So a man walks into a bar with a monkey. I forgot the rest of the joke, but your mom is a whore.

I’ve never been a fan of Saturday Night Live. In my entire 26 years, I think I’ve seen three or four episodes start to finish, and those were all from the Chris Farley/Adam Sandler/David Spade era. Nothing about all the horrible overacting and flubbed improv entices me to stay up past eleven to watch, especially when you consider the bevy of soft core porn available on Showtime these days.

But the first time I saw a Will Ferrell Celebrity Jeopardy! skit, I fell in love.

I’ve carried a secret flame for Alex Trebek for as long as I can remember. There’s something about someone who knows that much about that many useless things that’s super effing hot. And the mustache circa 1998? Totally cancels out the fact that he’s Canadian.

Besides that, I just like Jeopardy. It all goes back to the hay day of my nerdom, when I was the co-captain of my high school’s Academic Bowl team. Nothing about competing in Academic Bowl was popular, but all my friends were on the team and we didn’t give two shits about running with the ‘in’ crowd. We were too busy making jokes about the magnitude of my then-boyfriend’s (rather impressive) vector and plotting our revenge against this uppity Catholic school in the state finals. I gave myself an ulcer worrying how we were going to beat those little twits before I figured out that their team was entirely male and entirely prone to zoning out when underage cleavage was on display. We still didn’t prevail, but that’s the year that learned to harness the power of my sweater puppies. So in the end, it was a total win for me.

Ever since then, I’ve harbored this desire to become a contestant on Jeopardy. Every year I sign up to take the online test, and every year I chicken out. Not because I’m afraid I won’t pass–I know an embarrassing amount of random trivia that makes me a perfect candidate –but because I’m afraid I won’t be able to come up with a clever story to tell during the contestant interview portion of the show.

No one outside the cushy confines of the internet wants to hear about my kid’s ability to mortify me in public by very proudly announcing his bowel movements. And it’s not like I could be all, “Well, yeah. I’m really big on Twitter.” In real life, I’m awkward and boring. Hell, even those Hare Krishna yahoos who chase people through airports clicking castanets and chanting nonsense can weave more exciting yarns than me, your typical run-of-the-mill-Mommy-needs-a-cocktail-type.

But in the deep recesses of my imagination, I can picture myself dazzling Mr. Trebek with the amazing tale of the time I slept with the pope. Or the time I contracted cat scratch fever from a feral cat I rescued from the Colosseum.

Except the pope I slept with was Paul VI, who had been dead and buried beneath St. Peter’s Basilica for some twenty years. And I kind of fell asleep on his tomb, while I was, ahem, supposed to be paying attention to a mass said in a language I didn’t speak.

And the cat scratch fever? Turned out to be strep throat. That I contracted after I landed back in the States. Because I was severely jet lagged.

I’m not nearly as interesting as I think I am in my own head.

About Chelsie

Mommy. Beauty product whore. Plastic lawn flamingo enthusiast. Nosy neighbor. One day novelist.
This entry was posted in Just Plain Offensive, Nerdness, No one else will think this is funny, Only Vaguely Offensive, The Month of Blogging Dangerously, Weirdness and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to So a man walks into a bar with a monkey. I forgot the rest of the joke, but your mom is a whore.

  1. Brooke says:

    I’m absolutely loving your daily blogs. They give me a reason to stay up past 11. So the dark circles underneath my eyes thank you.

  2. kate says:

    who says the story on jeopardy has to be true? or just tell him the cleavage story ;) i keep telling my husband to try out for that too… he knows all sorts of crazy useless knowledge!! if only you could get paid for that info taking up space in your brains…

  3. Pingback: Back off, Judgy McJudgerson | Three Ring Mom

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