Weeding through a box of junk today, I happened upon a diary that I kept during my ealry 20's, most of which were spent pining for a boy I was sleeping with on a regular basis-but who only thought of me "as a friend."
I spent endless hours devising all manner of plots and schemes that would win his affections.
Here is one of the better ones:
September 14, 1995
1. More dresses
2. Less eyeliner
3. No ripped fishnets (regular are okay)
4. Avoid Jaegermeister
5. Keep combat boots clean, wear ONLY with pants
7. Consider underwear
8. Swallow
Amazing how it was imperative to me to keep my combat boots clean, yet only consider the possibility of wearing underwear.
Thirteen years later and I still don't think I have been able to accomplish any of the above.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Things You Shouldn't Do # 43
I hate bad grammar and have a low tolerance for bad spelling.
Bad typing is okay, as I am probably the world’s worst offender (generally my brilliance distracts me from the more technical aspects of blogging, such as hitting the keys squarely)
But bad vernacular is deplorable.
Case in point: Mix Tape
This sticky point seems to be the most problematic for those under 30, so for their sake (and mine) I will elaborate.
A Mixed Tape (or CD for that matter) is a portable collection of music that has been assembled by a person for later enjoyment. A collection, if you will.
And while all of the songs on the device could be considered a “mix” of music, the end result of mixing many things together is that, upon completion, the content has been “mixed.”
Do you see how that works?
If you mix many things together, they will invariably be “mixed”
Once they have been mixed, the end result cannot be anything other than what it has become - hence the term “mixed tape.”
Once could say “I made a mix and put it on a tape” or “I put of mix of songs on here for you” – but at the end of the day, the tape (or CD) itself will indeed have been mixed.
Say it with me: M-i-x-e-d T-a-p-e.
There, I knew you could do it.
Bad typing is okay, as I am probably the world’s worst offender (generally my brilliance distracts me from the more technical aspects of blogging, such as hitting the keys squarely)
But bad vernacular is deplorable.
Case in point: Mix Tape
This sticky point seems to be the most problematic for those under 30, so for their sake (and mine) I will elaborate.
A Mixed Tape (or CD for that matter) is a portable collection of music that has been assembled by a person for later enjoyment. A collection, if you will.
And while all of the songs on the device could be considered a “mix” of music, the end result of mixing many things together is that, upon completion, the content has been “mixed.”
Do you see how that works?
If you mix many things together, they will invariably be “mixed”
Once they have been mixed, the end result cannot be anything other than what it has become - hence the term “mixed tape.”
Once could say “I made a mix and put it on a tape” or “I put of mix of songs on here for you” – but at the end of the day, the tape (or CD) itself will indeed have been mixed.
Say it with me: M-i-x-e-d T-a-p-e.
There, I knew you could do it.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Things You Shouldn't Do #6
Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater.
There are a myriad of "common sense" cliches that have, undoubtedly, evolved as the direct result of human stupidity.
Although there may be no such thing as a gift horse, some dumb ass invariably looked into its mouth, and learned a valuable lesson.
Here's a new one for the cliche book, as well as an illustrated history of its evolution.
Ready?
Dont be a cunt in the grocery store.
Centuries from now when grocery stores no longer exist, yet people find themselves touting this "lesson" in common conversation (so ingrained in contemporary vernacular it will be!) they will be empowered by the wisdom of the ages.
For your reference, I have added a "Going Forward" and "Suggested Uses" section to help you to incorporate this nugget into your daily life.
Inception:
Shopping at No Frills on a Saturday is a complete and total shitshow, yet I continue to do it because I like to do other things on Saturday. Of course I could go to another grocery store chain, but my husband is infernally cheap, and has an aneuryism if I come home with bags from one of those "expensive" grocery stores. You know, like Dominion.
The store is packed to the rafters. People are cart to ass, and people are taking turns in the pasta sauce aisle. The entire bread section has been depleted, rows of empty shelves attest to earlier riots.
I do my shop. It takes ages, especially because I forgot apples and had to return to the produce department after having made it (more or less safely) to the dairy section without incident. Fuck.
The line ups are long. Thankfully all of the cashiers are open, albeit grouchy. I grab my apples and make a break for a line that is only about 5 deep. Some of the other lines appear to be 10-15 people deep. I got lucky.
Upon my arrival in line, I note a handbasket on the floor. The basket of goods has been placed behind the gentleman who is ahead of me in line. When we all inch forward a little, I take my foot and scoot the basket forward asking the man ahead of me "Is this yours?"
He replies that it belongs to a woman who left it there. Assuming this woman is a good citizen who simply forgot to get peanut butter and dashed off to get some, I kept moving this unseen woman's basket ahead with every inch I moved forward. It seemed like the right thing to do. But she had been gone for a while.
The very next moment, this tiny woman comes barelling out of nowhere, her arms full of produce. She literally runs up to the basket, dumps her load of veggies into it, and then darts off again.
She is still shopping.
