I do improv, most people react by telling me how funny they are. This is incredibly weird to me, given that when someone tells me that he is a lawyer, I don’t talk about the time I argued my way out of a speeding ticket from a bike cop in college. Ralph told me a story about how he and his friends think it’s so funny to go out and make up facts about themselves when they talk to girls. It bears mentioning that Ralph is in his forties.

I am currently trying to be more open-minded in my dating life so even though a million tiny, creepy bells were going off in my head, I told myself to not be a bitch.

By the reception the following evening, the bells in my head were getting louder and creepier though not from tangible behavior so I just tried to remain close to my family and be cool. However, just like a fawn in the woods, at some point I had to separate myself out to go get some cake.

I stood there weighing the options between strawberry lemonade and chocolate caramel when I felt a presence. I turned, and there was Ralph. He remembered another funny thing he’s always wanted to try: “Ok, so it’s my wedding and the cameras are on and everyone is there. My parents, her parents, everyone. And it comes to the ‘you may kiss the bride part,’ and it starts out real nice. Then I start biting her lip, she starts spanking me, I’m pulling her hair, then I turn her around and bend her over….”, etc.


Have you ever had someone ruin the small piece of strawberry lemon cake and small piece of chocolate caramel cake that you’ve picked out to enjoy for yourself at a family member’s wedding? It is terrible.

Biting back contempt, I responded, “There’s a bride and a groom here tonight; you should go share your idea with them.” He mumbled something about it not being the right crowd to appreciate something like that. I agreed and excused myself.

You guys, what the fuck? At best, this idea was a derivative sketch concept found in the back of every aspiring writer’s high school portfolio. Like, if you want to tell a dirty joke to a lady while her entire family is steps away in the hopes that it will somehow help you get in good with said lady, 1)make the joke funny and 2)don’t back down like a pussy as soon as she dares you to take it to the next level.

In the end, I’m grateful for that joke. Though it ruined my perfectly whipped icing and deliciously light cake, it reminded me to listen to my bells.


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