Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: comedy

  • The Great Phone Number Mix-Up: Why I Keep Getting Calls for “Gary the Plumber”

    The Great Phone Number Mix-Up: Why I Keep Getting Calls for “Gary the Plumber”



    The Day My Phone Became a Hotline for Leaky Faucets

    It all started innocently enough. I was at my desk, diligently trying to meet a deadline (okay, maybe scrolling through social media), when my phone rang. “Hello?” I answered, expecting it to be my best friend gossiping about the latest episode of our favorite reality show.

    Instead, a gruff voice boomed, “Gary? You got those pipe fittings I ordered?”

    Gary.”

    The voice on the other end scoffed. “Don’t mess with me, Gary. You said you’d be here an hour ago!” And with that, he hung up. I sat there for a moment, bewildered. Was this some elaborate prank call?

    The Never-Ending Saga: Calls for Clogged Toilets and Busted Pipes

    Oh, how I wish it had been a prank call. Over the next few weeks, my phone became a hotline for all things plumbing. I received calls about:

    • A burst pipe in a bakery (apparently, Gary was supposed to save the day…and the croissants).
    • A clogged toilet at a yoga studio (I shuddered to imagine the details).
    • A leaky faucet at a pet grooming salon (the mental image of soapy, wet dogs running amok almost made me answer “Gary’s Plumbing Services” just to redirect the chaos).

    At first, I tried patiently explaining that I wasn’t Gary the Plumber. But after the tenth call about a malfunctioning garbage disposal, even my patience had sprung a leak.

    Becoming “Gary”: My Foray into Fictional Plumbing

    That’s when I decided to have a little fun with it. When someone called asking for Gary, I’d launch into a detailed description of the latest plumbing tools, using made-up technical jargon I’d gleaned from watching too many home improvement shows.

    “Ah, yes, you must be calling about the Hydromatic Pressure Regulator 3000! A fine piece of equipment, if I do say so myself. Now, have you tried recalibrating the flux capacitor?”

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Line-Stander (And Why I’m Now an Expert)

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Line-Stander (And Why I’m Now an Expert)

     

    My Line-Standing Baptism by Fire

    Let’s be honest, nobody enjoys waiting in line. But then there are those moments, those glorious, once-in-a-lifetime experiences that require… well, standing in line. Like that time I waited 12 hours for the Star Wars premiere. Yes, 12 hours. It’s a period of my life I refer to as my “line-standing baptism by fire.”

    I went in a naive rookie; I emerged a seasoned veteran of the queue. I had seen it all: line-cutters, bathroom break negotiations, the camaraderie of shared misery (and snacks). I learned the hard way that there’s an unspoken code of conduct in the world of line-standing. So, my friends, allow me to impart my hard-earned wisdom.

    Rule #1: Thou Shalt Not Cutteth the Line

    This should go without saying, but apparently, it doesn’t. Cutting in line is a cardinal sin, punishable by a thousand death glares (and possibly a stern talking-to). We’ve all been there, patiently inching forward, only to have someone waltz in with an air of entitlement and try to squeeze in front of us. Don’t be that person.

    Pro-tip: If someone tries to pull this stunt on you, a simple “Excuse me, the back of the line is that way” delivered with a friendly smile (and a pointed finger) usually does the trick.

    Rule #2: The Art of the Bathroom Break

    Nature, as they say, waits for no man (or woman). And when you’ve been holding your bladder for an hour, desperately hoping you don’t miss your spot in line, things can get dicey. Here’s the protocol:

    • The Buddy System is Key: Always, and I repeat always, have someone hold your place. This isn’t the time to make new friends – enlist a trusted companion in your line-standing adventure.
    • Keep It Brief: This isn’t your time to scroll through social media or catch up on emails. Get in, do your business, get out.
    • Express Gratitude: A sincere “thank you for holding my spot” upon your return is not only polite but also helps avoid any awkwardness.

    Rule #3: Embrace the Shared Experience (and Snacks!)

    Look, I get it. Standing in line can be tedious. But it can also be an opportunity to connect with your fellow humans (and maybe even make a friend or two). Strike up a conversation. Share a laugh (or a groan) about the wait time.

    And for the love of all that is holy, bring snacks. Sharing is caring, people. I once made a lifelong friend over a bag of gummy bears while waiting for a roller coaster. (Okay, maybe not lifelong, but we did exchange numbers. And isn’t that what really matters?)

