Tag Archives: poppycock

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.

*cricket, cricket*

19 Sep

Such a noise usually indicates an awkward silence. But imagine how awkward the silence would be if the silence was totally silent? That is to say, without the cricket at all. That happened to me the other night. I was almost cricket-less.

I sleep in the basement, in the corner of my room, in the corner of the basement. At the head of my bed is the utility box (or whatever it’s really called) that houses the switches to power everything in the house. Such a placement has led to a few humorous or awkward occasions during which I wished I had cleaned my room BEFORE the repairman came. But that conjures up different stories than the one I’m telling.

This is about a cricket. Actually two crickets. Somehow, every summer, crickets find their way into the portion of the wall that houses the utility box. And there they live and chirp all night long. I’ll remind you…..this is at the head of my bed. Mere inches from where my eyes should be closing in blissful sleep.

On August 4th (I looked it up), I sent out a late-night twitter, “There is a very vocal cricket chirping in the wall, mere inches from my head. Maybe i should teach him a lullaby so i can get some sleep.”

We tried killing them with ant spray, then again with wasp spray. Still. Every night, long after the lights were out, when I crawled into bed, they would begin their duet.

First there was a long, almost-shaky chirp from a cricket with a deep “voice.” It honestly sounded like it was dying. *cri-i-i-iiii-i-ck-k-k-et*

Then a second, more confident one. *cri-i-i-i-cket*

And before too long there was a second cricket chiming in. The second one was higher pitched than the first, possibly a younger cricket.

It used to annoy me to no forseen end. Then suddenly one night, I didn’t hear the crickets. I laid in the enveloping silence, straining to hear even one chirp. The silence was almost unnerving. I tried laying on my back. Then on my side facing the wall. Then I flipped my pillow to the cool side. Then I lay perfectly still. Just when I thought I was going to explode from the deafening silence…..

*cri-i-i-i-i-iii-i-i-i-ck-k-k-k-et*

*cri-i-i-iii–ck-k-et*

And the duet began once again.

Every night since then, I have looked forward to my nightly serenade. The older cricket is Gerald and the younger is Jehu. But about two nights ago, I stopped hearing the crickets altogether. I know this happens at the end of every summer. But this time it’s extra-sad. Probably because I named them.

Dissertation on emoticons

7 Aug

(**Update: WordPress changes my common emoticons from their punctuation form to an animated form. Unappreciated, WordPress. There’s probably a setting to change that, but I couldn’t find it. Hence the “spaced-out-smile” look. You know what I mean. Carry on…)

(**Update #2: Rachel has enlightened me as far as how to turn off the automatic animated emoticons.Yes!! Thanks, Rach! For the rest of you, ignore my previous update. It remains there purely for memory’s sake. And as a tribute to Rachel’s genius.)

Everybody has that one favorite emoticon they use and overuse in emails, texts, twitters, facebook statuses, etc. Or maybe more than just one. But everyone has a specific way that they emoticonnote, that is to say write emoticons.

Some people use the = as the eyes. Such as =) or =D . These display a certain amount of excitement. Constantly. I know several people who use = consistently and I love it. It shows a zeal for life and total wide-eyed excitement. Love it. This is probably my favorite way of emoticonnoting ever. However, I can’t usually pull that off because I tend to be more blah in my emotional swings.

Some people use noseless emoticons. When the eyes are big, as they are in the above example, going noseless is acceptable. Otherwise it’s just lazy. :( See? Sorry to disappoint. It really takes little effort to fill out the face with a nose of sorts. Could be like :-) or :o) or :~) or :+) or :<) . Noseless emoticons rank on my list of pet peeves. One more mark of punctuation, that’s all that’s needed.

Mine always have noses. Always. Whether the nose be a “-” or an “o”, the nose is there. To those noseless emoticons, I attribute the name “lazy smiley.” I refuse to use them. My emoticons deserve a nose.