As we inch forward again, I ask the guy ahead of me "What shoud I do?" "Fuck her!" he says. I agree, and I use my foot to move her basket to the side of the aisle, easing my cart into the basket's former space.
Then, from out of nowhere, she emerges (arms full of cereal, juice and laundry detergent, meaning she visited multiple aisles on her sojourn!) and runs directly toward me. Her eyes enraged, she stops dead about an inch away from me and starts yelling in (I think) Chinese while pointing to the spot on the floor where her basket used to be.
I explain (in English) that I had been pushing her basket forward for her for about five minutes, but since she clearly still had some shopping to do, it was inappropriate for her to expect her basket to hold her place.
She glared at me as the gent ahead of us began to load his items onto the conveyor belt. In a few moments, one of us would go next.
When space became available on the belt, she made a move to dart around me and place some items in the queue. Fortunately, I am bigger and taller, and in a bold move I reached over her and staked my claim with a package of vegetarian wieners. Victory was mine. :
The Future:
Going forward, I think that Dont Be a Cunt at the Grocery Store is a wonderful way of saying "Don't take what isn't yours."
Suggested Uses:
A husband, who is already in shit with his wife for being a bad communicator, decides to go out with friends after work and arrives home drunk at 2am. After pissing on the toilet seat and neglegting to wipe it up, he makes his way to bed (and his sleeping wife) and attempt to initiate sex. Don't be a cunt in the grocery store!
Let sleeping dogs lie.
Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater.
There are a myriad of "common sense" cliches that have, undoubtedly, evolved as the direct result of human stupidity.
Although there may be no such thing as a gift horse, some dumb ass invariably looked into its mouth, and learned a valuable lesson.
Here's a new one for the cliche book, as well as an illustrated history of its evolution.
Ready?
Dont be a cunt in the grocery store.
Centuries from now when grocery stores no longer exist, yet people find themselves touting this "lesson" in common conversation (so ingrained in contemporary vernacular it will be!) they will be empowered by the wisdom of the ages.
For your reference, I have added a "Going Forward" and "Suggested Uses" section to help you to incorporate this nugget into your daily life.
Inception:
Shopping at No Frills on a Saturday is a complete and total shitshow, yet I continue to do it because I like to do other things on Saturday. Of course I could go to another grocery store chain, but my husband is infernally cheap, and has an aneuryism if I come home with bags from one of those "expensive" grocery stores. You know, like Dominion.
The store is packed to the rafters. People are cart to ass, and people are taking turns in the pasta sauce aisle. The entire bread section has been depleted, rows of empty shelves attest to earlier riots.
I do my shop. It takes ages, especially because I forgot apples and had to return to the produce department after having made it (more or less safely) to the dairy section without incident. Fuck.
The line ups are long. Thankfully all of the cashiers are open, albeit grouchy. I grab my apples and make a break for a line that is only about 5 deep. Some of the other lines appear to be 10-15 people deep. I got lucky.
Upon my arrival in line, I note a handbasket on the floor. The basket of goods has been placed behind the gentleman who is ahead of me in line. When we all inch forward a little, I take my foot and scoot the basket forward asking the man ahead of me "Is this yours?"
He replies that it belongs to a woman who left it there. Assuming this woman is a good citizen who simply forgot to get peanut butter and dashed off to get some, I kept moving this unseen woman's basket ahead with every inch I moved forward. It seemed like the right thing to do. But she had been gone for a while.
The very next moment, this tiny woman comes barelling out of nowhere, her arms full of produce. She literally runs up to the basket, dumps her load of veggies into it, and then darts off again.
She is still shopping.
As we inch forward again, I ask the guy ahead of me "What shoud I do?" "Fuck her!" he says. I agree, and I use my foot to move her basket to the side of the aisle, easing my cart into the basket's former space.
Then, from out of nowhere, she emerges (arms full of cereal, juice and laundry detergent, meaning she visited multiple aisles on her sojourn!) and runs directly toward me. Her eyes enraged, she stops dead about an inch away from me and starts yelling in (I think) Chinese while pointing to the spot on the floor where her basket used to be.
I explain (in English) that I had been pushing her basket forward for her for about five minutes, but since she clearly still had some shopping to do, it was inappropriate for her to expect her basket to hold her place.
She glared at me as the gent ahead of us began to load his items onto the conveyor belt. In a few moments, one of us would go next.
When space became available on the belt, she made a move to dart around me and place some items in the queue. Fortunately, I am bigger and taller, and in a bold move I reached over her and staked my claim with a package of vegetarian wieners. Victory was mine. :
The Future:
Going forward, I think that Dont Be a Cunt at the Grocery Store is a wonderful way of saying "Don't take what isn't yours."
Suggested Uses:
A husband, who is already in shit with his wife for being a bad communicator, decides to go out with friends after work and arrives home drunk at 2am. After pissing on the toilet seat and neglegting to wipe it up, he makes his way to bed (and his sleeping wife) and attempt to initiate sex. Don't be a cunt in the grocery store!
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