Picture if you will: you're sitting in your car waiting at yet another stoplight as dozens of college students bustle across the intersection. You're not really expecting anything exciting to happen because, well, nothing ever does. It's just a red light. There're just people walking. You turn up your radio and tap your finger on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change so you can get to wherever you're going.
But then, right before your eyes, you see a guy meet a girl mid-intersection, throw her over his shoulder, and continue crossing the intersection like it was the most natural thing in the world.
If I were you, I'd be thinking, "Wait, what?" Because let's be honest, who does that?? In all my years of crossing streets, walking around, and waiting at intersections, I've never actually seen anything quite that random.
But that's probably because you don't know my friend Adam. He's about as random (and awesome) as they come. Yes, it's a shocker, I know. I actually know the guy. And the best part? I was the one he threw over my shoulder. So I was not just watching this happen; I was experiencing it, too.
So yeah, my best friend threw me over his shoulder and carried me across the intersection (the wrong direction, I might add -- I wanted to go to campus and he inconveniently decided we'd go where he wanted to go, which was towards home) and it pretty much made my day. Thought I'd share.
However, note to self from now on, when I see Adam anywhere on campus, make sure I can dodge him so that I don't keep being forcibly sidetracked from my destination.
21 October 2009
16 October 2009
Glutton for Punishment
Gluttony's a sin, oh didn't you know
And for every sin, the punishment must go
On the heels of the crime and give you a jab
To scold and remind you that you've been bad
Now achy and punished, you know you got served
The dish that you richly and truly deserved
But oh the confusion when rules get all bent
For how do you punish a glutton for punishment?
Just a little ditty I penned out of exasperation for my ridiculous habit of going back for more when I know I don't really want it. Whether it be food, boys, sleep, or putting off homework. I just keep asking for it. So for all you punishment-gluttons out there, this one's for you. I wish I were a song writer and had musical talent, because I have this really whimsical tune in my head right now. But don't ask me to sing it. I won't. :)
And for every sin, the punishment must go
On the heels of the crime and give you a jab
To scold and remind you that you've been bad
Now achy and punished, you know you got served
The dish that you richly and truly deserved
But oh the confusion when rules get all bent
For how do you punish a glutton for punishment?
Just a little ditty I penned out of exasperation for my ridiculous habit of going back for more when I know I don't really want it. Whether it be food, boys, sleep, or putting off homework. I just keep asking for it. So for all you punishment-gluttons out there, this one's for you. I wish I were a song writer and had musical talent, because I have this really whimsical tune in my head right now. But don't ask me to sing it. I won't. :)
13 October 2009
The Experiment
I conducted a fascinating experiment today.
Okay okay so "experiment" might not be the right term. I don't have the time or patience to survey guys on how they think. But I reserve the right to express my opinion.
Just for kicks, I posted a status expressing my "willingness" to date. "Willingness" being the operative word because I had no intention of taking any would-be offers up on a date if the best they could do was comment on a status on facebook. That just strikes me as tacky. A phone call or an in-person invitation would do nicely and, in my humble opinion, SHOULD be done in order to garner the most of a girl's respect from the beginning.
Now, perhaps it was a bit low of me to resort to said tackiness in order to find out what would happen, but I don't feel like discussing the ethics of my experiment choice. I was more curious about the reaction. Frankly, I expected more comments from girls, saying "me too!" and maybe, just maybe, a guy saying "sure" or "no". The results were surprising and I learned two key things:
1) None of the facetiousness of my emotions at the time translated into what other people saw. Perhaps I chose the wrong emoticon. If so, my bad. I would think a winky face would be suitably indicative of the kind of tone I was using. Or maybe I should have left one off altogether. That aside, almost everyone thought I was serious, which I suppose is a sad reflection on their knowledge of me.
2) Some guys can be downright cruel. Now, since they were operating under the assumption that I was serious, which obviously I wasn't, I'm not particularly hurt by any of their comments, but had I meant it, I would have been hurt. (Follow that sentence if you can... I'm not sure it makes sense). But they said everything from "desperate" to "pathetic" to "you know better than that." The only one who didn't was my friend who knows me well enough to know that I was being facetious.
What did I learn?
First and foremost, jokes are tricky on facebook. This entire argument has the potential to be invalidated by that fact alone. In which case the moral of the story is simply to avoid making jokes on facebook that can be taken the wrong way. However, I know that at least a few guys genuinely thought I was serious and made comments based on that assumption, so I proceed.
Second and most pertinent, I hear guys bemoaning that girls make things so difficult. Girls don't say how they feel or make it easy for a guy to ask them out (leaving off the ridiculous oversight that girls have exactly the same problem with guys). Well, who can marvel when there are guys like that in the world? No wonder girls don't say "Hey, I like dating." They get labeled as desperate or pathetic. Even by other girls. So we keep our interests tightly veiled so that we avoid such treatment.
Granted, not all guys are like that. Perhaps I have some very clueless facebook friends. Or maybe they were joking too and it didn't translate well from their words to my interpretation of them. Who's to say? (except for them, of course, but they are entitled to remain anonymous if they so choose)
However, I do have many guyfriends who don't sneer at girls for feeling emotions (because let's be honest, we're girls. We. Have. Emotions. Get used to it quick or you're going to make a poor boyfriend/ husband). In fact, they actually confess to having emotions too, (GASP!), which allows us to cultivate really great friendships/relationships and learn from each other.
So to add a giant disclaimer: I'm not making a judgment call on all guys. Because that would be stupid of me. And I'd be lying. I like guys. Guys are cool. They're fun to be around. Most of them are downright decent and can be tender and understanding. And heck, I'm looking for some charming guy to sweep me off my feet someday (yeah I know. I'm desperate and pathetic for wanting to get married -- so sue me).
But hopefully this is a little enlightening to all you guys out there who wonder why girls "make it difficult" for you to find out how they feel. We're just afraid of being shot down. Which, from experience, I know guys are afraid of too. Is it right? Is it wrong? Well, that's for someone else to debate. Feel free.
And on the bright side, this experiment did wonders for helping me weed out which guys are or are not worth my time. So thanks for that.
Okay okay so "experiment" might not be the right term. I don't have the time or patience to survey guys on how they think. But I reserve the right to express my opinion.
Just for kicks, I posted a status expressing my "willingness" to date. "Willingness" being the operative word because I had no intention of taking any would-be offers up on a date if the best they could do was comment on a status on facebook. That just strikes me as tacky. A phone call or an in-person invitation would do nicely and, in my humble opinion, SHOULD be done in order to garner the most of a girl's respect from the beginning.
