It feels like forever since anything has struck me as funny writing material, and by “forever,” I, of course, mean “February.” To me, the terms are distressingly synonymous.
That isn’t entirely true.
The part about the terms being synonymous is true. I wouldn’t joke about synonymity. Synonymity would be a great Scrabble word and Scrabble is for serious people. No joking.
It’s not entirely true that nothing funny has happened in February.
The Super Bowl was played in February this year. That means the draft of “Why Men Should Not Wear Yoga Pants” has been downward-dogging me since the beginning of February, following a horrifying incident at the local grocery store involving a last minute run for snacks, mine and that of a man straight out of a Cialis commercial who made a most unfortunate wardrobe decision that included yoga pants. Blue yoga pants.
Desperate times, desperate measures and all that, but really, no bag of Funyons is worth the searing trauma to my retinas that will never go away. In short, men should not wear yoga pants. End of story.
It was some time in February, maybe January, when I headed back to the classroom after quitting my job in the rat race. My first day back there were only two incidents of bloodshed: a major nosebleed and a bored seventh grader who decided ripping out a loose tooth was more fun than the algebra assignment. Not that I blame him.
Back in the day I would have found this to be a stressful day. But I’ve been on K Street. I have seen things. No seventh grader can traumatize me any more than a former congressman having a hissy fit. Still, the bloodshed on K Street is a little less literal. So that was kind of funny.
After several weather closings and Presidents’ Day sales, tomorrow I head back to the classroom for what looks like a steady gig for a while, maybe until the end of the year. I expect plenty of funny to follow, but also plenty of lesson planning and paper grading, not to mention the clean up of potentially hazardous bodily fluids. So I wanted to step away from the keyboard with something a little lighter left behind.
But it’s February. It is SO hard for me to find the funny in February. I know not everyone thinks this way. Today I ventured out into the world again and found myself in conversation with a delightful young woman who said, “February’s almost over. I can’t believe how fast it’s gone by.” I know she was speaking English, but that sentence did not translate. To me it’s been February since November.
Thankfully, there are always search terms to lighten things up a little. Today, for example, someone found Le Cahier by performing an Internet search for the term “cahier hacks,” one of the few times I’ve felt hopeful that someone was criticizing my writing skill.
I looked into my search term history, which hasn’t been as interesting since folks caught on to private browsing. I did find a few noteworthy search terms.
So as I gather up my planning book and my colorful pens and my hazmat suit, I leave you with these ways that searchers have recently found their way to Le Cahier:
- “Vegas90403″ – This is the number one search term in my statistics. Apparently Vegas is a popular guy. A lot of smart Match.com searchers are doing their due
diligence before dating him. Good news for you Vegas ladies: we broke up, shortly after Misty of Misty’s Laws sent me a text message informing me that he was stepping out on me, flashing his steamy come-hither look her way.
- “hippie cahier trombone” — How prescient. This very day I found myself wandering around the Staples looking for cool ways to
bribereward classroom behaviors and saw that “trombone” is French for paper clip.
- “what is the next line after hippie cahie” — Um. “r peace.love.hyperbole.”
- “hippie sunflower wedding” — I don’t know where the wedding part came in, but this term just warms my February heart. If you had a hippie sunflower wedding, I hope it was as beautiful as it sounds.
- “cahiers d’une jipster” — Or you can call me hipster.
- “i am not really something” — Yes you are. You are kind. You are beautiful. You are special. Maybe you are even a hippie!
- “refreshingly honest tagline” — Thank you.
- “cashiers hazelnut song” — I’m intrigued.
- “donut academy awards” – Doubly intrigued. “And the award for Best Supporting Cruller goes to . . . “
- “my daughter says i’m a hoarder but i’m not” — May I suggest the search term “Bravo network”?
- “sinkhole chicken” – Not to be confused with the mudslide turkey, neither of which is a euphemism. I hope.
- “storyteller baseball player salt and pepper shakers” — I kind of like the idea that I’m probably the only person in the world who pictures her father when she sees that term.
- “famous and memorable hippies” — Well, shucks, I wouldn’t exactly say ‘famous’. . . (blushing)
- “que es la influenza hippie” — I survived!
- “what’s a quasi hippie” — It’s like a centaur. Half worrier princess, half long-haired “groovy”-spewer. Glad I could clear that up.
- “hippie is not a hippy” — And also not a quasi-hippy.
- “what would it mean to call someone a meatball” — That they are a bear infringing on someone’s trademark. I thought everyone knew that.
- “what do hippies do friday nights” — Vegas, is that you?
- “soupmate.” – I love how definitive that is. They knew exactly what they wanted. Soupmate. Period. Unless they wanted a soulmate, in which case they came to the wrong place because I can be a stickler for spelling. Then again, I do love soup. Oh, what a tangled interweb.
- “hippie grandmothers” – Not yet, but I plan to be a self-appointed auntie to the lovely and talented Scout Appear-Sutherland any day now.
- “sorry i killed your grandmother but i didnt want to spill my latte” — Oh, well then, ok. All is forgiven.
- “hippie things to say about unnecessary drama” – “It would be far out if you would cancel that Kardashians show. Thank you, man.”