WHAT did you just say???

The other morning my devotional was about purposeful joy. The writer (a fantastic woman, minister and author) suggested we must actively find things to laugh about because, in her words, “Life just isn’t that funny.”

What?! Do we live on the same planet?

Recent headlines: Man Killed By Rooster with Razor, Oklahoma Man Hides Chainsaw in Shorts: Get Away Not the Fastest Ever, Circumcision Ban in San Fran.

I know there’s nothing funny about death or stealing or circumcision. But come on. Don’t you ever wonder, what the heck were they thinking?

For me, humor is only as far away as… well… me.

I have a can of mace left over from the shooting and I admit, I never really learned how to use it. For me, it was all about the gun back then. Now, 6 years later, I’m not so jumpy or on the edge of my seat angry all the time and I thought maybe I’d wean myself off the little fella in the holster. I dig out the mace and read the directions. Simple enough, I think. Except, this little spray thing on the top doesn’t look right. It’s like, hidden underneath a flap of plastic. What’s that about?

I pry around a little and eventually figure out the flap raises allowing me to slide a finger inside the apparatus. I do so. Just before I pull down, I realize I’m staring into the eye of the nozzle.

What the heck am I thinking?!

Quickly, I replace the cap and store the innocuous little red bottle in the nightstand drawer. Safer there. Less likely to hurt myself with the little fella in the holster.

And then there was the incident with the Public Regulations Commission. After spending hours researching trademarks, domains, filing for an FEIN and a TRD ID, then poring over the documents necessary to form an LLC and file the registry, I went to bed feeling rather pleased with myself. Until I realized I hadn’t filed with the PRC. Which technically, should have happened first, since they are the final word on whether I can have a certain business name in this state.

So bright and early the next morning at exactly 8:01, I called the PRC. A nice young man walked me through the steps of registry. What is the name of the business? Los Caballos de Fuego. (Fire horses or horses of the fire) He checks. Yes, that is available. Print out these forms, fill them out, send duplicates and a check for $75.00. Blahblahblah. Before we hung up, he said, “Hang on. Let me check something else. The spelling might make a difference. Your business is named Los(L-O-S) Caballos (C-A-B-A-L-L-O-S) de Huevos( H-U-E-V-O-S), right?”

I closed my eyes and laughed silently as the logo I’d figured out for Fire Horses morphed into porn.  “Ummm, no,” I said when I could finally speak, “Not Horses of the Testicles. Horses of the Fire. Fuego. Fire. Please.”

Horses of the Huevos. Death and taxes and theft might not be funny. But that is.