That's Not Actually Funny

Never, ever, trust me to save your life.

Sure, there are a lot of things that you can count on me for—unnecessary Star Trek trivia, poorly-timed slow clapping, lofty sarcastic asides, etcetera, etcetera—but, when the going gets tough and you find yourself without a pulse, do not call me. Unless you want the last thing you hear in this lifetime to be my indifferently sighed “ah, jeez, that’s gross.”

But, anyways, Happy New Year, I guess.                           

Winter term has started and I could not be more pleasantly at ease. I love Winter term, readers. A lot. I want to marry Winter term in a civil ceremony with all our friends present. It’s going to be beautiful. You’ll weep.

I’ve been out of class since 10:45 this morning and I have nothing else planned for the next three days, which is great because I hate plans by nature—especially plans that require me to school my facial features into something that won’t frighten passersby, something I’ve always been told is my Achilles’ heel. Winter term is for those of us who hate doing things. You have hours and sometimes days in which nothing is due, there are no tests to study for, and there is no work to be done in the slightest. You can do whatever you want, including frighten local townsfolk, I guess.

This Winter term, I’m taking an anthropology course about the power of friendship and a First Aid class in the afternoons, which is where I got the “don’t trust me to save your life” PSA. We practiced on the eerily smug looking CPR mannequins (all of which were named Little Anne, regardless of gender, which I thought was wonderfully progressive) and I’m pretty sure I killed them all. Well. I know for sure I was laughing too hard to properly help one of them. The other three most likely died en route to the smug CPR mannequin hospital, because I know they were in bad shape when I left them.

 “That’s not actually funny” is the phrase I would use to sum up my CPR experience in one sentence. Because it’s not. It’s really, really, really, really, really not funny. But it is, readers. We are learning to save lives, and I cannot stop laughing. The majority of what we do in the class is watch instructional videos that have actors that recreate various (and delightfully morbid) First Aid scenarios and I’m not saying they are horrible actors, I’m just saying that they are so bad at acting that I when I watch them, I get heart palpitations so severe that I worry I’m actually going to need them to perform horribly-acted CPR on me. They are over the top, they are cheesy, they are absolutely ridiculous, and I love them so much. The problem is, they aren’t supposed to be funny. So they we are, a class of twenty, watching this hypothetical man go into hypothetical cardiac arrest, and I am just giggling uncontrollably in the back. The instructor is a wonderful woman but I’m 98% positive she thinks I’m a psychopath because this man is dying on the screen and I have literal tears running down my face from the force of my laughter.

So. Yeah. That’s where I’ve been emotionally the last week. Ruining a wonderful, amazing opportunity to change my life for the better with my inability to keep it together. Please don’t be like me, readers. Please do not insult the mannequins. They are just trying their best.

Anyways, use your Winter term to change your life. Either by learning something useful, or learning a new hobby, or, at the very least, learning how to behave like a real person in real life when confronted with a man who has lost a pulse.

Which is something I really never thought I would actually have to remind myself of when I look in the mirror in the mornings.

But, alas, here we are.

Until next week,



Ashley is a Junior Creative Writing major from Payette, Idaho.