Broken Funny Boner...

No animals were harmed in the making of this blog post...but I did, however, attack this defenseless stuffed duck here.

Some people don't think that I am very funny.

Clearly, there is something wrong with those people.

But, that isn't why I'm writing this post. No.

I'm writing because my humor finally pi**ed someone off (I mean, besides followers of Bill O'Reilly). I actually offended a "sister"...one who also happens to be administrator of a lesbian singles site I belonged too. I realized the extent of my offense when I found that she had booted me off, and "unfriended" me.

She also called me, and all three of my friends, "sick and twisted."

See, what happened was...

uh...

...that I had put up a status posting on my personal facebook page that read, "Add, 'now if you'll excuse me I have to go put some adorable, helpless kittens through a wood chipper' to the list of sentences I never thought I would say. Ever."

Now, I hardly ever put kittens through a wood chipper. Not since that one time.

I found myself trying to explain to her that it wasn't meant to be taken literally...but that didn't seem to help. She said I was describing cruel and sadistic behavior, and that it wasn't funny.

I had a hard time defending that. Or analyzing it. It's true that once I started dissecting the whole situation, like a chloroformed frog in a biology class...it suddenly wasn't quite as funny.

I always knew that my humor was going to get me kicked out of somewhere. I had always envisioned Wal-Mart, or the Republican National Convention (if I were actually there for some reason, the reason couldn't be a good one)...but a lesbian singles page?

That was a surprise development.

I wrote a song a few years ago called "Flat Cat." It's a silly song based on a scenario where a woman accidentally backs over her girlfriend's cat. I KNEW when I finished writing it that when I performed it I might run the risk of upsetting someone...but, with lines like "I tried to tell her how I never hated her cat/and I was terribly sorry that her pussy was flat," I figured I could run the risk of people knowing I was kidding...and maybe find the humor in it too.

If you would like to hear it, here it is: http://soundcloud.com/jo-nicholson/flat-cat

The worse that ever happened is people coming up to me (with a somewhat horrified expression) to ask if it was based on something that had really happened in my life.

Oh my gosh, no! If that had actually happened to me I would have been so scarred by the experience that I probably would have needed counseling, much less be able to write a "funny" song about it.

But geez...it does kind of seem like I am hard on animals in my jokes. Especially cats, apparently.

Stupid duck

Or ducks.

I actually had made those pictures because I am a WSU Cougar...it's where I went to grad school...and I moved to Oregon, where all of my new friends were OSU Ducks fans. I did it to torment them.

I got kicked out of Oregon.

OK. Not really.

Just a few sports bars.

But, I digress. You know, when I started in the sociology program at WSU, I was thinking about doing my thesis on the social aspects of comedy. There was surprisingly little research out there on the subject. I grew up in a very funny household...both of my parents have a really good sense of humor, and we laughed a lot...and comedy has both saved my life, and hindered it, I suppose, Saved it because laughter is healing, and positive...and with so much scary and sad stuff in the world, it is very helpful to be able to laugh at the sometimes ridiculous experience of it all. "See the lighter side" as they say.

It has hindered me in that sometimes i use humor to deflect things...as a defense mechanism to avoid things I really need to feel or look at. I think I've done it since I was a little girl...trained by Looney Toons.

Wile E. Coyote is a super genius.

I ended up doing my thesis on lesbian parenting...but, I had done quite a bit of preliminary reading on the comedy thing. I mean, why do we find some things funny and some things not? Sense of humor varies personally, and certainly culturally. Some things are considered "off-color"...and where is that line? Research tries to explain why we often think videos of people slipping or falling down are funny...or getting a t-ball to the privates...(ever watch America's Funniest Home Videos?), but I think most of us wouldn't find it funny if someone really got hurt...

I don't really find the three stooges funny, but I've seen other people reduced to tears of laughter. Literal ROFLMAO kind of stuff.

Research suggests that we find humor, in a very general sense, from the unexpected...or the challenger of convention (also unexpected)...or sometimes in the outright opposition of what we hold sacred...things that we find awkward, or clever...or sensitive, unfortunately.

Wittgenstein said, "It's hard to paint a clear picture of a fuzzy object." Humor is a fuzzy object.

Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart struggled with the definition of "porn" the same way. As he suggested, "I know it when I see it."

I've become upset at humor that seems to target groups of people with a purpose to belittle them...but, then, I've shared some "short" jokes, or "blond" jokes (usually with specific blond or 'short' friends in mind who I think will laugh)...but, it's a very fuzzy line. it's a delicate one to walk, and I try to use a vague "sense" with humor...something I don't even think I could articulate.

It shifts, as I learn and grow.