Now, perhaps it was a bit low of me to resort to said tackiness in order to find out what would happen, but I don't feel like discussing the ethics of my experiment choice. I was more curious about the reaction. Frankly, I expected more comments from girls, saying "me too!" and maybe, just maybe, a guy saying "sure" or "no". The results were surprising and I learned two key things:
1) None of the facetiousness of my emotions at the time translated into what other people saw. Perhaps I chose the wrong emoticon. If so, my bad. I would think a winky face would be suitably indicative of the kind of tone I was using. Or maybe I should have left one off altogether. That aside, almost everyone thought I was serious, which I suppose is a sad reflection on their knowledge of me.
2) Some guys can be downright cruel. Now, since they were operating under the assumption that I was serious, which obviously I wasn't, I'm not particularly hurt by any of their comments, but had I meant it, I would have been hurt. (Follow that sentence if you can... I'm not sure it makes sense). But they said everything from "desperate" to "pathetic" to "you know better than that." The only one who didn't was my friend who knows me well enough to know that I was being facetious.
What did I learn?
First and foremost, jokes are tricky on facebook. This entire argument has the potential to be invalidated by that fact alone. In which case the moral of the story is simply to avoid making jokes on facebook that can be taken the wrong way. However, I know that at least a few guys genuinely thought I was serious and made comments based on that assumption, so I proceed.
Second and most pertinent, I hear guys bemoaning that girls make things so difficult. Girls don't say how they feel or make it easy for a guy to ask them out (leaving off the ridiculous oversight that girls have exactly the same problem with guys). Well, who can marvel when there are guys like that in the world? No wonder girls don't say "Hey, I like dating." They get labeled as desperate or pathetic. Even by other girls. So we keep our interests tightly veiled so that we avoid such treatment.
Granted, not all guys are like that. Perhaps I have some very clueless facebook friends. Or maybe they were joking too and it didn't translate well from their words to my interpretation of them. Who's to say? (except for them, of course, but they are entitled to remain anonymous if they so choose)
However, I do have many guyfriends who don't sneer at girls for feeling emotions (because let's be honest, we're girls. We. Have. Emotions. Get used to it quick or you're going to make a poor boyfriend/ husband). In fact, they actually confess to having emotions too, (GASP!), which allows us to cultivate really great friendships/relationships and learn from each other.
So to add a giant disclaimer: I'm not making a judgment call on all guys. Because that would be stupid of me. And I'd be lying. I like guys. Guys are cool. They're fun to be around. Most of them are downright decent and can be tender and understanding. And heck, I'm looking for some charming guy to sweep me off my feet someday (yeah I know. I'm desperate and pathetic for wanting to get married -- so sue me).
But hopefully this is a little enlightening to all you guys out there who wonder why girls "make it difficult" for you to find out how they feel. We're just afraid of being shot down. Which, from experience, I know guys are afraid of too. Is it right? Is it wrong? Well, that's for someone else to debate. Feel free.
And on the bright side, this experiment did wonders for helping me weed out which guys are or are not worth my time. So thanks for that.
08 October 2009
Drinking Applesauce
Casual dating is like drinking applesauce
It’s your only option when spoons are hard to come by
Sometimes you have to get a little creative to enjoy it,
But it’s not all that hard to do and it tickles your lips.
Sometimes it’s chunky, sometimes it’s not
But it fills you up just the same.
And, like drinking from the carton, no one else will touch it
Because you got to it first
So you have time to decide if you like it or not.
Getting a boyfriend, on the other hand, is like hunting for the spoon
First, you need the right size
And you have to check to see if it fits your needs
If it does, you’re committed to finish
Because you really don’t want to look for another spoon.
And what if there are no good spoons left? Then what?
The entire applesauce just goes to waste.
So let’s all drink applesauce.
It’s your only option when spoons are hard to come by
Sometimes you have to get a little creative to enjoy it,
But it’s not all that hard to do and it tickles your lips.
Sometimes it’s chunky, sometimes it’s not
But it fills you up just the same.
And, like drinking from the carton, no one else will touch it
Because you got to it first
So you have time to decide if you like it or not.
Getting a boyfriend, on the other hand, is like hunting for the spoon
First, you need the right size
And you have to check to see if it fits your needs
If it does, you’re committed to finish
Because you really don’t want to look for another spoon.
And what if there are no good spoons left? Then what?
The entire applesauce just goes to waste.
So let’s all drink applesauce.
05 August 2009
Who Else but the Word Nerd?
Wow. It's been a long time. My life must be incredibly uneventful. What am I talking about? I would know. I'm sure I could have found something to write about, but the bug just didn't hit me. And now I'm about to write a whole post about the geekiest thing I have ever done. I fangirl-ed. I know. Shameful. But it's not what you think!
Do you know that feeling where something you love just pops up and you get all giggly and have this strong (and bizarre) temptation to squee in delight? I'm kinda sorta hoping that it's not something you're too familiar with. I pride myself in having non-fangirly friends. Well, that happened to me today.
The culprit? It's called Crazy ABC's by the Barenaked Ladies.
I suddenly hear all the "Oh"s of understanding as people realize that Lynnae is fangirling over an abc song. I mean come on, this is me we're talking about here. Why? Because it's awesome!! Unfortunately, YouTube has failed me for the first (okay, maybe second) time in recorded history and does not have a useful version of this song to play for you. But here are the lyrics:
If you like it, look it up on itunes or amazon or something. It's really quite catchy. :)
The exact reaction I got from my dad when I sent him the mp3 was a look of complete bafflement as the track started to play, followed by the slow, rueful shake of his head. I know, I know, Dad. But it's one of the reasons you love me so much, right?
Do you know that feeling where something you love just pops up and you get all giggly and have this strong (and bizarre) temptation to squee in delight? I'm kinda sorta hoping that it's not something you're too familiar with. I pride myself in having non-fangirly friends. Well, that happened to me today.
The culprit? It's called Crazy ABC's by the Barenaked Ladies.
I suddenly hear all the "Oh"s of understanding as people realize that Lynnae is fangirling over an abc song. I mean come on, this is me we're talking about here. Why? Because it's awesome!! Unfortunately, YouTube has failed me for the first (okay, maybe second) time in recorded history and does not have a useful version of this song to play for you. But here are the lyrics:
Hey Steve, hey Ed, that sounds nice, what is it?
Thank you, it’s a, it’s an alphabet song I’m working on
Oh great, a whole new alphabet, I just learned the old one
A is for aisle, B is for bdellium, C is for czar
And if you see him would you mind telling him?
Okay, hang on a second, yeah aisle, bdellium?
Yeah, aisle like a, like a theater, alright, okay and bdellium?
