Tag Archives: grammar

Anomalies.

1 Feb

Monopoly.

Au gratin.

Onomatopoeia.

Abnormally.

Origami.

Cacophony.

Apostrophe.

Saskatchewan.

Say them out loud. They’re fun to say, but not often used. Especially apostrophes. Which also irritate me. Those who can’t use apostrophes should be stripped of the privilege of internet usage.

I’m not normal. Perhaps you’ve noticed. That alone makes me an anomaly.

But wait…there’s more!

I’m not a morning person, but with my work schedule, I now have trouble staying up past 1am. If I’m not a morning person and I’m not a night person, am I even a person?

I’m not the 99%. I’m not even the 1%. I’m just 1 person, which makes me 100% myself. And compared to myself, I am totally normal.

But compared to all you weirdos, I’m an anomaly.

For example, I don’t drink alcohol…don’t even desire to.

Iridescent. 

I wear skirts like it’s the unbreakable rule, except the truth is that I really do it because I want to. It makes me feel pretty, and like most girls, I like to feel pretty.

I have had the same best friend for two decades, yet I’m only 23 years old. That’s because loyalty is my strong suit, and loyalty is my downfall. I hold on to people long after they’ve walked out of my life. I also hold on to receipts, almost-empty favorite lotions, and cell phone pictures of every wonderful meal I’ve ordered at restaurants.

The front door I walk through every time I go to work and return from shopping ventures is the same door my parents brought me through when I was a newborn. I haven’t moved. I haven’t moved out.

Misconstrue. 

I’m always right. Which means you can’t always be right. Unless you’re agreeing with me.

I rarely brush my hair. After it’s washed, I run my fingers through it a few times, and that’s it.

I go to church three times a week. That’s why I have every single Sunday off and why I don’t work on Wednesday nights.

Sometimes my brain sends me a picture of what I’m trying to say, instead of words. When I force words out anyway, they come out jumbled and I get really frustrated and stop talking.

Effervescence.

I wear polka dot knee socks with striped shirts. In public. And I smile to myself at the kindergarten girls who are jealous of my rockin’ style.

I make my bed every day. That way I know one thing in my room is neat.

I’ve never liked my thumbs and toes. Ever.

I don’t like compliments. I have a high enough opinion of myself that when someone tells me something nice, I feel like it’s boring and repetitious because I already knew that about myself.

Spontaneity.

I like to smell my hair. In fact, I switch up my shampoos and conditioners every day to spice things up.

I have a mole on the back of one of my ears. I didn’t discover it until I was a teenager. Seriously, who looks at the backs of their ears?

I drive stick shift and change my own oil, when the weather permits. Oh yeah, and I’m a girl. Girls are capable humans too.

Immensely.

I live in a bakery and I’m not obese.

I take daily multi-vitamins. They’re gummies. Because somewhere inside me is a five-year-old girl who is still completely infatuated with candy.

Regardless of my age and maturity level, I do not and will not like peas. Not by themselves. Not in soup. Not in mixed veggies. Only in the trashcan.

In order to stay hydrated, I drink flavored water. Often it is carbonated as well. Clear, tasteless water is for those who are more committed to hydration than I am.

Astronomically.

Inordinate.

Ricochet.

Serendipity.

Chasm.

Volatile.

Plethora.

Expand your vocabulary. One word at a time. Try one word a day.

Advertisements

Per request

14 Jul

It has been with some gentle urging and prodding that I hereby make a guest appearance on my own blog. I have had no shortage of material about which to drone on and on. Time, however, has prohibited me.

To begin, I would like to expound upon a pet peeve.

“Me” is not a dirty word. It is the objective form of the personal pronoun “I.” Simply put, if I am the object of the sentence, “I” becomes “me.” See what I did there? I used correct grammar. Correct grammar was used by me. That’s easy enough if I use “I” or “me” by their own lonely selves in a sentence.

But the disconnect seems to come about when introducing a second party to the sentence. When Matilda and I went to grammar school, they doled out highest honors to Matilda and me, NOT to Matilda and I. Just like they wouldn’t dole out such honors to I, they would not dole out honors to Matilda and I. Do you see where I’m going with this? I am afraid that people are so tired of being corrected by us Grammar Nazis for saying “me and Billy Bob went a-huntin’ for varmints” that they equate “me” with bad grammar. It’s sad. If you catch yourself saying a preposition before bringing a personal pronoun into the conversation, you should probably use “me” and not “I.”

Remember this: I do awesome things, and you give awesome gifts to me. You and I are best friends, and people point and laugh at you and me.

*steps off soapbox*

*slips on soap*

*splats*

*picks self up, looks around to make sure no one saw that*

Totally unrelated to the slip, trip, and fall that nobody saw, I have a heart-shaped bruise on my forearm.

Isn’t it awesome?! It’s like a temporary tattoo from playing volleyball on Thursday. Which, by the way, was the perfectest day for volleyball yet this season. It wasn’t too hot, nor too cold. It was overcast, but not raining. There was a beautiful sunset, yet the sun wasn’t in anyone’s eyes to prohibit awesome spikes. And best of all, there were enough people for two full teams plus one sub per team, so everyone could take a water break every six rotations, but not soooo many subs that anyone had to wait more than a couple minutes to get back onto the court!

In conclusion, I would like to share a couple anecdotes.

