Moving is fun. I'll bet you've never seen those words written together. But here I am, in my "New Digs" (more on that later) and I've forgotten the pain and hassle of moving. The backbreaking physical WORK of moving all of our belongings from point A to point B and then spit shining point A AND point B. (No, I didn't spit on anything, people, did you just meet me?!) It's kind of like child birth....tons of work and discomfort and pain, and then your whole life is happy and new and wonderful. (Well, for 19 years at least.)
At this point, dear Reader, go back and read my post about Lake Forest. Hey Lake Forest, Hell called, they want to know where they can get some more leaf blowers.
Humorous moving stories: #1. I drugged my dog. Poor Ruby! Both of them must have taken note of that because they have been on their absolute best behavior. #2. I have a cardboard cut out of a "Luau Guy" and a "Hula Bikini Girl", you know, where you put your face in the hole where their face should be and take pictures of Grandma and Grandpa as sexy hula folk. Hilarity ensues. Well the 3 ex-cons we hired from "Super Cheap Moving Company...We'll make ya an offer youse can't refuse!" thought it was hilarious too and I walked in on them posing and snapping photos. Their embarassment was adorbs, especially when I told one of them that that bikini made his boobs look nice. But hey, they got a good Facebook post out of it. #3. Incredible friend Jim shows up to help and works with us all day on both ends. He is carrying in a large box of dishes and the box gives out. The crash was deafening and everyone stood in silence. John was waiting for a serious swear word, I was trying to think of something nice to say so he wouldn't feel bad like, "Oh, I didn't have room for those dishes anyway." and Rick walks in and says, "Hey Ballidis, you're Greek!...OPAHH!!!"
Funny husband AND friend points.
Non-humorous moving stories: #1. 1st night in our new house, glorious sunset, across the street neighbors making us dinner...John's car breaks down on the freeway. Super-size my stress, please! I didn't want any money anyway! #2. Washing machine making clicking sound instead of washing sound. No repairman till Thursday. #3. Plug in my trusty PC and get lines, static, 4 beeps and power off. (Ok, maybe this one is funny, because after I got done panicking, contacting my IT guy on retainer, and removing the battery, I realized that I was using the wrong power cord. User error, again. (I owe said IT guy a box of cupcakes from Frostings.)
WORST part of the move: Money stress, sore back, more money stress. Finding a new Costco, Vet, and Del Taco. Transferring all of my prescriptions. Not being able to find______(fill in the blank...band aids when Rex busted open his tail, box cutter when boxes got 2 stories high, garlic press.) Waiting for the cable guy. I HATE waiting for the cable guy. I despise the phrase "new digs" to describe moving into a new home, and 3 people in a row asked me how the "new digs" are. Did I mention the money stress?
BEST part of the move: The nightly sunset light and color show is a gift. God talks to me in colors a lot, and being here is just confirmation to me that He desires to be close to me. That He wants to make me smile, and He is promising me a colorful smile 365 evenings a year. I AM God's masterpiece, along with His ocean, His sun, and His sky. Wow. It feels amazing to be loved this much. In light of this, you may disregard the previous list of "Worsts". There is no worst when we get all of God's best.
Plus, God doesn't take Visa or Mastercard. Whew! Finally no money stress. If you need me, I'll be on my new patio asking God how to blend orange into purple so seamlessly. (If you are on my Christmas gift list, you are all getting paintings of sunsets. I will try to do Him justice.)
just Dawn
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Africa is not funny..
Misch and I keep getting asked how come we have not blogged about Africa. Well, this is a humor blog (so we think) and our experience in Sierra Leone was not, frankly, on the level of things we poke fun of here. It was magical, moving, spirit-filled, hard, hazardous, amazing, poignant, meaningful, and knock-you-to-your-knees-in-search-of-your-savior indescribable. It was a bonding experience between me and my 5 new best friends, plus our home team of support and prayer warriorers, the most beautiful country and people that God ever created, our amazing PEACE team, and the love and faith of our families. This is what lifted us up, and gave us courage.
That being said, Michelle and I WERE roommates, which often led to hilarity. (So we think.)