Bdellium, it’s a gum like tree resin, it starts with a silent B
And then czar? Yeah, it’s uh like a Russian czar
You know everybody knows apple, ball and cat
I wanted to get into some, you know some stranger words
Right, I see what you’re doing
D is for djinn, E for Euphrates
F is for fohn, but not like when I call the ladies
I thought phone started with a P like a Ph
No, its F 0 H N, it’s a, it’s a kind of wind
Yeah, I know what you mean by wind
G for gnarly, I for irk, H is for hour
J for jalapeños, good in either corn or flour
Tortillas, let us rhyme
K is for knick knack, L is for llama
Pramma, llama, ding, what’s so strange about llama?
Llama, it starts with two L’s, what’s the second one for?
No idea, I know loser
N for neumonic, M is for mdomo, 0 is for ouiga board
P for pneumonia, pterodactyl and psychosis, Q is for qat
Okay, Q qat? What? Yeah, it’s uh Q A T, it’s an evergreen shrub
It’s a perfect scrabble word because it’s a Q with no U
There’s not many of those, you have too much time on your hands
R is for argyle , no it isn’t
Okay, you’re right, I couldn’t find a good R word
S is for Szár, a lovely German river
T for tsunami, a wave that makes me quiver
U is for urn, but not like earning money
V for vraisemblance from French and therefore kind of funny
W for wren, wrinkly and who
X is for Xian, an ancient Chinese city, true
Ancient Chinese city, huh? My guitar player, some hotshot
Y is for yiperite, a very nasty gas
And zed’s the final letter and by final I mean last
Okay, when you say zed for the benefit of our American friends
You really mean Z, right?
No, I mean zed, like, like Zed Zed Top, Zed Zed Top?
Yeah, you know the guys with the big long beards
Well, Except the guy whose name is Beard. he has a mustache
I always thought that was interesting
You done with the alphabet?
No, extra letters I haven’t heard of? I think so
This was a great help, I think
With the contribution you made to world literacy
Well, I’m just saying, kids I’m just saying
Think outside the box a little bit, box with an R
Yeah, well, no box with a B A L K S like a pitcher
Ah, as opposed to B A C I-f S
Right, think outside the box, get into some Rochmaninov That’s Rochmaninov with a W
If you like it, look it up on itunes or amazon or something. It's really quite catchy. :)
The exact reaction I got from my dad when I sent him the mp3 was a look of complete bafflement as the track started to play, followed by the slow, rueful shake of his head. I know, I know, Dad. But it's one of the reasons you love me so much, right?
18 July 2009
Nettled By Needles
Do you know where Needles, CA is? I highly doubt it. Well, let me enlighten you. It's a quaint little town about 5 miles from the California/Arizona border with a lot of gas stations, tire places, and motels for the weary cross-country travelers. It is hot, dry, hot, barren, hot, and has one little lake about a mile away that is so overcrowded with people you could probably walk right across from boat to boat without ever getting wet. Oh, and did I mention that it's hot there? No? Let me make sure you understand: IT. IS. SO. FLIPPING. HOT! Break out the sausage, bacon and eggs. Who needs stoves when the blacktop works so well!
So why Needles? And why do I have such a vendetta against it? Well, nothing against the people there. They're probably nice enough. Although it's my opinion that they must be half crazy to live in that kind of heat. No, I have nothing against the town itself, aside from the mandatory *ahem* quality time I got to spend there.
It started out as a simple day. It was a bright, cheerful 4th of July as the Jackson clan scrambled into our trusty old Expedition and set off on our ten hour drive to the Grand Canyon. Life was jolly and grand until we rolled past Needles and saw the nifty little newfangled gadget for tire pressure light up. Time for a pit stop. So we sidled off the freeway, refilled our tires, and took off again, problem solved.
Dear heaven, if only.
Less than 20 minutes later, it was on again. This time we pulled off on this barely-paved road that led to exactly nowhere and stepped out into the blasting heat to start hauling out the equipment for changing a tire. Piece of cake, right? What's a little 114 degree heat when the tire will be changed in a jiffy? Then the wrench broke. No, I'm not kidding. Cracked, right down the middle. Hop, skip and jump (okay, not really -- who would be mad enough to go through that kind of exertion in that kind of heat?) down to the compartment in the trailer where the other wrench was stashed. What's that, Dad? The star wrench is bending??? Um, that's not good. Nope. Pretty sure that's textbookly bad.
Dear AAA insurance company, We are marooned in the middle of nowhere. Yes, of course we know how to change a tire. Yes, of course we have a good spare tire. What's the problem? Oh, we're just incapable of getting a little piece of metal the size of my big toe off the car. Please come help us. Love, the Jacksons.
So, the AAA guy told us he'd bring his big beefy truck with its big beefy air compressor to get our little itty bitty lug nut off for us. Problem: he's like, an hour and a half away because we're in a place no sane person would stop, let alone build something as sophisticated as a car insurance company. And we're standing outside our car, our skin baking in the sun while, at the same time, the asphalt is doing its absolute best to melt the rubber off the bottoms of our shoes. Good thing we've got the trailer... with its... closed... in... spaces. The age old question: which do you really need to survive? Wind? Or shade? Well, I'm here to tell you that I survived in shifts of lacking one or the other, but even if I'd had both, it wouldn't have done me a speck of good. Not when it's that hot.
After slipping into a dazed dream about glaciers and free falling into sub-arctic oceans, I was roused by the approach of a very big, rumbly truck that was coming to rescue us. My attempts to go out and observe were foiled by my mother, who had apparently decided to opt for suffocation rather than sunburn and consequently, skin cancer. In the end, she was the wiser of the two of us. An hour's worth of using that big, beefy, superstrong air compressor still couldn't budge that little bitty lug nut. What. On. Earth. Who rigged this?? Finally, the AAA guy refilled our tire in the hopes that we could limp back to the by-now-much-hated Needles and find a tire shop.
Au contraire, oh ignorant ones! Hast forgotten the holiday? No one's coming in! Not for less than $150 in cash plus repair costs, anyways. We finally found a shop that was open and had qualified personnel on the clock. There was a little AM/PM mart next door and that is the closest I have ever come to kissing the floor of a convenience store. The air conditioning was like the breath of life itself. The water might as well have been the nectar of the gods. And they had ice cream! For the first time in my life, my body didn't know or care about the definition of a
brain freeze. That ice cream was gone and swallowed before the cashier had even finished counting out the change. Luckily for us, the tire shop had some kind of super-awesome thingamajig that got that lug nut off. PS: want to know how big that lug nut was? About like this:
Bested by a scrap of metal for over four hours. Who would have thought?
Oh, and this tale isn't over. We got back on the road, sighed the most heartfelt sighs ever sighed, and settled back into the drive, anxious to get to our destination. I hadn't even gotten through the first song on my mp3 player when WHUMP! thumpthumpthumpthump suddenly rattled through the car. A quick pullover and a peek out the driver's side door confirmed that the back tire on our trailer had blown. And guess what?