I was a little hard on my critic for being so literal. I suggested she needed to "lighten up." But, the thing is...a lot of people who have been in dangerous places or situations had to learn to interpret their environment very concretely...how do I know that wasn't the case there? I have an ex who has Asperger's Syndrome, and she processes incoming information differently. Her first impulse is to literal interpretations...and we miscommunicated a lot because I'd be firing off these volleys that I thought were hilarious.

She just thought I was weird.

Which, I am...

Anyway...I can't censor myself too much, or I would get lost in the mechanics of it all...and honestly, it's a mysterious energy that I can't really analyze or dilute too much, or I wouldn't have it.

My apologies in advance for the inevitability of my future blunders.

My intention is never to really hurt anybody...even Rush Limbaugh. I suggested a while back that he might have a vagina.

My apologies to the women I may have offended.

See? I can't help myself.

Go Cougs

4 out of 5 veterinarians agree that I am pretty funny....and good for business.

Local Lesbian Labeled as Labeling Labeler...

So, when I first came out (back in THE DAY) things seemed a lot simpler.

I learned very quickly that I (and every other lesbian) were supposed to neatly fit into categories of "butch" or "femme." I grew up climbing trees, catching frogs, and I hated wearing dresses (possibly related to the climbing trees thing)-so I dutifully decided that I must be "butch."

Turns out, I'm pretty terrible at that.

I'm really emotional, and I cry at Kleenex commercials. I also like bubble baths, while listening to Enya. Sometimes I paint my toenails, and if I try to operate a power tool you should just save time and call an ambulance before I even plug it in. It also doesn't occur to me to open a door for another girl unless her hands are full...or if I happen to be the first one to reach it (like at a pizza buffet).  I had one ex who kept trying to get me to wear baggy pants and boots, and would get upset if I spent more than 5 minutes in the bathroom trying to get ready to go out anywhere. She left me for a man, ultimately. (There are some things I really can't be).

Apparently, she was one of those "bi-sexuals" I've heard so much about-but had never seen up close.

Anyway, I tried being "femme" for a while.

Turns out, I'm even WORSE at that.

I tried wearing makeup. My ex (who can go from casual ball cap day to "lipstick" like nobodies business) told me I look like a "drag queen" when I do that. I can't cook, and stopped trying eventually (because I care about myself and other people). I really had no business ever attempting to wear my hair long. I mean, I used to roll the curling iron thingy backwards, and end up with this amazing "clamp flip" effect that would cause people to point and stare. I would go into a coma if I even LOOKED at a fashion magazine (which is painfully apparent if you were to see my wardrobe).

I can eat a whole pizza. Without using my hands.

Anyway, I spent years being a mess, trying to fit in. I lived in Alaska. I mean, I could climb into the wilds and go fishing, but then I wanted to set all the fish free while apologizing for hurting them with the hook...

Someone told me I was a "baby butch"...whatever THAT means. I never liked the visual connotation that came to my head with that phrase...like the Gerber baby in flannel holding a pocket knife or something.

I finally settled into just being "me"...which seemed to work out pretty well for "me." I think as we get older, most of us get more comfortable in our own skins-accepting all of the ways that we may (or may not) fit the "molds," so to speak.

But, with social media, I'm now seeing all of these new categories-and I'm wondering if maybe my day has finally arrived.

I found an academic article from the Psychology of Women Quarterly (29, 2005) written by Lisa M. Diamond from the university of Utah titled: "A New View of Lesbian Subtypes: Stable Versus Fluid Identity Trajectories Over an 8 Year Period."

I immediately screamed and threw it away.

Then I got back to my regular non-academic trajectory. All of these cool labels! Woo hoo! I mean, I could be a butch, a femme, a lipstick lesbian, a chapstick lesbian, a boi, a baby dyke, a soft butch, a stud (I'm pretty sure I'm this-because it sounds really awesome), a dyke on a bike, a dyke on a tryke, a dyke flying a kite, a granola, a diesel, a hasbian, a LUG, a lone star, a gold star, a sport, a futch, a stem...

So MANY to choose from. So MANY aspirations and possibilities.

I think, though, that I will stick with, "Just Jo"...and do my marquis flashy hands like Jack from Will and Grace.

In the words of the late, great John Prine (songwriting genius):

Bewildered, bewildered
You have no complaint
You are what you are
and you ain't what you ain't

So listen up buster
and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck
and knocking on wood

I think from here forward I would like to ironically be known as the lesbian sociologist who is weary of labels...I can't stand the pressure.

Which reminds me. I was at a small town crosswalk where I met a woman riding a horse. She said she was a lesbian actress from Lebanon.

 Wouldn't that make her a Lebanese, lesbian, pedestrian, equestrian, thespian?

I don't mean to unfairly label her, but you know how THEY are.