In the insanity that was traffic in Freetown, we saw many creative means of transporting unusual belongings. Seen: A young man carying a 12' wooden beam on his head. NO hands! Walking down a busy city street! Seen: 37 people in a 12 passenger van with no side door (public transportation) with a goat smashed up against the back window. No wasted space! In this same catagory, goat on a motorcycle, complete with two passengers, and goat on the top of a van. Three days later, crammed in a van with 11 people, all our luggage, and a homemade African meal complete with china and silverware, (ask us about this...it was an amazing experience!) when we passed the van with the goat in the back, someone in the van said "Look at how crammed in they are!" I said, What are you talking about, all we're missing is the goat!"
Michelle fashioned her skirt into a dress in order to get a good second wearing out of it. TOTALLY different outfit, y'all!
Stacey ate a double helping of "cake" that was at the bottom of a crock pot full of fish. (The funny part here was her expression when she saw where the "cake" came from. YUM!)
Me and Michelle, first night in our hotel room. Toilet does not flush. I call the front desk. "Oh hi, this is room whatever and I just wanted to let you know that our toilet does not flush." Front desk: "What?" Me: "Our toilet does not flush." Front desk: "You have been flashed?" Me: "What?" Front desk: "Flashed! Flashed!" Me: "No...toilet. Toilet. Flush. Flush!" Sigh. Communication deficiency brings out the idiot in me.
Krio Explanation: "How de body?" means "How are you?", "How's it going?" Friendly greeting. Well, a VERY sweet Sierra Leonian merchant says this phrase to me. A couple of times. (Obviously, I wasn't answering correctly in kind.) I continue to smile and say goofy things to him, and then go over to my team and happily anounce that that nice man invited me to a party! Someone says, "No, he said something about your body!" Me, embarassed, says, "No, I'm sure he invited me to a party." Susan: "No Dawn, he said How de body?" We laughed at me for several minutes.
On the way out of Sierra Leone we had to take a water taxi to where the airport is in Lungi. It will make the story funnier to know that I am deathly afraid of boats, water, drowning, and shoddy regulations on water transportation in 3rd world countries. After much confusion on the dock, part of our party went onto the boat and part of us were held back. While trying to communicate that we had to all go together, even if the ones on the boat already had to get off, we were sumarrily shushed and told to wait, wait, you are next. Not knowing if that mean actual next, or the next boat, anxiety began to rise in my heart. Also hilarious is the fact that I was "Security" for our team, keeping my eyes open and bringing up the rear. We were, gratefully, actual next, and as we scurried down the dock toward the boat, my sandal broke, COMPLETELY, and my suitcase capsized in the middle of the dock and passengers. I slipped off my shoe, righted my bag, and, sweating and hyperventilating, caught up with my team. I stepped onto the wrong area on the way onto the boat (dock buoy) balancing my freaking crappy bag, broken shoe, and purse, and very nearly went into the water next to the boat. A nice employee of the water taxi "company" grabbed my arm to keep me from collapsing into the bay, took my bag from me, fixed my sandal in 2 seconds, and shaking his head says, "How you manage?" Sigh. How you manage indeed. Dawn's next personalized license plate: HOWUMNG
Laura, Dawn, Michelle...3 to a bed night. I probably shouldn't even include this here because we were pretty much exhausted and mentally spent and ended up rooming together for the night. MINISTRY TEAM in da house!!! We had a king sized bed, and I'm pretty sure Laura and I were just glad we got Michelle because she was the smallest. Watching her get tangled up 3 times in the yukky mosquito net over the bed was pretty funny too. But then again, in our state of mind that evening, everything was funny! No, it was hilarious. We stayed up and giggled stupid until 4:00 in the morning.
At breakfast the next morning after 2 merciful hours of sleep: (Food being passed...) Person next to me plops a spoonful of fishricebeans on top of my bag. He looks down and says, "Oh I'm sorry." I say, "It's ok, it just looks like someone pooped on my bag!" (We laugh.) Denise: "What!! Someone pooped on your bag? WHAT? WHAT?!!" Hahaha! The fact that that was in the realm of possibility in Denise's mind....funny.