!!!
We didn't even have a spare tire for the trailer. And! We didn't have AAA coverage for the trailer either. And! Thanks to our four hour delay with the lugnutfromhell, pretty much everything was closed for the holiday. Did you know that the iphone is wonderful? We googled every tire shop within a 50 mile radius looking for someone who might still be open. Also, were you aware that tire places have a fascination with brilliantly original names like "Big O Tires" or "Big D Tires" or "Big S Tires" or, the radically unique "Big X Tires." Please, oh creative heart of mine, never fall in love with a greasemonkey.
Well, Mr. Big D Tires happened to still be open and he also did roadside service. So he came to our rescue (although how much an exorbitant fee like that could be considered a "rescue" is up to you) and, two more hours later, we were off on the road again. Luckily with no further mishaps.
And so, after 11 hours in cramped quarters, 6 hours roadside, melting in 114 degree heat, and several broken tools strewn along the I-40, we finally pulled into the South Rim campground at 11:30 at night. I have never been so happy in my life to see a dusty, dirty, weedy-grass patch of earth in my life.
Silver lining... silver lining... where oh where can you be...?
I'm kidding. I'm actually going to depart from my snark for a moment and point out how much that experience enhanced my appreciation for the oft-overlooked amenities we have in everyday life, like AC, water bottles, and soft juicy foods like grapes and apples and berries. We were looked after by Someone who wanted us to learn some valuable lessons about gratitude and learn we did.
So why Needles? And why do I have such a vendetta against it? Well, nothing against the people there. They're probably nice enough. Although it's my opinion that they must be half crazy to live in that kind of heat. No, I have nothing against the town itself, aside from the mandatory *ahem* quality time I got to spend there.
It started out as a simple day. It was a bright, cheerful 4th of July as the Jackson clan scrambled into our trusty old Expedition and set off on our ten hour drive to the Grand Canyon. Life was jolly and grand until we rolled past Needles and saw the nifty little newfangled gadget for tire pressure light up. Time for a pit stop. So we sidled off the freeway, refilled our tires, and took off again, problem solved.
Dear heaven, if only.
Less than 20 minutes later, it was on again. This time we pulled off on this barely-paved road that led to exactly nowhere and stepped out into the blasting heat to start hauling out the equipment for changing a tire. Piece of cake, right? What's a little 114 degree heat when the tire will be changed in a jiffy? Then the wrench broke. No, I'm not kidding. Cracked, right down the middle. Hop, skip and jump (okay, not really -- who would be mad enough to go through that kind of exertion in that kind of heat?) down to the compartment in the trailer where the other wrench was stashed. What's that, Dad? The star wrench is bending??? Um, that's not good. Nope. Pretty sure that's textbookly bad.
Dear AAA insurance company, We are marooned in the middle of nowhere. Yes, of course we know how to change a tire. Yes, of course we have a good spare tire. What's the problem? Oh, we're just incapable of getting a little piece of metal the size of my big toe off the car. Please come help us. Love, the Jacksons.
So, the AAA guy told us he'd bring his big beefy truck with its big beefy air compressor to get our little itty bitty lug nut off for us. Problem: he's like, an hour and a half away because we're in a place no sane person would stop, let alone build something as sophisticated as a car insurance company. And we're standing outside our car, our skin baking in the sun while, at the same time, the asphalt is doing its absolute best to melt the rubber off the bottoms of our shoes. Good thing we've got the trailer... with its... closed... in... spaces. The age old question: which do you really need to survive? Wind? Or shade? Well, I'm here to tell you that I survived in shifts of lacking one or the other, but even if I'd had both, it wouldn't have done me a speck of good. Not when it's that hot.
After slipping into a dazed dream about glaciers and free falling into sub-arctic oceans, I was roused by the approach of a very big, rumbly truck that was coming to rescue us. My attempts to go out and observe were foiled by my mother, who had apparently decided to opt for suffocation rather than sunburn and consequently, skin cancer. In the end, she was the wiser of the two of us. An hour's worth of using that big, beefy, superstrong air compressor still couldn't budge that little bitty lug nut. What. On. Earth. Who rigged this?? Finally, the AAA guy refilled our tire in the hopes that we could limp back to the by-now-much-hated Needles and find a tire shop.
Au contraire, oh ignorant ones! Hast forgotten the holiday? No one's coming in! Not for less than $150 in cash plus repair costs, anyways. We finally found a shop that was open and had qualified personnel on the clock. There was a little AM/PM mart next door and that is the closest I have ever come to kissing the floor of a convenience store. The air conditioning was like the breath of life itself. The water might as well have been the nectar of the gods. And they had ice cream! For the first time in my life, my body didn't know or care about the definition of a
brain freeze. That ice cream was gone and swallowed before the cashier had even finished counting out the change. Luckily for us, the tire shop had some kind of super-awesome thingamajig that got that lug nut off. PS: want to know how big that lug nut was? About like this:Bested by a scrap of metal for over four hours. Who would have thought?
Oh, and this tale isn't over. We got back on the road, sighed the most heartfelt sighs ever sighed, and settled back into the drive, anxious to get to our destination. I hadn't even gotten through the first song on my mp3 player when WHUMP! thumpthumpthumpthump suddenly rattled through the car. A quick pullover and a peek out the driver's side door confirmed that the back tire on our trailer had blown. And guess what?
!!!
We didn't even have a spare tire for the trailer. And! We didn't have AAA coverage for the trailer either. And! Thanks to our four hour delay with the lugnutfromhell, pretty much everything was closed for the holiday. Did you know that the iphone is wonderful? We googled every tire shop within a 50 mile radius looking for someone who might still be open. Also, were you aware that tire places have a fascination with brilliantly original names like "Big O Tires" or "Big D Tires" or "Big S Tires" or, the radically unique "Big X Tires." Please, oh creative heart of mine, never fall in love with a greasemonkey.
Well, Mr. Big D Tires happened to still be open and he also did roadside service. So he came to our rescue (although how much an exorbitant fee like that could be considered a "rescue" is up to you) and, two more hours later, we were off on the road again. Luckily with no further mishaps.
And so, after 11 hours in cramped quarters, 6 hours roadside, melting in 114 degree heat, and several broken tools strewn along the I-40, we finally pulled into the South Rim campground at 11:30 at night. I have never been so happy in my life to see a dusty, dirty, weedy-grass patch of earth in my life.
Silver lining... silver lining... where oh where can you be...?
I'm kidding. I'm actually going to depart from my snark for a moment and point out how much that experience enhanced my appreciation for the oft-overlooked amenities we have in everyday life, like AC, water bottles, and soft juicy foods like grapes and apples and berries. We were looked after by Someone who wanted us to learn some valuable lessons about gratitude and learn we did.