The :-) kind of nose is what I usually use. It’s basic enough that no one reads into my smile and think I’m too anxious, too sarcastic, not genuine enough, not happy enough. It’s complete, hardly deserving a second thought.

The :o) kind of nose is cute. For some reason I equate it with eating, cute kids, or hidden frustration. Like when I use it, I’m usually thinking, “I should probably put a smile there, but I’m not really happy and I don’t feel like smiling.” This is as close as I’ve come to smiling sarcastically.

The :~) kind of nose screams “broken.” I wince when I see it and have been known to audibly whimper upon such seeings. Do not abuse your emoticons! They may come back to haunt you and break your nose in your sleep!

The :+) nose says, “My emoticonnotor broke my nose, but then had the decency to put a bandaid on it. Thank you, dear emoticonnotor.”

The :<) nose is obviously Italian. Or Roman. Or swollen Swedish. Wait, isn’t Rome in Italy?

Lately, tragedy has struck. As mentioned before, my keys stick occasionally (both on my phone and on my laptop). Thus sometimes when I press a key once or twice or thrice, there is still no resulting character.

And I trimmed my fingernails the other day and chopped my left thumbnail entirely too short, thus hampering my texting speed.

Furthermore, through an amazing display of ballet unlearnedness, last night at work I broke not only my second and last unbroken thumbnail, but also the lid and the cup with which I was twirling around behind the counter.

Thus, those who may have texted me within the past week (or month for that matter) may be confused at my dislike of noseless emoticons. Because I’ve used them. Inadvertantly. And it pains me. But sometimes I hit the punctuation key five times, hoping for a smile complete with a nose, and I get merely a noseless smile. So frustrating. Half the time I don’t notice it until it’s already been sent. The other half of the time, I notice it and continue hitting the punctuation key until my poor broken thumbnail is screaming for a break. Relief is given, and the text is sent with a noseless emoticon.

Now I have a confession. The noseless emoticons have grown on me recently. I even labeled one as cute the other day. I was shocked at myself. It is highly unlikely that I am no longer peeved by this long time pet peeve. However, perhaps I have become more tolerant? More importantly, is it totally weird that I have such qualms and unusual things to say about emoticons? Am I please not the only one who reads into them so deeply and attributes such inane characteristics to them?

Origins of the Sayings

1 Jul

Unusual catch phrases catch my ear, not my phrase. I ponder what they mean and how they came about and who first said them. Upon such things ponder I.

Today’s word of the day is “hunky dory.” You may very well ask the question, who is Dory? What makes her so hunky? And why is this now the way that one says things are going okay?

I do not have THE answer. But I do have AN answer. TWO answers actually.

First of all, forty two. Because I bought a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy on a recent excursion to Ollie’s and because I just read that particular chapter today. Chapter 27 of course.

The second answer requires a narrative. One that you most certainly have not heard before because it is one that I am currently making up on the spot.

Once upon a time, on the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets lived a young lass by the name of Dorothy. Those close to her (which was pretty much everyone on the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets) called her Dory.

On the left side of her head she wore half of her hair in a blue ponytail holder that was in line with the top of her left ear. Her hair stuck out approximately 15/16ths of an inch away from the ponytail before it began to slope gracefully down towards her left shoulder, ending with a ponytail with a length of 7 inches exactly. In her left ear, Dory wore one silver hoop that was one inch in diameter. Along the edge of the silver hoop was a series of hearts and swirls engraved into its shininess. Closest to the pupil of Dory’s left eye was a beautiful shade of green as if it had come directly from a magical sea of green fantasy. Farther away from the pupil of her left eye, the green faded into a perfect hazel color…the kind of perfection in hazel that can not be described, only dreamt about in the most subliminally sublime of dreams.

Such a description of the left side of her face can only leave a person in wonder at what the right side of her face looked like. Was it maimed? Blemished? Terribly unbecoming? You must realize that she is Dory. Therefore…..

