Tag Archives: Classy!

Let’s get to know each other

The other day, Jim asked me a personal question.

I’m not gonna lie, I don’t remember what it was. Something about what my hopes and dreams were as a kid? Or something? I don’t know, it was super deep and hence, not at all like Jim. Sorry honey.

My first response to him was, “have you been on Pinterest?”

He claims not to know what that is, but I don’t believe him. See, Pinterest is code for “super awesome time suck.” It’s this random site where you post links to all the things you like, or want, or need, or fancy, or wish to make, or covet, or, inexplicably, random pictures of Kid Rock. Seriously, there are Pinterest pages that people start up to honor the man who is so skeezy you need a shot of penicillin after looking at him. Gross yo. It’s just weird.

But other than that, Pinterest is super randomly fun. You know all the thoughts and ideas and stuff you really like but keep to yourself because no one cares? Yeah, now it’s public, and it’s on Pinterest.

And in the very *pinteresting* boards about relationships and relationship advice and being a better relationshipper, there is a trend lately on how to get to know your partner better. At the heart of a lot of these things is essentially a game of 20 questions. Here’s what to ask your guy (or gal, dudes can pinterest their lives too) when you are bored or in a long car ride or to strike up the conversation or just to get to know each other better.

They generally are accompanied by a photo of a super happy couple, like so:

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So I started clicking away thinking, hell, that actually sounds fun. It would be nice to give Jim the third degree in a pleasant way for a change.

But the more I looked at the various items for how to get to the root of your partner’s soul so you REALLY know what they are thinking, the more disappointed I was. The questions were LAME. Examples:

What is your favorite Olympic event?

What? I don’t give a shit. Or, more importantly, if it is not curling, you are dead to me.

Would you rather be blind or deaf?

Wow. Loaded question there. One way or another I’m insulting someone. No way am I falling into that trap.

Who is your favorite superhero?

Again… what? Thor. Or you are again dead to me.

What’s your most embarrassing moment?

Well, nothing will put the pedal to the metal in the divorce bus quicker than revealing how embarrassing it was when you got busted for public nudity and that’s the real reason you can’t go back to New Orleans.

These questions are crap! Crap I tell you.

So I have developed my own. Ten questions to get to the heart of your relationship.

Sit with the one you love, or the one you hope to love, or the one you were stalking but shhhhhhhh let’s not discuss it we’re on a date now, and ask these gems.

Then you REALLY get to know someone.

1 – Why do you hate America?

This should always be first on any list.

2 – Do they sell men’s clothes where you bought that shirt?

Obvi – say “women’s” if your date is a chick. Better yet, say chick. That will win her over.

3 – How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Has anyone ever answered this? I want to know.

4 – Why?

Just ask this over and over. People love this.

5 – Do you think I’m fat?

Any answer is a good answer, for real!

6 – Is she prettier than I am?

Ask this regardless of who your date is. Men can be pretty too.

7 – Sean Hannity, Bill O’Reilly, Karl Rove. You have to sleep with one, marry one, kill one, GO!

If them hem and haw, leave immediately. The answers in order are Bill, Karl, Sean.

8 – Dawson or Pacey?

The answer is Dawson. It’s HIS creek.

9 – What’s your most embarrassing moment?

I changed my mind about this one, I want to know if he’s as fun as I am, or as lame as, well, I expect he is.

10 – What is the name of your make-believe band?

This is far more important than you think. Anyone who does not have a make-believe band, or for that matter who has never practiced their speech to the academy or picked out their Olympic ice skating music is lacking heart, creativity and a soul. PS, if they say the name of their band is Mentally Spanked, you are on a date with me, Kayla or Nancy.

Good luck everyone. Go pin it.

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I cannot understand a word you are saying

It started not too long ago. A message or a text. Then I saw it more on the face page. A response to something that I said, which clearly was brilliant: “Totes.”

Totes? What does this mean, I wondered. Like, Isotoners? Umbrellas? A cute little bag that you carry your lunch inside? Totes. Huh. I dismissed it as an autocorrect or typo and forgot about it.

Then it happened again. Someone declared, “this is totes random but….”

I have no idea what was so random, I was stuck on the word “totes.” What the hell does this mean? So I decided I would use my highly trained investigative journalist mind to unravel this mystery.

I googled it.

Totes, it seems, is shortened speak for the word “totally.” As in, the English language is being totes destroyed by the totes laziness of this totes embarrassing usage of the word totes.

This desperate need to shorten and clip words blows my mind. I cannot speak for anyone else, but I didn’t spend hours at St. James diagramming sentences just so that I could LOL and WTF at them later. Incidentally, how in the hell did LOL come to use anyway? I realize it is the shortened way to say “laugh out loud,” but back in my 7th grade note-writing days, we did that by writing “ha” which is actually shorter. What genius came up with LOL? And then took it a step further to ROFLMAO. Has anyone ever rolled on the floor laughing, or laughed their ass off? Couldn’t the same effect be achieved if you simply wrote, HA HA!

Now it appears WTF has been replaced by WTAF, which adds the word “actual” in it (which also makes my friend Lara irrationally ragey — also not a word but I like that one). But it appears that WTAF is just the modern version of “huh” which is also a letter shorter. Don’t even get me started on how www is the shortened version of world wide web, but when you SAY www, you are saying six additional syllables than if you had just gone ahead and said “world wide web.”