30 June 2009
Who Cares? You Should. Or Should You? Who Cares?
In light of my currently single status, I thought I'd take a minute and bask in how awesome it is not to be in love with a boy. I mean really, you do know how much drama they create, don't you? And we girls just can't seem to avoid overanalyzing, no matter how hard we try. Name one girl that never analyzes and I will... well, I actually won't promise anything, because that's just setting me up to be proven wrong and I'd like to go on ignorance of that superior female for the time being. Makes me feel better about myself knowing that every other girl thinks too much. After all, you know what they say about Misery and Company...
(Not that thinking = misery. Don't take that wrong...)
I've lived a few years on this planet (because, you know, I'm from Venus and they -- those strange, confusing, baffling, funny creatures that leave us nonplussed -- are from Mars.) and in those years, I've learned a few things about guys. Not that it's ever been very helpful. Boys are like the flu: always defying any attempts to pin them down and establish a universal solution. Granted, I'm sure they say the same about girls, but I'm choosing to ignore that for now.
Here are a few adages I've been given by guys. I'm going to call them my Flu Vaccines.
Vaccine No.1: Stick your neck out there and then pull into your shell again. It catches the guy's interest and then intrigues him because you're being mysterious. So... you want me to be a turtle? What a wonderful analogy. I'm scaly, cold-blooded, chunky, slow, and snappish. Nice. Well, guymanthing, meet shell. Probably all you're going to see. Ever.
Vaccine No.2: Just be honest. This may work easier in the non-Utah world, where "I like you" is not code for "BREAK OUT THE INVITATIONS, GET THE DRESS, BOOK THE TEMPLE, WE'RE GETTIN' HITCHED!!!!!" Because, honestly? That just seems to send the wrong message around here...
Vaccine No.3: Guys like the damsels in distress because it makes them feel needed. Um. In case you've forgotten, or just, well, never noticed, I happen to be a damsel. I'm a young, unmarried woman, which is all that a damsel is. Don't believe me, look it up. And guys happen to distress me. So that pretty much guarantees that I will always be a "Damsel in Distress" when the boys are around.
Okay, so I'm not usually in distress. But have you ever tried to take care of someone who is always in need of help? It's exhausting. No thank you.
And: "it makes them feel needed"??? Really? They really don't know that they're needed already?? Girls need guys. Fact of life. Yes, they drive us nuts. They frustrate us to the point that we'd gladly trade them all away for a Grade A chick flick, some ice cream, and a nice cushy job...... if we didn't NEED them so darn much. Duh. Can guys honestly believe we suffer through the ins and outs of dating for the fun of it???
Vaccine No.4: The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Which is true enough. Looks like the losers like me who really hate to cook are totally out of luck. And it is my humble opinion that -- leaving aside the anorexics and bulimics -- the way to anyone's heart is through their stomach. I once nearly kissed a boy just because he brought me ice cream. If that's not a connection between heart and stomach, I don't know what is. So cook away, little homemaking women. Your roommates who don't cook -- like me -- will love you too.
So which of these is the most helpful? Remember how the flu actually works? Yeah. These are all just outdated vaccines that only work on 0.02% of the male population. My mother, my genius genius mother, actually offered the perfect solution: Just. Stop. Caring.
I was like, "What?"
But then the genius of her statement dawned on me. Not caring is the off switch for a girl's analytical subroutines. After all, who -- barring the microbiologists staring into their petri dishes -- would want to analyze the life cycle of a single-celled organism? The truth is that most of us just don't care about it, so we don't do it.
So turn off that analysis running through your head right now, because I just know that you're thinking about whether you do this or not. Tell your stinking brain to get out of your way and just be yourself. And if your 'self' is hyperanalytical by nature... well... good luck with that one. I don't have a lot of light to shed on that problem. Sucks for you.
So maybe those blasted Flu Vaccines aren't so outdated after all. The Let-Me-Tap-on-Your-Shell, the Honesty, the Let-Me-See-You-Need-Me, the Natural Human Desire for Sustenance (which, incidentally, proves to our sometimes-dense guys that we're not robots in female bodies), all of these adages from guys are really just different ways of trying to tell you to let them see you. The you deep down inside that gets lost in the analysis. Naturally, since they're guys, they don't say it very well, but that's part of why we love them. Big points for trying.
The road of love (and life) is bumpy. Let's be honest about that. If you spend your whole life tip-toeing along and hyperanalyzing every move you make before you make it, how on earth do you expect to enjoy life? So suck it up, roll with the punches, take the hits, and come out of life looking like you've really lived.
Wow. That was surprisingly profound. Go me.
(Not that thinking = misery. Don't take that wrong...)
I've lived a few years on this planet (because, you know, I'm from Venus and they -- those strange, confusing, baffling, funny creatures that leave us nonplussed -- are from Mars.) and in those years, I've learned a few things about guys. Not that it's ever been very helpful. Boys are like the flu: always defying any attempts to pin them down and establish a universal solution. Granted, I'm sure they say the same about girls, but I'm choosing to ignore that for now.
Here are a few adages I've been given by guys. I'm going to call them my Flu Vaccines.
Vaccine No.1: Stick your neck out there and then pull into your shell again. It catches the guy's interest and then intrigues him because you're being mysterious. So... you want me to be a turtle? What a wonderful analogy. I'm scaly, cold-blooded, chunky, slow, and snappish. Nice. Well, guymanthing, meet shell. Probably all you're going to see. Ever.
Vaccine No.2: Just be honest. This may work easier in the non-Utah world, where "I like you" is not code for "BREAK OUT THE INVITATIONS, GET THE DRESS, BOOK THE TEMPLE, WE'RE GETTIN' HITCHED!!!!!" Because, honestly? That just seems to send the wrong message around here...
Vaccine No.3: Guys like the damsels in distress because it makes them feel needed. Um. In case you've forgotten, or just, well, never noticed, I happen to be a damsel. I'm a young, unmarried woman, which is all that a damsel is. Don't believe me, look it up. And guys happen to distress me. So that pretty much guarantees that I will always be a "Damsel in Distress" when the boys are around.
Okay, so I'm not usually in distress. But have you ever tried to take care of someone who is always in need of help? It's exhausting. No thank you.
And: "it makes them feel needed"??? Really? They really don't know that they're needed already?? Girls need guys. Fact of life. Yes, they drive us nuts. They frustrate us to the point that we'd gladly trade them all away for a Grade A chick flick, some ice cream, and a nice cushy job...... if we didn't NEED them so darn much. Duh. Can guys honestly believe we suffer through the ins and outs of dating for the fun of it???
