A Quiet Saturday & Laughing at Yourself

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I drink my one allotted cup of coffee a day, usually around noon, while reading the world news online. But the news is so depressing I can’t take too much of that in one session.

WTH is this world coming to? People are doing ridiculous, unlawful things, and there’s general chaos all around.

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It is a quiet weekend Saturday. The only time I’ve gone out is to feed the cats and change their water source.

I now have two orthopedic pet beds for Killvester out on the porch. He refused to lie on the bed in the wood enclosure that Randy built. So I figured I’d order another pet bed, and if I could lure him back into one of them, then Tuna could have the other bed.

Killvester lies on the green settee cushion, and I keep asking him why he won’t take advantage of the bed I know he loves. Naturally, I don’t expect an answer, and I don’t get one.

These cats are outdoor cats. They only trust you to feed them and provide them with water. They don’t like to be touched.

On the other side of me, the east side, is Mark’s house. I talked to him yesterday about Killvester’s puzzling predicament, because Mark has been feeding him a lot longer than I have.

Mark said, “He doesn’t like his routine messed with.” Well, there’s my answer. Also, “He’s afraid he’ll get trapped.” He’s been trapped a time or two, but not by me.

That’s a better answer as to why he doesn’t like the wood enclosure. He fears it.

All my work in trying to get that cat to trust me, and now he won’t even look at me. I messed with a good thing in trying to winterize the porch for him.

C’est la vie.

See, I know a little French. Actually, that’s my entire French vocabulary.

The PSO Winterization:

The PSO (Public Service Company of Oklahoma) winterization of my house is supposed to take place later this week. I hope it actually happens this time.

Guess I’ll have to have someone come help me move furniture away from the windows. They don’t move heavy stuff.

I switched it to this month because they have to turn off my air conditioning, and thank goodness it’s cooled off some now. My last electric bill was just slightly lower than the one before.

People in Tulsa are ranting and raving about their electric bill. On top of high gas and grocery prices, we have this current predicament to deal with too.

Family News & Tidbits:

As for family news, Marley just took her ACT for college and scored very high, as did her older brother. I remember taking mine just a week or so after Kendra was born, and I could barely walk from the C-section. My score was awful.

Marley will attend the University of Oklahoma, just as I did, her brother did, and her father did. Last I heard, she’s planning to go into journalism. That was my choice too.

Young 12-year-old Andrew now has a girlfriend. She visited their house last night, and Kasi ordered pizza. She said the two didn’t talk much.

What do 12-year-olds do on a “date”? I heard Andrew showed off his football skills. Poor boy probably doesn’t realize girls usually aren’t that interested in football.

The Instagram Account I Mentioned:

Remember the Instagram account I wrote about last week? One of you wanted to check it out, but I couldn’t recall where I saw it. It took me three days to stumble across it again.

If you didn’t catch it in a prior post, here it is.

So many talented and clever ladies are on social media.

I don’t share their love of posting themselves, though. I’ve never taken a selfie, and I refuse to use hashtags. I know it’s a part of social media to categorize the feed, but I find it rather silly.

I guess that’s part of aging. You get to make decisions that don’t make sense to anyone but yourself.

Witnesses for My Voting Ballot:

Speaking of older folks, here’s a funny story about my needing two witnesses to sign my midterm voting ballot.

One witness was Randy; the other was Smitty from next door. Now I’m not telling this story to make fun of anyone. I do understand how it is to get confused. I live with confusion every day.

But we both laughed at this one.

Anyway, Randy was signing my form, and I was probably chattering at him as he did so. He started laughing, and when he could get himself under control, he told me what was so funny.

Randy’s Humorous Blunder:

When I said, “Please print your name on that line,” Randy got confused and wrote PRINT on that line. We really laughed about that. It was probably the crossing between what was said and what was written down.

I tried to think back to when life got so confusing, but I can’t recall when my memory dipped off a cliff. I’m confused about many things. Things I read, things that I need to do, things people say.

Words. I constantly lose words I know are lurking somewhere in my brain. But every time I reach for them, they disappear like a whiff of smoke.

Being Literal:

I’m very literal. (I will admit that I couldn’t think of the word literal, and had to Google autism traits.) So I’m laughing at myself for that little misfire in my brain. When someone says something, my brain goes to the literal meaning first, not the subtext.

Jokes go right over my head. If you go look it up, here’s what you’ll probably find: When a joke is misunderstood, it is usually due to specific cognitive, communication, or contextual factors rather than a total lack of humor.

I definitely have a sense of humor. Kendra inherited that trait for sure.

I am confused by jokes because the words usually don’t make sense. The context puzzles me because the words tell a different story than what is actually being said. I can’t seem to get past that barrier.

People often interpret figures of speech, hyperbole, or metaphors at face value. That turns what should be a punchline into a puzzling statement.

Older Folks:

What matters is that you can laugh at yourself. I never really understood people who became angry when someone laughed at something silly they’d inadvertently done.

I suppose it’s because I constantly do something silly. And I believe that you’re screwed if you don’t have the ability to laugh at yourself.

The people I have known in my life who couldn’t laugh at themselves were typically narcissists.

Apparently, narcissists cannot genuinely laugh at themselves because their entire personality relies on a fragile, idealized self-image. And they must protect that self-image at all costs.

I can’t imagine not laughing at myself. Say I mistakenly put a jar of jam in the oven instead of the refrigerator. Now, that’s just downright funny.

Or maybe I put on a pair of socks that don’t match.

Then there’s going to a public bathroom and walking around in a restaurant with your shirt tucked into your underwear.

I don’t know if I’ve done that, but if I did, I’d consider it funny. And I certainly wouldn’t blame you if you laughed.