On the right side of her head she wore the other half of her hair in a blue ponytail holder that was in line with the top of her right ear. Her hair stuck out approximately 15/16ths of an inch away from the ponytail before it began to slope gracefully down towards her right shoulder, ending with a ponytail with a length of 7 inches exactly. In her right ear, Dory wore one silver hoop that was one inch in diameter. Along the edge of the silver hoop was a series of hearts and swirls engraved into its shininess. Closest to the pupil of Dory’s right eye was a beautiful shade of green as if it had come directly from a magical sea of green fantasy. Farther away from the pupil of her right eye, the green faded into a perfect hazel color…the kind of perfection in hazel that can not be described, only dreamt about in the most subliminally sublime of dreams.

She was hunky. That is to say, everything about her was satisfactory, well, right, and even.

This explains who Dory is and what about her makes her so hunky. But how did this become a catch phrase? No, do not google it or consult a word origins book. I, Amanda, shall tell thee what thou dost ask.

Anita was also a lass who lived on the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets. She awoke on the morning of the dim and dismal Monday and was painfully aware that her life was not like that of hunky Dory’s. No, her life was unsatisfactory, unwell, wrong, and uneven. Whenever she was asked about the well-goings of her day, her reply was inevitably, “Harumph, it’s not like hunky Dory’s.” And all those who lived on the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets knew what she meant and agreed.

The dawning of the dim and dismal Monday was also the dawning of a new day for Anita. Her first stop that morning was the jewelry shop on the corner of Fourth and Ernie Streets. A purchase of a pair of earrings was in order. After a short time, Anita spotted and purchased the ones she wanted. They were silver hoops that were one inch in diameter; along the edge of the silver hoop was a series of hearts and swirls engraved into its shininess.

When Anita arrived at her home at the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets, she discovered a package in her name. Inside was a wig with a two ponytails. Each ponytail was formed in such a way that the hair stood 15/16th of an inch away from the blue ponytail holder. Then the ponytails themselves draped gracefully down to where Anita’s hand held the wig and each was the perfect length of 7 inches.

Anita dashed all they way to her bedroom which was about two feet away from her front door since living quarters are so small on the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets. In the back of the bottom drawer of her mauve vanity set lay a carefully-stashed pair of contacts. They were tinted. When Anita completed her eyelid-prying maneuvers successfully, she had changed the color of her blue eyes. Closest to the pupil of Anita’s eyes was a beautiful shade of green as if it had come directly from a magical sea of green fantasy. Farther away from the pupil of her eyes, the green faded into a perfect hazel color…the kind of perfection in hazel that can not be described, only dreamt about in the most subliminally sublime of dreams.

With the wig atop her head, the contacts veiling her eyes, and the earrings adorning her ear lobes, Anita left her house for the second time that day. Fred, another resident of the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets, asked Anita how her day was going. And her reply was surprisingly, “It is perfect. I’m just like hunky Dory!”

A passerby, who did not live on the very populated corner of Fourth and Elmo Streets, overheard her remark. Later that day when said-passerby’s friend asked said-passerby how his day was going, his reply was, “Oh, it’s just hunky dory!” And since said-passerby was such a trend-setter, said-passerby’s friend followed the trend. Thus, hunky dory became less of a person and more of a state of being, all unbeknownst to hunky Dory.

And now you know.

The Perfect Cookie

28 Jun

“I demand the perfect cookie! Serve it upon a silver tray. It must be the perfect cookie, fit for a king in every way! Not too chewy, not too crunchy, not too big, and not too small. If it’s not the perfect cookie, it will never do at all!!”

Those who are well-versed in the clever songs of Patch the Pirate will recognize this song from Harold the King, of which recording I own the cassette. In the song, King Harold proceeds to tell how many chocolate chips are required to make a cookie absolutely perfect and worthy of a king. At least that is how I recall the song going. I no longer have a cassette player and therefore cannot listen to the song and correct my possibly-misled memory of the song.

This post was actually not intended to be about a cookie, perfect or imperfect.

It’s about a salad.