Vaccine No.4: The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Which is true enough. Looks like the losers like me who really hate to cook are totally out of luck. And it is my humble opinion that -- leaving aside the anorexics and bulimics -- the way to anyone's heart is through their stomach. I once nearly kissed a boy just because he brought me ice cream. If that's not a connection between heart and stomach, I don't know what is. So cook away, little homemaking women. Your roommates who don't cook -- like me -- will love you too.
So which of these is the most helpful? Remember how the flu actually works? Yeah. These are all just outdated vaccines that only work on 0.02% of the male population. My mother, my genius genius mother, actually offered the perfect solution: Just. Stop. Caring.
I was like, "What?"
But then the genius of her statement dawned on me. Not caring is the off switch for a girl's analytical subroutines. After all, who -- barring the microbiologists staring into their petri dishes -- would want to analyze the life cycle of a single-celled organism? The truth is that most of us just don't care about it, so we don't do it.
So turn off that analysis running through your head right now, because I just know that you're thinking about whether you do this or not. Tell your stinking brain to get out of your way and just be yourself. And if your 'self' is hyperanalytical by nature... well... good luck with that one. I don't have a lot of light to shed on that problem. Sucks for you.
So maybe those blasted Flu Vaccines aren't so outdated after all. The Let-Me-Tap-on-Your-Shell, the Honesty, the Let-Me-See-You-Need-Me, the Natural Human Desire for Sustenance (which, incidentally, proves to our sometimes-dense guys that we're not robots in female bodies), all of these adages from guys are really just different ways of trying to tell you to let them see you. The you deep down inside that gets lost in the analysis. Naturally, since they're guys, they don't say it very well, but that's part of why we love them. Big points for trying.
The road of love (and life) is bumpy. Let's be honest about that. If you spend your whole life tip-toeing along and hyperanalyzing every move you make before you make it, how on earth do you expect to enjoy life? So suck it up, roll with the punches, take the hits, and come out of life looking like you've really lived.
Wow. That was surprisingly profound. Go me.
25 June 2009
Beloved Uncle Mike
I was just made aware that Michael Jackson died today and felt the need to post and pay my respects and share at least one fond memory.
Now, there are a few hazards that come with being me. For one, no one ever says or spells my first name right the first time. And my last name... well...
I have been asked, at least 10 times in my lifetime, whether I was related to Michael Jackson. Um, no. Allow me to point out a few major reasons why this is so:
1) I. Am. Not. Black. Never have been, never will be. Nothing against black people -- they're actually kind of awesome. But my genetic code dictates a very low concentration of melanin which means that I get very pale in the winter and very pink in the summer. Michael Jackson, although whiter at his death than I will ever be, originally looked like this:
2) Do you know how many Jacksons there are out there??? According to http://howmanyofme.com/search/:
3) Don't you think I would have been a lot more famous if I had been related to him? I'm not starving for fame and fortune, but I'm not stupid. I would at least have nicer stuff, maybe my own car, and a nice cushy internship in my chosen career field if I'd had strings to pull. But I don't. Which is why I'm here.
Now that aside, I have always enjoyed his music and I commend him for his work in the 1980's. He was an integral part of the merging of black and Caucasian cultural differences. And he revolutionized dancing forever. No one will ever forget his trademark moonwalk. So, Dear "Uncle-who's-not-really-my-uncle-because-we-share-nothing-but-a-last-name" Michael, rest in peace and may your post-mortal existence be better than this one. Because, let's be honest, this one kind of stank for you.
Now, there are a few hazards that come with being me. For one, no one ever says or spells my first name right the first time. And my last name... well...
I have been asked, at least 10 times in my lifetime, whether I was related to Michael Jackson. Um, no. Allow me to point out a few major reasons why this is so:
1) I. Am. Not. Black. Never have been, never will be. Nothing against black people -- they're actually kind of awesome. But my genetic code dictates a very low concentration of melanin which means that I get very pale in the winter and very pink in the summer. Michael Jackson, although whiter at his death than I will ever be, originally looked like this:
2) Do you know how many Jacksons there are out there??? According to http://howmanyofme.com/search/:
- There are 950,931 people in the U.S. with the last name Jackson.
- Statistically the 13th most popular last name.
3) Don't you think I would have been a lot more famous if I had been related to him? I'm not starving for fame and fortune, but I'm not stupid. I would at least have nicer stuff, maybe my own car, and a nice cushy internship in my chosen career field if I'd had strings to pull. But I don't. Which is why I'm here.
Now that aside, I have always enjoyed his music and I commend him for his work in the 1980's. He was an integral part of the merging of black and Caucasian cultural differences. And he revolutionized dancing forever. No one will ever forget his trademark moonwalk. So, Dear "Uncle-who's-not-really-my-uncle-because-we-share-nothing-but-a-last-name" Michael, rest in peace and may your post-mortal existence be better than this one. Because, let's be honest, this one kind of stank for you.
Oh, Engineers
"Here the Epydoc might be of little more help. I added sample of how to create the followerload from an lmm file. You may want to use the tags about this code snippet to emphasize that."
Um, what?
The quote that comes to mind is from Finding Nemo: "It's like he's trying to speak to me, I know it!"
Engineers may be brilliant, but they really are hopeless when it comes to transferring that brilliance to others. In some ways, they're almost a different species from the rest of us. Seriously. How many fast-food workers or authors do you know who get down on their hands and knees with a measuring tape and mark with tape exactly where the furniture should go so that A) it's centered and B) it is in the right position for optimal hearing and watching pleasure? Hand on my heart, I have watched my dad do this every time we move. You have no idea how tempted I've been to go and just scoot the couch a few inches to one side to see if he notices.
And then there's the tendency to fix everything, regardless of whether it's broken or not. Especially if it isn't broken. We have a huge hole behind our ground-floor toilet (apparently someone had to go just a little too badly... or.... something. Don't ask me how it got there) that's been on the "to fix" list for at least a year. Yet on my dad's day off, he decides to try to run an extended ethernet cord from the study to the family room, just so that, should the fancy strike him, he can plug my computer in and listen to my music on the "superior" sound system. For lack of anything to do, I end up helping him, and the whole process ends up taking us several hours and included three new holes in the wall (one of them unnecessary -- that bugged him SO much because he miscalculated the location of the hole and how big it needed to be).
All so that I could just sit on the couch, plug in my earphones, and listen to my music on my own. Hooray, Dad! He still has yet to benefit from my luscious music samples, and I don't think he's a fan of my kinds of music anyway. Never have I been so proud.
Now today, I talked to the guys I work for and explained (very clearly I thought) that I needed an explanation of some feature or other in the program we're developing so that I can document it. And I needed it in plain English. Then I get that little doosie of an explanation at the top. *headdesk* That, my friends, is not plain English. Oh right. I forgot who I was talking to.