You have heard a fraction of the funny. Here is the short version of the joyful: Healing service at church for pregnant women and women who have recently given birth. Mercyship in Sierra Leone. The glow of joy and the Holy Spirit in the eyes and heart of the first lady, Worship service in Makeni. Smiling, beautiful children. Restoration. Rebuilding. Hope. Red earth.
If you asked each of my teammates to convey their take on this amazing shared experience, we could fill a book. Michelle, Laura, Denise, Stacey, and Susan...you make me laugh, and in our laughter, you bring me closer to God. It's not even close to enough to say I love you. (I could do a whole blog post on inside jokes. I won't. You're welcome. But if I should live to be a hundred, I will still laugh at BEN-jamin!!!!)
Team SL 2011
just Dawn
That being said, Michelle and I WERE roommates, which often led to hilarity. (So we think.)
In the insanity that was traffic in Freetown, we saw many creative means of transporting unusual belongings. Seen: A young man carying a 12' wooden beam on his head. NO hands! Walking down a busy city street! Seen: 37 people in a 12 passenger van with no side door (public transportation) with a goat smashed up against the back window. No wasted space! In this same catagory, goat on a motorcycle, complete with two passengers, and goat on the top of a van. Three days later, crammed in a van with 11 people, all our luggage, and a homemade African meal complete with china and silverware, (ask us about this...it was an amazing experience!) when we passed the van with the goat in the back, someone in the van said "Look at how crammed in they are!" I said, What are you talking about, all we're missing is the goat!"
Michelle fashioned her skirt into a dress in order to get a good second wearing out of it. TOTALLY different outfit, y'all!
Stacey ate a double helping of "cake" that was at the bottom of a crock pot full of fish. (The funny part here was her expression when she saw where the "cake" came from. YUM!)
Me and Michelle, first night in our hotel room. Toilet does not flush. I call the front desk. "Oh hi, this is room whatever and I just wanted to let you know that our toilet does not flush." Front desk: "What?" Me: "Our toilet does not flush." Front desk: "You have been flashed?" Me: "What?" Front desk: "Flashed! Flashed!" Me: "No...toilet. Toilet. Flush. Flush!" Sigh. Communication deficiency brings out the idiot in me.
Krio Explanation: "How de body?" means "How are you?", "How's it going?" Friendly greeting. Well, a VERY sweet Sierra Leonian merchant says this phrase to me. A couple of times. (Obviously, I wasn't answering correctly in kind.) I continue to smile and say goofy things to him, and then go over to my team and happily anounce that that nice man invited me to a party! Someone says, "No, he said something about your body!" Me, embarassed, says, "No, I'm sure he invited me to a party." Susan: "No Dawn, he said How de body?" We laughed at me for several minutes.
On the way out of Sierra Leone we had to take a water taxi to where the airport is in Lungi. It will make the story funnier to know that I am deathly afraid of boats, water, drowning, and shoddy regulations on water transportation in 3rd world countries. After much confusion on the dock, part of our party went onto the boat and part of us were held back. While trying to communicate that we had to all go together, even if the ones on the boat already had to get off, we were sumarrily shushed and told to wait, wait, you are next. Not knowing if that mean actual next, or the next boat, anxiety began to rise in my heart. Also hilarious is the fact that I was "Security" for our team, keeping my eyes open and bringing up the rear. We were, gratefully, actual next, and as we scurried down the dock toward the boat, my sandal broke, COMPLETELY, and my suitcase capsized in the middle of the dock and passengers. I slipped off my shoe, righted my bag, and, sweating and hyperventilating, caught up with my team. I stepped onto the wrong area on the way onto the boat (dock buoy) balancing my freaking crappy bag, broken shoe, and purse, and very nearly went into the water next to the boat. A nice employee of the water taxi "company" grabbed my arm to keep me from collapsing into the bay, took my bag from me, fixed my sandal in 2 seconds, and shaking his head says, "How you manage?" Sigh. How you manage indeed. Dawn's next personalized license plate: HOWUMNG
Laura, Dawn, Michelle...3 to a bed night. I probably shouldn't even include this here because we were pretty much exhausted and mentally spent and ended up rooming together for the night. MINISTRY TEAM in da house!!! We had a king sized bed, and I'm pretty sure Laura and I were just glad we got Michelle because she was the smallest. Watching her get tangled up 3 times in the yukky mosquito net over the bed was pretty funny too. But then again, in our state of mind that evening, everything was funny! No, it was hilarious. We stayed up and giggled stupid until 4:00 in the morning.
