If you're anything like me (Michelle), you can get irritated by very miniscule things very easily. (Although, they're not miniscule at the moment of irritation. Am I right? I know. Thank you for your silent agreement.) I'm not proud of this fact and I know it's something I need to work on, but I also think, "Hey, if I just keep all these irritations in my head and concentrate on not verbalizing my annoyance", then very few people are actually hurt. Correct? Again, thank you for your passive agreement.
Today's irritation will be dedicated to Words I Hate. "Wait, Michelle." you may say. "Don't you really love and adore words and the fact that these odd symbols (letters) that at one time didn't mean anything, actually make a structured sentence, thereby creating communication?!" you may also say. To which I would say, "Yes. Yes, I do love those word things and the reading, talking stuff they do."
But, there are certain words that have always grated on me like....any item that just shouldn't go on a grater. In fact, my sister and I used to sit around and tell each other words that gave us the dumb or cheesy chills (probably her idea), and we'd shudder at words like "gown", or "batch." (My sister's hated words of choice.) So, below are a few of my own words that make me want to pull chunks of my (or anyone else's) hair out....
Dollop
Tote (Even worse as "tote bag.")
Plop
Adult, with the "A" being long: Aaaaadult.
Mature (Again, when pronounced "mateur", removing the blessed "ch" sound which brings to my mind a phyiscs teacher with jerry curl hair, polyester pants that are too short, emphasizing the orthopedic shoes, halitosis breath, and casserole cookbooks on her shelves. Which brings me to another...)
Crock Pot
Plush
Ointment
Any sewing terminology
Well, that's a short sampling, only because I have to leave you now. Feel free to add any of your own despised words in the comment section.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
"Sexy" Just Died.
I (Michelle) can't believe it either, but there is now a product that officially replaces the Snuggie (TM) as "most embarrassing reflection on American consumers." This item o' shame is called the Hoodie Footie. (Sorry. I'm sure that's trademarked too.) And, worse even than just the idea of such a product, is the infomercial that I was a witness to.
I was minding my own t.v. viewing business while waiting to go see my newest niece who was just born (happy birthday, Anna Grace! You actually would look really cute in a Hoodie Footie.), when I was accosted by this absolutely amazing (and by amazing I mean, so stunningly bad that it actually left me speechless) infomercial.
The ad was made to cleverly point out to the men out there (who might currently be watching the Hallmark channel) that their significant other deserves nothing less for Valentine's Day than a pink, fleece one-piece body suit complete with hood and zip-on matching booties. It showed women just glowing with the joy that unflattering adult onesies bring to us, while espousing the incredible option of being able to "simply remove the zip-on booties" should she get a little too toasty. (In other, non-marketing savvy words, if her feet begin to sweat so much that they get that disgusting, clammy feeling.) And, should the temperature dip, your woman can pull her hoodie up and cozy up for a warm, relaxing night in. Alone. With Chinese food, probably. And the company of Instant Message. Because I don't know what yells louder to "Stay the hell away, eligible males! You're destroyers of souls!" than cheap, pill-y fleece in the shape of an outfit that should only be seen on children under the age of 9.
So, as the women frolicked in their happy-suits, I realized I was so awestruck that I looked like that kid in every elementary school classroom that doesn't know that his jaw is hanging ever so slightly open because he's just so enraptured in whatever has caught his attention. It was just that amazing. (*See: above definition.) The whole train wreck ended with this delightful, candy coated line: "It's a Valentine's Day hug she'll wear!" I think that actually caused a physical reaction of rage in me. I would like to return that warm Valentine's Day hug with a punch to the throat, please.
You know, I've never fallen prey to that jaded and bitter opinion of Valentine's Day. As a kid, I loved it because my mom would basically decorate our house for the holiday with more fanaticism than she'd decorate for Christmas, and she'd even put food coloring in our mashed potatoes to make them pink. (I'm pretty sure that's only because mashed potatoes were the easiest thing to mix food coloring into.) And as an adult, I'm pretty much indifferent to it. I'll even send a card or two. (I know. I'm patting myself on the back right now.) But, if this Hoodie Footie is going to leech onto Valentine's Day and sear my memory with itself, then I'm sad to say, Valentine's Day and I are through.
Just Michelle
I was minding my own t.v. viewing business while waiting to go see my newest niece who was just born (happy birthday, Anna Grace! You actually would look really cute in a Hoodie Footie.), when I was accosted by this absolutely amazing (and by amazing I mean, so stunningly bad that it actually left me speechless) infomercial.
The ad was made to cleverly point out to the men out there (who might currently be watching the Hallmark channel) that their significant other deserves nothing less for Valentine's Day than a pink, fleece one-piece body suit complete with hood and zip-on matching booties. It showed women just glowing with the joy that unflattering adult onesies bring to us, while espousing the incredible option of being able to "simply remove the zip-on booties" should she get a little too toasty. (In other, non-marketing savvy words, if her feet begin to sweat so much that they get that disgusting, clammy feeling.) And, should the temperature dip, your woman can pull her hoodie up and cozy up for a warm, relaxing night in. Alone. With Chinese food, probably. And the company of Instant Message. Because I don't know what yells louder to "Stay the hell away, eligible males! You're destroyers of souls!" than cheap, pill-y fleece in the shape of an outfit that should only be seen on children under the age of 9.
So, as the women frolicked in their happy-suits, I realized I was so awestruck that I looked like that kid in every elementary school classroom that doesn't know that his jaw is hanging ever so slightly open because he's just so enraptured in whatever has caught his attention. It was just that amazing. (*See: above definition.) The whole train wreck ended with this delightful, candy coated line: "It's a Valentine's Day hug she'll wear!" I think that actually caused a physical reaction of rage in me. I would like to return that warm Valentine's Day hug with a punch to the throat, please.
You know, I've never fallen prey to that jaded and bitter opinion of Valentine's Day. As a kid, I loved it because my mom would basically decorate our house for the holiday with more fanaticism than she'd decorate for Christmas, and she'd even put food coloring in our mashed potatoes to make them pink. (I'm pretty sure that's only because mashed potatoes were the easiest thing to mix food coloring into.) And as an adult, I'm pretty much indifferent to it. I'll even send a card or two. (I know. I'm patting myself on the back right now.) But, if this Hoodie Footie is going to leech onto Valentine's Day and sear my memory with itself, then I'm sad to say, Valentine's Day and I are through.
Just Michelle
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