It says something (not anything good) about the level of cultural discourse that is my natural milieu, that I recently had the honor of explaining the meaning of camel toe and polterwang to my circle of friends. On the same day.
I am not going to define these terms here, because my Mom reads this, so look at the links if you want clarification. (Mom, I'll tell you in person if you're curious.)
When the first of these terms dropped and met with confused silence, The Him's guy radar went off and he left the room very quickly. I ordered the other males to leave then, so I could utter sacred words of revelation, so they'd hear it from their wives later and not from me.
This event illustrates the downside of being a word junkie. I am attracted to unusual words, slang, acronyms, jargon, and all of that. I derive pleasure from knowing just the right word. This may sound very scholarly and elevated, but seems to result in me being the one who knows all the bad words. Is there such a thing as borderline Tourette's? Granted I take a childish delight in being the one knowing, but as I am a blurter, opportunities for saying EXACTLY the wrong thing to the wrong person are exponentially increased.
On the upside, it will generate myriad opportunities for embarrassing my daughter when she is a teenager.
Today's Shews: (post-church): black leather thong sandals. It's 72 degrees here, people. BTW my feet are not hairy, the sandals are a little frayed. Oh and you can see what I was talking about viz. wide feet.
Today's OoA: brand new Calphalon cookie sheets, a Christmas gift from my BIL. Those cookies are tasty, let me tell you. I'm eating one right now. Not a single one burned. Thank you, Hank.
2 days ago