First, my hair has gotten so long these past few months! With the exception of the days where it is like 90+ degrees outside, I like to drive with my windows down. Unbeknownst to me, I have been shedding as well, so my long brunette hairs flew off my head and onto the carpeted/felty back part of my car that covers my trunk. (I will call this part of my car “the rear dash.”) However, when I was gassing up my car the other day, I noticed that there were long white hairs strewn all across my rear dash! I felt anger begin to rise within me. What AARPer has been taking my yellow car for joy rides while I was sleeping, and leaving their telltale white locks on MY rear dash?! Then it occurred to me….it was MY hair that the sun had bleached! There was also a dead wasp, who had finally baked after taunting me on many an early-morning ride to work.

Lastly, I was pulled over recently on one of those aforementioned early-morning rides to work. It was actually a morning that I’d left on time, and was hitting greens instead of reds, and there seemed to be less congestion on the highways, so I actually consciously chose to drive within the speed limit. Doing so allowed me to people-watch. Other drivers are sometimes really funny to watch! Sometimes they’re really infuriating to watch since the dumb fools think they can text and drive. I always honk at them. Always. Then I pray that they crash into an indestructible tree in such a way that they need all their fingers amputated so that they can never again text and drive and endanger the lives of thousands on the road.

But I digress. Back to my leisurely morning drive…. I was taking the on-ramp between one highway to the next, and I noticed a police car parked on the shoulder with his lights on. Out of respect and an innate sense of caution, I slowed down even more than my already-within-the-speed-limit speed. Merged onto next highway, continued the mile or so till my exit. The police car had turned his lights off and pulled out a few cars behind me. No biggie. I wasn’t speeding. I hadn’t cut anyone off. I used my turn signals for merging. I had my lights on even though it was only slightly overcast. I had current registration stickers, and my inspection still had about a month left. I had taken the body out of the trunk and scrubbed the blood dribbles off the bumper. Kidding. As I took my exit, I was thinking to myself about how glad I was that I’d decided not to speed that day. Aaaaand the police car was suddenly on my tail with his lights on.

On the shoulder of the exit ramp, I pulled over with barely enough room for other cars to get by, put on my hazard lights, and rolled my window down before turning my car off. I’m a pro at getting pulled over. Upon the officer’s request, I produced my license, insurance, and registration. After a looooong silence, he told me why he’d pulled me over. I have an after-market amplifier on my muffler, and I could get cited for that. I asked him if he was citing me for it, and he said no, he was just letting me know that I could get cited. So I did what any good female would do, and asked the man for his advice on what I should do. I can’t remember exactly what he said, for he was an older gent, with really long nose hairs which danced disconcertingly and distractingly as he answered my question. I don’t think it helped that I was looking up into his nose from my perch in my drivers seat. In any case, I was not ticketed or warned or cited. Just politely informed that I could get cited, and to have a good day, ma’am.

Starvation

12 Jun

The world faces a plight of entire people groups meeting their death sooner than necessary because of a lack of food. My manager wanted to share in their pain and sorrow. He put up a sign at work that said that “we will starve to make your experience pleasant.” And he signed his name.

Thankfully he didn’t sign mine as well.

This post is not about the the actual tragedy of starvation. Rather, it is about the atrocity of misspellings.

My manager was not offering to abstain from delectable foods. He meant to say “we will strive to make your experience pleasant.” Big difference. I didn’t need any such sign because my customers already know that I work exceptionally hard to make sure their order is not only made correctly, but also served with an extra dose of happy. I strive, exempting myself from any ludicrous offer of starvation.

An article about Dunkin’ Donuts caught my eye this morning. Ok so it wasn’t exactly all about DD; it simply mentioned the name in its title. Still. It prompted me to share my own story about Dunkin’ Donuts misspellings, so you should at least read the article out of gratitude that you got a blog post out of it. My favorite part is this:

USA Today columnist Craig Wilson probably says it best about the grammar police: “Intoxicated by their discovery,” he wrote, “they then dash off scathing notes telling us what fools we be.”

Wilson says he’s happy there are still people who care enough about the English language to create a fuss. “God bless all two of them,” Wilson wisecracked.

The reasons I like that part are twofold. First, he said “scathing,” which is quite possibly my newest favorite word. Secondly and lastly, he says that there are two of us who fuss because we care, which means that I’m not the only one! Now if only I could find that second person…..

Ode to Homophones

11 May

I found this one-liner pun in an email newsletter I get.

“No matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary.”

It’s supposed to be funny. But I experienced such agony while reading it. STATIONARY? Somebody is obviously not very good with playing with words (aka creating puns).

StationAry is an adjective meaning “standing still, not moving.” Which, is this context, does not lend itself to any humor. If you push hard enough, most things will indeed move and cease being stationary. You could then replace “envelope” with any word, and the humor would remain the same. For example, “no matter how hard you push the pebble, it’ll still be stationary.” Likewise, “no matter how hard you push the bulldozer, it’ll still be stationary.”  Ha. Ha. Not funny.

StationEry is the word that this pathetic punster was looking for. Stationery is a noun, defined as “writing paper; writing materials, such as paper, pen, envelope.” Which to me is not funny either, but I suppose to those unaccustomed to puns, it may be found humorous. “No matter how hard you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationery.” Hardy har har.

As a side note, for those of you who may struggle with when to use stationery and when to use stationary, please remember that stationERy is used for writing lettERs. That’s what Mr. K taught me in fourth grade, and I obviously still retain this knowledge.

As a second side note, I just pushed an envelope, and it fell off the desk, therefore not remaining stationary. However, when I picked it up, I noticed that indeed it had remained stationery.