Remember when acronyms were used for good, and not evil? KISS — keep it simple stupid. HOMES — Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, Superior, the Great lakes. NASA — need another seven astronauts (too soon?).

Anyway, I felt the need to get to the bottom of this totes ridiculous phenomenon. Turns out I am saying that wrong, too. Because it is not totes ridiculous. It’s totes ridic. It’s cray-cray. Ima say it prolly so cray-cray it for realz could turn my brain to mush. Which would be the exact opposite of totes adorbs. If that happened — FML. Obvi, I’m jelly of ppl who can avoid this sitch.

(somewhere there is someone who understood all that)

This makes me sad. It makes me so sad. I wonder if this is what Shakespeare would think if we plopped him down in front of an episode of any television show ever made. WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE PEOPLE SAYING? I want to say that this is just the evolution of like, grody to the max and gag me with a spoon, but NO. Because that was fun. And also, words. Full on words. “Gag me with a spoon” is extremely descriptive, you know EXACTLY what I am saying.

Naturally (natch?) I decided this matter needed immediate attention from my husband. It took a fairly long, somewhat slow conversation in order to explain to him what is happening here, what people are saying, how to understand it. The result? The next day, Jim sent me a text in the morning. “Are you awake?” “Yes,” I replied.

“I totes knew you were.”

And it has begun.

These words that are making us crazy, we’ve now spent so much time ripping on them, they are becoming part of our daily conversations. We’re officially cray-cray on the reggae (I have no idea what that means).

Case in point — dinner. There we were, sitting at family dinner (we have family values) and Jim and I were discussing something. I can officially say I have no idea what we were talking about. But the words “totes” and “ridic” were fluid. I def don’t know what was said. It’s possible he said he had to go to the libes (that one came from a friend of mine). We spoke of our besties and Christmas prezzies and the deets on what we had for breks.

Hank was watching us, slowing putting his food to his mouth (and missing half of it — for hell’s sake, he’s 10, when is he going to learn to eat without half the food falling onto his shirt?), watching us back and forth like the world’s slowest ping-pong match. He finally cleared his throat and said, “uh, why are you two talking like teenagers?”

I don’t know, kid. It’s like a virus. A ridic, awk, presh, gorg, cray-cray, and bee-tee-dubs adorbs virus. Whatevs. I need a vacay.

Somebody, gag me with a spoon.

Totes.

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Keeping it classy

Ahhhhh, another year older, another year wiser. Maybe. Or maybe not so much?

January 4 this week marked my annual trek into the abyss of senility, as I exited year 37 and kicked into year 38. And you want to know what  really learned over this past year? I learned that I am not as awesome in everyone else’s eyes as I am in my own.

I know, right? Says who?

I’ll tell you who says: Facebook.

Facebook has this bizarre ability to trick you into believing several non-sensical truths, for example:

  • I have hundreds of friends.
  • My ex-boyfriends are TOTALLY interested in my life.
  • I was the most popular gal in the class of 1992.
  • Roughly 99 percent of people don’t believe in causes (hence they refuse to cut and paste said cause into their status line but come on, buck the trend! Cut! Paste!)
  • I must like what everyone else has to say, even if the things they say are negative (I hate the rain! *like*).
  • People want to see pictures of my children (they must, why else would so many keeping “liking” them).
  • I am totally having an argument with a real live human being.
  • That person totally cares about me.

Those last two — man, that’ll get you.

I recently had a Facebook “argument” with someone I do not know. I say “argument” because I do not know this person and therefore was not really arguing with her. I do not know who she is, where she lives, what she is like… NOTHING. Just that we crossed paths on the face page. Via mutual friends we had clearly “crossed paths” before, but honestly, I had never noticed her before.

Long story short — I said something she didn’t like, and she responded, “Keeping it classy per usual.”

Dudes, I was HORRIFIED.

Who is this woman? How dare she!!! What exactly does that mean PER USUAL? Why don’t you just say it to my face? I mean, never mind that I wouldn’t know you from Adam if you were in front of my face. The NERVE!!!!!!!

Then the following things happened on my birthday:

1 – My nine year old son walked into my bedroom at 11 a.m. and said, “Happy Birthday, you want a beer?”

2 – I went to the mall without a bra.

3 – I bought what I would deem as “nice clothing” as Sears.

4 – I received this card from my husband:

(the inside reads, “Wish you a hap-PEE birthday!”)

5 – And finally, we went to a fancy dinner. At the Texas Roadhouse. Where I sat in a saddle on top of a sawhorse while the waitresses yelled “yeeeeeeee-ha!!!!”

That’s not the important part of the story. The important part is, Jim inexplicably told the waitress that I did NOT want my birthday recognized. Which, as he knows, is just plain stupid. I’m a little upset I didn’t get MORE attention on my birthday.

So I pointed my finger directly in his face and said “you better fix this” with a tone that said “you’ll never feel the touch of a woman ever again for the rest of your miserable life if you don’t get those poor minimum-wage paid teenagers to bring their skinny asses back here right this instant and wish me the loudest happy birthday ever.”

Jimmy complied:

Could I *BE* having a better time?

But seriously, look at the woman behind me. How horrified is she? There is NOTHING about this that she finds amusing. Even. A. Little.

So I’m starting to think Facebook girl had a point.

Because look at me, belly roll out, hair swaying, ridiculous smile on my face, oblivious to the death stare coming from behind.

Keeping it classy. Per usual.

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