    So, Are You Ready to Stand in Line Like a Pro?

    There you have it. My crash course in the unspoken rules of line-standing. Now go forth and conquer those queues, my friend! What are your most memorable (or disastrous) line-standing experiences? Share your stories in the comments below!

  • The Day My Inner Voice Started Speaking in a British Accent

    The Day My Inner Voice Started Speaking in a British Accent

    The Day My Inner Voice Became British: A Hilarious Transformation

    From Midwest Monotone to Proper Pronunciation

    Let’s be honest, my inner voice was never anything to write home about. It was a practical, Midwestern monotone – think Garrison Keillor reading a grocery list. It got the job done but lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. Then, one Tuesday morning, everything changed. I woke up, stumbled to the coffee maker, and thought, “Right then, time to get this show on the road.”

    inner voice had gone from “ope, let me just squeeze past ya” to a posh, vaguely aristocratic accent that could charm a crumpet off the Queen.

    Living with My New British Inner Voice: A Comedy of Errors

    At first, it was utterly delightful. Mundane tasks like folding laundry became infinitely more entertaining with my internal Hugh Grant providing commentary. Grocery shopping? A chance to internally debate the merits of various cheeses with the eloquence of Stephen Fry. I even started saying “cheerio” instead of “goodbye,” much to the amusement of my friends and family.

    There were, however, some adjustments to be made. For instance, my new inner voice had zero tolerance for my usual procrastination tactics. “Darling, are you really going to scroll through social media again? One simply must prioritize,” it would chide, dripping with disdain for my lack of productivity.

  • The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)




    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The 5 AM Alarm Clock Debacle

    Let me set the scene: 4:58 AM. My alarm clock, which I had lovingly nicknamed “The Rooster” (due to its earsplitting crowing sound), decided to unleash its fury upon my peaceful slumber. Now, for most normal, functioning members of society, this would be a sign to rise and shine. For me, it was more akin to a horror movie jump scare.

    You see, I, my friends, am not a morning person. I’m more of a “let’s stay up late watching documentaries about the mating habits of deep-sea creatures” kind of person. But, like a moth to a flame (or perhaps more accurately, a zombie to brains), I was drawn to the seductive idea of becoming a morning person.

    tried it.

    The results were…mixed. I did manage to stay awake (for the most part), but I also developed a nervous twitch and an uncanny ability to hear colors.

  • The Time I Tried to Learn a TikTok Dance (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried to Learn a TikTok Dance (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried (and Failed) to Learn a TikTok Dance

    We’ve all been there. Scrolling through TikTok, mesmerized by those seemingly effortless dance routines, and thinking, “Hey, I could do that!” That’s precisely where my journey into the world of TikTok dances began – with a healthy dose of delusion and a sprinkle of “how hard could it be?”

    It all started innocently enough. My friend showed me this adorable dance trend set to a catchy pop song. The moves looked simple, almost deceptively so. A little shimmy here, a playful head bob there – I, a self-proclaimed rhythm enthusiast (read: I occasionally sway on beat), was ready to conquer this challenge.

    Dance Fail: The Struggle Was Real

    Armed with unwavering confidence and my phone propped up against a stack of books, I hit record. And that’s when things took a turn. Remember that “simple” shimmy? Turns out it required more coordination than I, a person who trips over air, possessed. The “playful head bob?” Let’s just say I looked like a confused woodpecker trying to find its next meal.

    My attempts were a symphony of awkward angles, mistimed steps, and expressions that could only be described as “deer caught in headlights.” My living room transformed into a stage for a comedy of errors, with me as the (unintentional) star clown. I’m pretty sure my cat even hid under the couch out of sheer embarrassment.

  • The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)




    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)


    We’ve all seen them. Those mythical creatures who bound out of bed at the crack of dawn, chirping about sunshine and the promise of a fresh pot of coffee. They actually choose to exercise before the workday begins. These, my friends, are the morning people. And for a brief, shining moment, I thought I could be one of them.