At breakfast the next morning after 2 merciful hours of sleep: (Food being passed...) Person next to me plops a spoonful of fishricebeans on top of my bag. He looks down and says, "Oh I'm sorry." I say, "It's ok, it just looks like someone pooped on my bag!" (We laugh.) Denise: "What!! Someone pooped on your bag? WHAT? WHAT?!!" Hahaha! The fact that that was in the realm of possibility in Denise's mind....funny.
You have heard a fraction of the funny. Here is the short version of the joyful: Healing service at church for pregnant women and women who have recently given birth. Mercyship in Sierra Leone. The glow of joy and the Holy Spirit in the eyes and heart of the first lady, Worship service in Makeni. Smiling, beautiful children. Restoration. Rebuilding. Hope. Red earth.
If you asked each of my teammates to convey their take on this amazing shared experience, we could fill a book. Michelle, Laura, Denise, Stacey, and Susan...you make me laugh, and in our laughter, you bring me closer to God. It's not even close to enough to say I love you. (I could do a whole blog post on inside jokes. I won't. You're welcome. But if I should live to be a hundred, I will still laugh at BEN-jamin!!!!)
Team SL 2011
just Dawn
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Cher Said it First
The other day, I (Michelle) was thinking about things I would love to tell my younger self. Not things like, Stop stressing over your math class; one day you'll have a calculator in your phone, or, Here's a tip: body suits worn with vests and palazzo pants are worth regretting.
No, I was thinking more along the lines of, Worthwhile Lessons I've Learned. (Such as, "Redundancy is often just a form of helpful clarification.") So, to quote a legend (or, whatever. People like to call her that. Fine.), "If I could turn back time"....I'd help myself out a bit.
Here's a few ways I'd do that....
1. Speak up. For yourself, and for people who can't do it for themselves. You'll regret it more if you stay quiet just so that everyone will think you're "nice and sweet." And on that note....
2. Not everyone is going to like you; stop trying to make that your life's goal.
3. Try eating things you're afraid of. You might actually like alligator. (Chewy, but delightful.)
4. You don't have to journal every day, but PLEASE, at least jot down a short bullet pointed list of events and experiences you don't want to forget. Believe me: you won't remember 1995's events when it's 2011.
5. Hang around with old people. The non-curmudgeons are precious and have a lot to say. (And even if that "a lot" is just a lot of talk about their trip to Lowes to pick up more perennials and tomato plants, just listen and smile.)
6. Don't just define yourself as a "non-risk taker." If you do, you'll never (wait for it)... take risks. And then you'll end up chastising yourself for missed opportunities. (Which will just make you look crazy - all that talking to yourself.)
7. Look out for yourself. Be "mean" if you have to. Seriously, younger self: don't give up control of your diginity for a dumb reason like not wanting to hurt and/or disappoint someone. Whose head do you have to live in the rest of your life? That's right: yours. (Or, mine. Yours then, mine now. It gets confusing. Stay with me, younger me.)
8. Don't miss a chance to affirm someone.
9. If people claim that you "have to" read the Harry Potter books or the Twilight series, and you already have too many books on your list that you actually want to read, stick to your guns. (Because, really: it's vampires and non-vampires. And unrequited love. With teen angst. Boom. Synopsis done.)
10. Send occasional notes, e-mails, texts, calls to your family and people you love and appreciate. It's morbid, but if you have something you want someone to know, do it while it's on your mind because - you know - death and all that.
11. Let people verbally slap the "crazy" out of you sometimes.
12. Don't take age into consideration: if you want to take up tap dancing or piano lessons or go to circus school, and you're 47, just go for it. (Tap shoes look cute at any age.)