Based on the stories above, it might be surprising to discover that engineers love to be efficient. They're obsessed with efficiency, actually. Even taking the time to measure furniture location makes sure that all the soundwaves bouncing around the room are absorbed most efficiently by human ears. And rerouting the ethernet cord would have been efficient had we decided to use my music collection as our primary source of listening material. This also extends to their word choices. A few examples:
"Gooey" -- it must have taken me at least a year of working for them to figure out what the heck they meant when they said this. Eventually I learned that it was what they called the Graphical User Interface (G.U.I). Aha. Gooey. Because just saying G-U-I was too long. You save one syllable if you say "gooey." Gooey it is, then. Makes it sound like it's going to drip out of the screen and attack you...
Everything is shortened, even if it's been shortened in the past. For example, one of the products is called LumbarSIM, which is short for LumbarSimulator. My boss called it LSim yesterday. What next? "Sim?" or, maybe to make it more unique, we'll call it "Lim." Start printing up the bumper stickers, boys, I think we have a winner.
They also tend to speak in code rather than bother with translating to normal speech. It's never "Make that a hyperlink to your formatting page," it's "Make sure you link href that to the css file." If you understand that, kudos to you. I only do because I've had it said to me too many times. Don't forget to ctrl+C and export that into your long-term memory under the h1
Don't get me wrong. I love engineers. Heck, I'll probably end up marrying one. But if anyone ever comes up to you and starts talking about a CAD system, all I can say is smile and nod politely and then never ever bring up computers or the word virtual around them ever again.
Um, what?
The quote that comes to mind is from Finding Nemo: "It's like he's trying to speak to me, I know it!"
Engineers may be brilliant, but they really are hopeless when it comes to transferring that brilliance to others. In some ways, they're almost a different species from the rest of us. Seriously. How many fast-food workers or authors do you know who get down on their hands and knees with a measuring tape and mark with tape exactly where the furniture should go so that A) it's centered and B) it is in the right position for optimal hearing and watching pleasure? Hand on my heart, I have watched my dad do this every time we move. You have no idea how tempted I've been to go and just scoot the couch a few inches to one side to see if he notices.
And then there's the tendency to fix everything, regardless of whether it's broken or not. Especially if it isn't broken. We have a huge hole behind our ground-floor toilet (apparently someone had to go just a little too badly... or.... something. Don't ask me how it got there) that's been on the "to fix" list for at least a year. Yet on my dad's day off, he decides to try to run an extended ethernet cord from the study to the family room, just so that, should the fancy strike him, he can plug my computer in and listen to my music on the "superior" sound system. For lack of anything to do, I end up helping him, and the whole process ends up taking us several hours and included three new holes in the wall (one of them unnecessary -- that bugged him SO much because he miscalculated the location of the hole and how big it needed to be).
All so that I could just sit on the couch, plug in my earphones, and listen to my music on my own. Hooray, Dad! He still has yet to benefit from my luscious music samples, and I don't think he's a fan of my kinds of music anyway. Never have I been so proud.
Now today, I talked to the guys I work for and explained (very clearly I thought) that I needed an explanation of some feature or other in the program we're developing so that I can document it. And I needed it in plain English. Then I get that little doosie of an explanation at the top. *headdesk* That, my friends, is not plain English. Oh right. I forgot who I was talking to.
Based on the stories above, it might be surprising to discover that engineers love to be efficient. They're obsessed with efficiency, actually. Even taking the time to measure furniture location makes sure that all the soundwaves bouncing around the room are absorbed most efficiently by human ears. And rerouting the ethernet cord would have been efficient had we decided to use my music collection as our primary source of listening material. This also extends to their word choices. A few examples:
"Gooey" -- it must have taken me at least a year of working for them to figure out what the heck they meant when they said this. Eventually I learned that it was what they called the Graphical User Interface (G.U.I). Aha. Gooey. Because just saying G-U-I was too long. You save one syllable if you say "gooey." Gooey it is, then. Makes it sound like it's going to drip out of the screen and attack you...
Everything is shortened, even if it's been shortened in the past. For example, one of the products is called LumbarSIM, which is short for LumbarSimulator. My boss called it LSim yesterday. What next? "Sim?" or, maybe to make it more unique, we'll call it "Lim." Start printing up the bumper stickers, boys, I think we have a winner.
They also tend to speak in code rather than bother with translating to normal speech. It's never "Make that a hyperlink to your formatting page," it's "Make sure you link href that to the css file." If you understand that, kudos to you. I only do because I've had it said to me too many times. Don't forget to ctrl+C and export that into your long-term memory under the h1
"Things to Remember When Talking to an Engineer."
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Totally just typed h1 up there and it converted to the heading format. That's awesome. Oh man, it's taking over my life.Don't get me wrong. I love engineers. Heck, I'll probably end up marrying one. But if anyone ever comes up to you and starts talking about a CAD system, all I can say is smile and nod politely and then never ever bring up computers or the word virtual around them ever again.
24 June 2009
Californian Colloquialisms
Today, this 24th day of the 6th month of the year of our Lord 2009, I hereby christen thee Snarky Snippets and send thee on thy maiden voyage. Fare thee well.
Since this is my first post in the blogosphere, there are a few disclaimers I'd like to make.
Item 1: Since the title of this blog is *ahem* SNARKY Snippets, please expect some, if not all of the content herein to be biting and perhaps mildly insulting. However, pretty much anything is subject to my humor, so if your demographic appears to be singled out, just wait. It'll pass.
Item 2: For the protection of subjects of this blog, names will be withheld unless I have received permission to cite them. I bear the objects of my humor no ill will. This blog is strictly to point out the little quirks that make life more fun.
Now, down to business.
I recently took a road trip with several newly-made friends from California and after three days in their company, I started to pick up on some really funny colloquialisms. First up, one of the girls asked me what a colloquialism was (not because I said it, she just randomly asked me mid-trip after learning that I was an English major) and it got me thinking about them in general. After that, I started picking up on some funny things Californians say. Other people use them, too, but Californians seem to use it more, especially the coastal natives.
"Bomb" = they use this to describe just about everything that is cool. And no, they don't say "that movie is da bomb," like we assume it should be phrased. Instead, it's been converted from a noun into an adjective, as in "this cake is bomb" or "check out those bomb caves" Last time I checked, "bomb" was a noun for something that was about to explode and wreak havoc. Unless madness and mayhem is the new cool... who am I to say?
"Legit" = also used as a substitute for "cool." Frequently. Occasionally, the longer "legitimate" is used, but ironically, the state with the longest name (minus like, West Virginia) seems to like the shortest words. Funky. And I lied, California does not have the longest name, but it's long enough. Road trips from one end of the state to the other are long too, so my point still stands. You'd think size, population, and vocabulary would be proportionate...