    Operation: Rise and Shine (More Like Rise and Whine)

    My foray into the world of early rising began, ironically enough, in the dead of night. Scrolling through Pinterest at 2:00 AM, I stumbled upon countless infographics touting the benefits of waking up early: increased productivity, reduced stress levels, the ability to actually make a decent breakfast. I was sold.

    morning routine. This involved things like “meditation” (read: panicking about how little sleep I was getting) and “journaling” (scribbling incoherent sentences in the dark).

    The Yogurt Explosion: A Sign From the Universe?

    The first few days were rough. My brain felt like it was perpetually stuck in a fog bank, and I relied heavily on industrial-strength coffee to function. But then, something miraculous happened. One morning, I woke up before my alarm went off. I felt…dare I say…rested?

    Maybe, just maybe, I was becoming one of them.

    Fueled by this newfound sense of morning personhood, I decided to make a healthy breakfast. I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and…well, let’s just say I forgot that unopened yogurt containers have a tendency to explode when shaken vigorously.

  • The Great Phone Number Mishap: Why I Can’t Order Pizza Without Using a Fake Name

    The Great Phone Number Mishap: Why I Can’t Order Pizza Without Using a Fake Name







    My Life as “Benedict Cumberbatch”: The Wrong Number That Started It All

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all had those days where we feel like we’re living in a sitcom. You know, the ones where you trip up the stairs, accidentally spill coffee on your white shirt, and then somehow manage to lock yourself out of your apartment – all before 9 am. But my friends, I’m here to tell you, sometimes life throws you a curveball so absurd, so unbelievably funny, that you can’t help but laugh (and then immediately write a blog post about it).

    It all started with a simple craving. It was a Friday night, I was exhausted from a long week, and all I wanted was a big, greasy, cheesy pizza. I’m talking extra pepperoni, extra mushrooms, extra everything. So, like any sane person would do, I grabbed my phone and dialed up my trusty local pizzeria.

    “Is This… Pigeon Rescue?”: A Wrong Number for the Books

    Now, here’s where things get interesting. Unbeknownst to me, I had accidentally typed in one wrong digit in the phone number. ONE. DIGIT. Little did I know, this tiny error would have hilarious and long-lasting consequences.

    The phone rang a couple of times before a very confused-sounding man answered. “Hello?” he said cautiously.

    “Hi there!” I chirped, completely oblivious. “I’d like to place an order for delivery, please. Can I get a large pepperoni pizza with extra mushroo–”

    “Hold on,” the man interrupted, his voice laced with bewilderment. “Is this… Pigeon Rescue?”

  • The Day My Inner Voice Started Talking in a British Accent

    The Day My Inner Voice Started Talking in a British Accent




    The Day My Inner Voice Started Talking in a British Accent


    From Ohio to Oxford (in My Head, at Least)

    Let me tell you, life throws curveballs. Sometimes they’re literal, like the time I tried to join a softball league and ended up with a black eye. (Don’t ask.) This time, however, the curveball was purely auditory, and it took up residence inside my own head. You see, I, a perfectly normal girl from Ohio, woke up one morning with a British accent. In my head, of course. Outwardly, I still sounded like the Midwestern girl next door. But on the inside? Pure London, darling.

    I remember it vividly. I was making coffee, contemplating the mysteries of a perfectly toasted bagel, when my inner voice piped up, clear as day, with a crisp, “I say, wouldn’t a spot of tea be delightful this morning?”

    British Accent

    At first, it was disorienting, like someone had swapped out my internal monologue with a BBC radio drama. Grocery shopping became a comedy of errors.

    “Right, then,” my inner voice would say, “let’s see about procuring some biscuits.”

    Of course, I’d then wander the aisles for a good ten minutes, utterly bewildered, until I remembered that “biscuits” meant “cookies” in this new internal lexicon.

    Then there was the vocabulary shift. Words like “rubbish” and “brilliant” began peppering my thoughts. I started saying “cheerio” instead of “goodbye,” much to the amusement of my friends.

    “Did you study abroad in England and forget to tell us?” my friend Sarah asked, stifling a laugh.

    “I wish!” I thought, before catching myself. “I mean, no, this is all very new and strange.”

    Embracing My Inner Brit (and the Perks That Came With It)

    Over time, I’ve grown accustomed to my new internal flatmate. It’s like having a permanent, slightly posh commentator narrating my life. And I must admit, there are perks.

