|My life, in real texts.|
Well, the stories aren't really bad. They're actually pretty good stories, I'm told. They usually all are somewhat embarrassing for yours truly, but I find myself better at telling you about something stupid that happened, rather than something good.
I think it's all those years of studying the art of a good narrative, which has taught me when to hit the right notes and the right punchline. Anything from falling flat on my face on the sidewalk to getting thrown a metaphorical curveball in the midst of a conversation can end up being something funny and shocking enough to warrant a laugh. (Have I told you about the time my laptop monitor burned out in college and the Genius Bar guy gave me a lollipop to stop me from hyperventilating? Or the one where this Fuck Boy soberly made a move and then followed it up fast with a basic "jk!" Or that one time I mixed up salt and sugar when trying to make a cheesecake?)
It's a defense mechanism of sorts. Rather than wallow about the awkward thing that happened, it's better to find something to laugh about. I don't know how healthy that is in the long run, but it keeps the sun shining high whenever something makes me want to dive under my covers and hibernate.
Or I just think I'm funnier than I actually am, which is probably, most likely, totally 100% true.