13. Good story or not, some dates really are pointless.
14. Yes - buy that one amazing, stunning, sparkly, out of control piece of clothing.
15. Also, ask yourself this (frequently, if you have to): "Do you ever just let God love you?" And then do just that. Let Him do His grace thing for you. (It's okay, younger me - you and I will always be working on this. He gets it.)
And if I really could turn back time, I'd also tell myself, "Don't go with the permed bangs. Bad idea."
Just Michelle
No, I was thinking more along the lines of, Worthwhile Lessons I've Learned. (Such as, "Redundancy is often just a form of helpful clarification.") So, to quote a legend (or, whatever. People like to call her that. Fine.), "If I could turn back time"....I'd help myself out a bit.
Here's a few ways I'd do that....
1. Speak up. For yourself, and for people who can't do it for themselves. You'll regret it more if you stay quiet just so that everyone will think you're "nice and sweet." And on that note....
2. Not everyone is going to like you; stop trying to make that your life's goal.
3. Try eating things you're afraid of. You might actually like alligator. (Chewy, but delightful.)
4. You don't have to journal every day, but PLEASE, at least jot down a short bullet pointed list of events and experiences you don't want to forget. Believe me: you won't remember 1995's events when it's 2011.
5. Hang around with old people. The non-curmudgeons are precious and have a lot to say. (And even if that "a lot" is just a lot of talk about their trip to Lowes to pick up more perennials and tomato plants, just listen and smile.)
6. Don't just define yourself as a "non-risk taker." If you do, you'll never (wait for it)... take risks. And then you'll end up chastising yourself for missed opportunities. (Which will just make you look crazy - all that talking to yourself.)
7. Look out for yourself. Be "mean" if you have to. Seriously, younger self: don't give up control of your diginity for a dumb reason like not wanting to hurt and/or disappoint someone. Whose head do you have to live in the rest of your life? That's right: yours. (Or, mine. Yours then, mine now. It gets confusing. Stay with me, younger me.)
8. Don't miss a chance to affirm someone.
9. If people claim that you "have to" read the Harry Potter books or the Twilight series, and you already have too many books on your list that you actually want to read, stick to your guns. (Because, really: it's vampires and non-vampires. And unrequited love. With teen angst. Boom. Synopsis done.)
10. Send occasional notes, e-mails, texts, calls to your family and people you love and appreciate. It's morbid, but if you have something you want someone to know, do it while it's on your mind because - you know - death and all that.
11. Let people verbally slap the "crazy" out of you sometimes.
12. Don't take age into consideration: if you want to take up tap dancing or piano lessons or go to circus school, and you're 47, just go for it. (Tap shoes look cute at any age.)
13. Good story or not, some dates really are pointless.
14. Yes - buy that one amazing, stunning, sparkly, out of control piece of clothing.
15. Also, ask yourself this (frequently, if you have to): "Do you ever just let God love you?" And then do just that. Let Him do His grace thing for you. (It's okay, younger me - you and I will always be working on this. He gets it.)
And if I really could turn back time, I'd also tell myself, "Don't go with the permed bangs. Bad idea."
Just Michelle
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I'm Bringin' Foxy Back...
One of the benefits of having been alive now in 4-ish different decades, is getting to see the trends and pop culture icons of a wide variety of influences. I happen to have quite a few strong opinions (did you just MEET me?) about music, culture and fashion trends through the ages, if you will. To help you out, I have compiled a list of: Stuff That Just Sucked, I Can't Believe I Wore That, I Can't Believe He/She Wore That, What Were We Thinking?, and, conversely, That Was Awesome, We Should Bring That Back. For those of you not privleged enough to have first hand experience and opinions on such a wide variety of pop culture experiences, I feel sorry for you. Ok, whatever... Stuff That Just Sucked 60s-00s (please, I was just born in the 60s!)
- Hippies. Filthy, drugged, promiscuous, bad dressers (exceptions: Fringe Jackets. See 80s)
- Bob Dylan. Yuk. Please do not comment if you find him brilliant. I will not get you.
- Vietnam.
- Streakers. (Young people, Google it. It was bad.)
- Disco. Donna Summer fans, please don't dis. Sorry...70s mantra, and popular bumper sticker, "Disco Sucks" is correct.
- Teased bangs.