"Rad" = no, this word did not die with the 70's. Thank goodness they don't say radical, but "rad" is bad enough. I had the strong temptation to laugh every time I heard someone say it.
"Toolin' around" = basically means loitering, or chilling, or messing around. But then why not just SAY that? Nope, it's TOOLIN' around. Which makes me think of TOOL, which is not a nice word for a player. Oh joy.
In addition to these colloquialisms, I also collected some other memorable sayings:
"The sheep are NAKED!" Um. I believe the correct term would be "recently sheared" (or shorn, depending on how much of a purist you are). Have you never watched Boundin'? Oh wait, they call him "nekked and bare." Aha. Problem identified.
"Holy crap! I didn't know that anyone HAD that many cows!" Yes. It's called a dairy farm. Or maybe even a beef farm. Or heck, maybe they just like cows. I collect them, you know.
"Cows are agriculture" Not by themselves they're not. Agriculture is the umbrella term for the raising of crops, livestock, and land-cultivation.
"What ARE these??" California, meet Mosquito. Just so you know, there're probably at least 7 million left in this block alone, let alone the rest of the city. Please note that crazed dancing often accompanied this exclamation. Which any Midwesterner would know is a completely futile exercise. Clothes not lathered in bug spray are also futile. I was proclaimed a genius by at least 5 people while I was coating them all thoroughly in bug spray, catching all the possible places a mosquito might get to.
"It's trying to sting me!" Actually, to put it graphically, that mosquito is attempting to EAT you, not just sting you. That pointy thing is its proboscis and it pokes it into your skin until it finds your blood, sticks its long tongue down through it and sucks it up while secreting a mild venom that initially numbs your skin to its presence and... yeah, you get the idea.
"I smacked one and its guts squished all over the place" Sorry hon, mosquitoes don't have guts. That was your blood. Or maybe even my blood. Or perhaps the blood of that guy you were checking out just now. You can't really know.
"That lizard is obese!" To which I actually DID say out loud: "That just makes him better to eat" and they gave me the funniest stare. I don't think they even realized that I was kidding. And I got a closer look at that lizard. He wasn't obese. It was just the kind of lizard it was. It's just a heck of a lot bigger that the scrawny little things we have in SoCal.
So there's some memorable quotes for you. They really are wonderful. I was also apparently a hit with my Achmed impersonation and my Meg Ryan voice. Apparently I did a little entertaining to pay them back for the volumes of entertainment they were giving me. :D
Thanks for the memories guys
Since this is my first post in the blogosphere, there are a few disclaimers I'd like to make.
Item 1: Since the title of this blog is *ahem* SNARKY Snippets, please expect some, if not all of the content herein to be biting and perhaps mildly insulting. However, pretty much anything is subject to my humor, so if your demographic appears to be singled out, just wait. It'll pass.
Item 2: For the protection of subjects of this blog, names will be withheld unless I have received permission to cite them. I bear the objects of my humor no ill will. This blog is strictly to point out the little quirks that make life more fun.
Now, down to business.
I recently took a road trip with several newly-made friends from California and after three days in their company, I started to pick up on some really funny colloquialisms. First up, one of the girls asked me what a colloquialism was (not because I said it, she just randomly asked me mid-trip after learning that I was an English major) and it got me thinking about them in general. After that, I started picking up on some funny things Californians say. Other people use them, too, but Californians seem to use it more, especially the coastal natives.
"Bomb" = they use this to describe just about everything that is cool. And no, they don't say "that movie is da bomb," like we assume it should be phrased. Instead, it's been converted from a noun into an adjective, as in "this cake is bomb" or "check out those bomb caves" Last time I checked, "bomb" was a noun for something that was about to explode and wreak havoc. Unless madness and mayhem is the new cool... who am I to say?
"Legit" = also used as a substitute for "cool." Frequently. Occasionally, the longer "legitimate" is used, but ironically, the state with the longest name (minus like, West Virginia) seems to like the shortest words. Funky. And I lied, California does not have the longest name, but it's long enough. Road trips from one end of the state to the other are long too, so my point still stands. You'd think size, population, and vocabulary would be proportionate...
"Rad" = no, this word did not die with the 70's. Thank goodness they don't say radical, but "rad" is bad enough. I had the strong temptation to laugh every time I heard someone say it.
"Toolin' around" = basically means loitering, or chilling, or messing around. But then why not just SAY that? Nope, it's TOOLIN' around. Which makes me think of TOOL, which is not a nice word for a player. Oh joy.
In addition to these colloquialisms, I also collected some other memorable sayings:
"The sheep are NAKED!" Um. I believe the correct term would be "recently sheared" (or shorn, depending on how much of a purist you are). Have you never watched Boundin'? Oh wait, they call him "nekked and bare." Aha. Problem identified.
"Holy crap! I didn't know that anyone HAD that many cows!" Yes. It's called a dairy farm. Or maybe even a beef farm. Or heck, maybe they just like cows. I collect them, you know.
"Cows are agriculture" Not by themselves they're not. Agriculture is the umbrella term for the raising of crops, livestock, and land-cultivation.
"What ARE these??" California, meet Mosquito. Just so you know, there're probably at least 7 million left in this block alone, let alone the rest of the city. Please note that crazed dancing often accompanied this exclamation. Which any Midwesterner would know is a completely futile exercise. Clothes not lathered in bug spray are also futile. I was proclaimed a genius by at least 5 people while I was coating them all thoroughly in bug spray, catching all the possible places a mosquito might get to.
"It's trying to sting me!" Actually, to put it graphically, that mosquito is attempting to EAT you, not just sting you. That pointy thing is its proboscis and it pokes it into your skin until it finds your blood, sticks its long tongue down through it and sucks it up while secreting a mild venom that initially numbs your skin to its presence and... yeah, you get the idea.
"I smacked one and its guts squished all over the place" Sorry hon, mosquitoes don't have guts. That was your blood. Or maybe even my blood. Or perhaps the blood of that guy you were checking out just now. You can't really know.
"That lizard is obese!" To which I actually DID say out loud: "That just makes him better to eat" and they gave me the funniest stare. I don't think they even realized that I was kidding. And I got a closer look at that lizard. He wasn't obese. It was just the kind of lizard it was. It's just a heck of a lot bigger that the scrawny little things we have in SoCal.
So there's some memorable quotes for you. They really are wonderful. I was also apparently a hit with my Achmed impersonation and my Meg Ryan voice. Apparently I did a little entertaining to pay them back for the volumes of entertainment they were giving me. :D
Thanks for the memories guys
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)