    • Confidence Boost: There’s something about that clipped British accent that just screams sophistication. My inner critic, once a nagging shrew, now sounds like a witty observer, offering constructive criticism with a side of dry humor.
    • Entertainment Factor: Mundane tasks are instantly more amusing. Folding laundry becomes a regal affair. Walking the dog is a countryside stroll. You get the picture.
    • Vocabulary Expansion: Okay, maybe I haven’t quite reached Shakespearean levels, but my vocabulary has definitely expanded beyond “like” and “totally.” (Although, I do miss those words sometimes. They were just so…easy.)
  • The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017 (and Why I Still Get Nervous Calls)

    The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017 (and Why I Still Get Nervous Calls)






    Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like you’re living in a sitcom? Where the universe seems to be playing a cosmic prank on you? Well, that was my life for a solid year, all thanks to The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017.

    The Case of the Missing Pepperoni (and Other Phone Number Misadventures)

    It all started innocently enough. I needed a new phone number – you know, the usual adulting stuff. Little did I know, this seemingly mundane task would plunge me headfirst into a world of mistaken identities, hangry callers, and enough pizza-related inquiries to last a lifetime.

    My first clue that something was amiss came a few hours after activating my new number. The phone rang, and an enthusiastic voice boomed, “Yo, I need a large pepperoni, extra cheese, and hurry it up!”

    Papa Joe’s Pizzeria?”

    And so began my reign as the unwitting recipient of calls meant for Papa Joe’s, a once-thriving (judging by the call volume) pizza joint.

    The Pizza Pilgrims and Other Wrong Number Tales

    The calls were relentless. Hungry customers, delivery drivers seeking directions, even other pizza places wanting to borrow a cup of mozzarella – all found their way to my line. I quickly learned the Papa Joe’s menu by heart, could recite their delivery radius in my sleep, and even became somewhat of a connoisseur of pizza-related complaints (“Sir, I’m truly sorry, but I can’t help you with your undercooked crust”).

    One particularly memorable call involved a group of tourists who were convinced I was holding their deep-dish hostage. Apparently, they had placed an order at the old Papa Joe’s location (now a laundromat, according to my intel), and were on a mission to claim their cheesy prize. It took all my persuasive powers (and a Google Maps search) to convince them they were on a wild goose chase.

    Life After Papa Joe’s: Why I Still Answer the Phone with Caution

    Eventually, the calls dwindled. Papa Joe’s faded into urban legend, and my phone number became my own again. But the experience left its mark. Even today, years later, I still answer the phone with a hint of trepidation, half-expecting to hear, “Yeah, can I get two slices and a Coke?”

  • That Time I Accidentally Joined a Clown Convention

    That Time I Accidentally Joined a Clown Convention



    The Wrong Turn to Clown Town

    We’ve all been there. You’re late, rushing, and blindly follow your GPS’s instructions. “Turn left in 50 feet… 25 feet… now!” And BAM! You’re not at your quiet, little yoga retreat, but staring down a hallway filled with… clowns.

    That’s right, folks. Yours truly, a firm believer in minimalist fashion and quiet contemplation, somehow ended up at the annual “Clowning Around for Joy” convention. The air was thick with the scent of popcorn, face paint, and something vaguely reminiscent of a petting zoo (don’t ask).

    something about the sheer absurdity of the situation, the sheer volume of rainbow wigs and oversized shoes, rooted me to the spot. I mean, what were the chances?

    Before I could make my escape, a friendly clown with a purple wig and a nose that lit up like a Christmas tree approached me. “Well, hello there, friend! You look like you could use a balloon animal! Giraffe? Elephant? How about a unicycle-riding poodle?”

    I mumbled something about not wanting to take away from a paying customer (was that even a thing here?). He just laughed, a booming, infectious sound, and said, “Nonsense! Laughter is free, my friend. And trust me, we’ve got plenty to go around!”

    Lessons from a Clown: Finding Joy in the Unexpected

    I ended up spending the next hour being thoroughly entertained. I watched a juggling workshop (impressive!), learned the art of balloon twisting (less impressive), and even got a crash course in applying clown makeup (let’s just say I won’t be quitting my day job).

    But the most valuable lesson I learned that day wasn’t about juggling chainsaws or fitting into a tiny car. It was about embracing the unexpected, finding joy in the absurd, and remembering not to take ourselves too seriously.