- Acid wash and colored denim.
- Spandau Ballet.
- Perms.
- Fanny packs.
- "Baby on Board" signs on cars.
- Reality television. (still sucking.)
I Can't Believe I Wore That (Just me personally. You're welcome for the visuals.)
- Bananna yellow bell bottoms...in 4th grade.
- Moccassins. 3rd through 5th grade exclusively.
- Pink Izod.
- Black tutu with ruffled bicycle shorts, lime green polka dot rubber bra, ruffled socks with pumps, and suspenders on backwards. (yes, I did.)
- Black goth wig, powdered white face, red lips.
- Cut off shorts, fishnets, red cowboy boots, Blizzard of Oz concert T-shirt. (rocked it!)
- Silver lame trench coat, pink bobbed wig, purple feather boa, feather eyelashes.
- RHCP concert T-shirt. There is a story here. It's not just bad taste. It's embarassing. Please ask me about it.
I Can't Believe He/She Wore That (OK, this list might be awesome as well as frightful)
- Boy George: Everything
- Wendy O Williams: Duct tape and whipped cream bikini. (young people, Google it. Mom, don't Google it.)
- Madonna: Pointy bra, crucifix, wedding dress.
- JLo: See through dress
- KD Lang: Menswear. Rockin it.
- Solid Gold Dancers: Thongs on TV!!
- Prince: Everything (mostly awesome.)
What Were We Thinking?
- Tye dye.
- Woodstock. Sucked. Sorry, it really did.
- Devo. No, they were cool, but looking back? No.
- Mullets. All bad. All the time.
- Neon rubber bracelets. To quote my guru Clinton Kelley, "Hide the cheap."
- The Simpsons. Longest running TV show. Seriously?
- Grunge. Don't get me started.
- Andrew Dice Clay. Not funny.
That Was Awesome, We Should Bring It Back!
- Leg Warmers. Good.
- Hard core punk.
- French braids. (Why do lady cops and girl soccer players get the french braid? Want it back.)
- Foxy. If Justin can bring Sexy back, I can bring Foxy back. Think Farrah, Adrienne Barbeau, Barbie Benton, (Google them, young people! Dang!) Suzanne Sommers.
- Make up on guys. I know this will be controversial, especially among straight guys, but really...was ther ever a musical time when men looked hotter than the 70s and 80s of Marc Bolin (GOOGLE it!!) David Bowie, Mick Jagger, Poison, Cinderella *swoon*, and Motley Crue? No. Everyone looks improved in make up.
- Fondue. Ok, it's sort of back, but good job...fondue is awesome. Thanks 70s.
- Dale Bozzio of Missing Persons and Madonna. Again, it's back already in the form of the formidable Lady Gaga, but good job music buyers. Thank you for the props to the early 80s by loving her. I love her/them too.
- Reganomics. (Couldn't help it.)
- Big hair. In all forms. Come back big hair.
- Fuzzy guitars. Thank you Kings of Leon and Jack White.
Please enjoy my humble opinions and feel free to add in the comments section to my lists! I know I'm only scratching the surface of the rash that is American Pop Culture...
I reapect your opinion. Unless it's dumb....
just Dawn
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Contrary to what You May Assume, we Are, in Fact, Alive.
It's been officially two weeks since Dawn and I got back from Sierra Leone, and yes, I realize we've left you longing and desiring and dreaming that we'd get back in touch with our faithful readership because I'm sure there's a desperate void in your pretty little hearts just waiting to be filled. I'm here to tell you.....I can't help you with that. Dawn and I both got right back in to busy life, unfortunately, not to mention the "job" of processing a trip like that. Our heads have been a little foggy (if I'm speaking in terms of our couple of days in London; humid, if I'm referring to Sierra Leone). So, I admit, my post right now is less than entertaining, but I couldn't go another day without letting you know, WE ARE STILL HERE! AND WE STILL LOVE OUR READERS! (But we love those of you who comment just a little bit more. Truth be told. And you did just get told.) Check back with us for a much more lively post. This one feels a little like I just flatlined.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Sticks & Stones May Break my Bones, but Words will Make me Break Yours
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.
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 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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