(commence unpaid commercial) At Panera Bread, they are currently serving a plate of summer freshness, nutty goodness, and delectable crispness. They are calling it their Strawberry Poppyseed Chicken Salad. Not very creative if you ask me. But you didn’t ask and neither did they. If I was going to name it, I would call it the Spangled Pollo Fruit Salad. Not that much more creative, but I’m in the mood to use the word “spangled” so I think it’s quite the proper name for the salad. Which is quite the perfect salad. Strawberries, blueberries, pecans, pineapple, lettuce of course, mandarin oranges, delightfully-seasoned chicken, and a tastebud-tantalizing poppyseed dressing.

You know when you are eating a salad and you eat a good bite? I mean with some foods, every bite tastes a little different than the last. Maybe better, maybe not better. Salads are one of those foods. One bite has lettuce and a blueberry and you swipe it through the pool of dressing. The next bite is mandarin orange, strawberry, and lettuce balanced precariously on a pecan. Each bite tastes so unique. Not uncommon is the cry, “That was a good bite!”

Go to Panera Bread! Have lots of good bites of their Spangled Pollo Fruit Salad! But don’t call it that, for thou shalt confuse them profoundly.

a sticky mystery

28 May

When I finally started up this blog again like a month or so ago, I mentioned that my backspace key was sticking. You’d think by now I’d have found a solution of sorts. *grabs bag of Bugles*

No, I haven’t. *takes bag clip off Bugles*

Rather, I’ve found that my exclamation point key is sticking. This also happens to be the numberical one. *eats Bugle during prolonged moment of frustration* So if you notice that I seem less exclamatory and all the binary codes I write consist solely of 0’s, now you know.

I am still perplexed as to why my keys stick. *eats a Bugle of perplexion, to rhyme with complexion* Why MY keys? Why the keys that I seem to use most often? *searches bag for Bugle to fit on thumb* Are any of you blog readers familiar with solutions to sticky keys? I, for one, am at the end of my wits, that is to say, at my wit’s end. *eats a Bugle off littlest finger*

Also, have you ever tried typing a whole blog entry with Bugles on each finger? Me neither. They’re just on my left hand, minus my thumb. And the tips keep breaking. Or getting stuck between the keys. Arg. So much I have to put up with. First sticky keys, now broken Bugle tips. *eats each offending Bugle off fingertips*

P.S. I don’t write binary codes. That part was a lie. The rest was true. See?

Semi-acceptable

8 May

My last post about gum concluded with the random idea of me writing to Wrigley and asking about the reasons behind the gum being black. And if their response was acceptable, I’d post it here. So here I post.

My email TO Wrigley:

I am near the point of death-by-curiosity. Whose idea was it to color the newest flavor of 5 gum to be black? Definitely unexpected for me (though I do tend to miss memos if you had sent one out). Were there any solid reasons or logical promptings that caused this particular coloring? The only reason I have come up with is to eliminate the problem of white specks of gum on black pavement. But that is offset by the new problem of instant black specks on sidewalks. The flavor is delicious! But black? I would like to know more of the thought process behind this, if thou wouldst be so kind as to share. :-)

My reply FROM Wrigley:

Thank you for contacting the Wrigley Company to request information.  We are always happy to hear from our consumers and will be happy to answer your question.

When it comes to the Five React Gum, the reason that the gum is colored back is so that you don’t predict a flavor before chewing the gum. This experience is supposed to be different for everyone that tries the gum.

We thank you once again for taking time to contact us.

Sincerely,

S—- W—–
Consumer Care Representative

Y’know, they really should work on their replies matching the amount of humor in the initial query. They should hire me to work in that capacity. And give me monetary bonuses for replies that exceed the amount of humor in the initial query. But then they’d probably go bankrupt. And they’d have to begin giving me gum bonuses. Black gum bonuses. And while the flavor is truly delectable, it’s not bonus enough to tempt me. So I shall have to turn down the job. Thank you anyways.

PS – On the bright side, this was truly a friendly human response. You can tell from the typo in the email reply.