Word of the Day Saturday, February 27, 2010
supplicate
\SUP-luh-kayt\ , intransitive verb;
1. To make a humble and earnest petition; to pray humbly.
transitive verb:
1. To seek or ask for humbly and earnestly.
2. To make a humble petition to; to beseech.
"I don't know, what do you think?" Dr. Lkarsak asked.
"This one has shown surprising resourcefulness. It has shown remarkable abilities in cunning and evasion. It took our security forces almost four months to capture it," Dr. Znlruc mused.
"Why did they keep it alive?" Lkarsak asked, wrinkling his nostrils in disgust.
Znlruc shrugged, "We have disposed of over 100 of them with our biochemical analysis and autopsy. I guess it was decided that we should learn more about the behavior of this particular species. Since this one seems particularly resilient the assumption is that it will provide large quantities of data before succumbing to insanity."
They both peered into the cage. The alien was on the floor, arms out-reached to the ceiling, its mouth open, yelling, supplicating to what they could only assume was the light fixture.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Mulct
Word of the Day Friday, February 26, 2010
mulct
\MULKT\ , noun;
1. A fine or penalty.
transitive verb:
1. To punish for an offense or misdemeanor by imposing a fine or demanding a forfeiture.
2. To obtain by fraud or deception.
3. To defraud; to swindle.
"So, what are we doing here? We only come here when you have bad news," Diane said.
He had taken her out to Marco's, the most luxurious steakhouse in town. They had gotten their wine and appetizers, and Marvin still hadn't had the nerve to break the news to Diane. "Damn," he though, partially relieved, "she knows me way too well."
He took a sip of wine to delay the inevitable a second or two longer.
He took a deep breath, "Yeah, you're right."
She stared at him a moment as if she couldn't believe her worst intuitions were coming true.
"Well….what is it? Just tell me and get it over quickly," she replied. Her beautiful face had grown hard in just seconds, and his only wish was to soften it again.
"It is that fucking shrew Maribelle Duncan. She is blackmailing me," he spat out.
Diane's face drained of color. "I'm just going to ask you this once Marvin," her voice a sharp hiss, "Are you cheating on me?" She had gotten that fierce look in her eyes that Marvin knew she was steeling herself for a fight.
"No! No, not at all! Christ, Diane, it is about the busness," Marvin replied, shocked that Diane had even considered the possibility of infidelity.
Diane visibly relaxed, "Is that all?" she asked with a slight laugh.
Marvin gaped, "This isn't a good thing!"
"No, of course not, but that is better than you cheating on me," she replied with a little smile.
He smiled back; his beautiful wife. He didn't deserve her and her simple priorities. Him and the family first, the money a far distant priority.
"So, what exactly is the problem with the business?" she asked.
"Let's just say that she has dirt on some business dealings that occurred when my grandfather was running the business that will cause our worth to plummet if it were to come out now. Something about art dealings with the Nazis, I mean, I can barely even believe that could be true, but she has all these documents and receipts. Apparently my Pops was as meticulous with his record keeping as the Germans were."
She frowned.
"The art dealings were just a tiny part of the business, basically a side hobby, but the scandal will scare investors right out of town with the atmosphere the way it is now. She is going to mulct me dry in the meantime," Marvin continued, rubbing his forehead.
Diane's frown deepened and she took a of wine, "Isn't it sort of a delicate balance for her? If she exposes you she'll lose her position of strength with the blackmail, if you have no money she can't get anything out of you."
"Yes. I don't know. She claims some of the paintings were stolen from her family. I think in the end all she wants to see is the downfall of someone in the family. Revenge, I don't know. You know, these paintings were sold before I was even born!" Marvin exclaimed.
"What did you tell her?" Diane asked, she had that calculating look and Marvin could tell her mind was churning but he couldn't tell where she was going with all of this.
"I bluffed and blustered," he replied helplessly.
Diane was quiet a moment, chewing over a piece of Brie.
"I think I may have plan, but let me ask you this, do you trust me?" she asked, a slight gleam in her eyes.
mulct
\MULKT\ , noun;
1. A fine or penalty.
transitive verb:
1. To punish for an offense or misdemeanor by imposing a fine or demanding a forfeiture.
2. To obtain by fraud or deception.
3. To defraud; to swindle.
"So, what are we doing here? We only come here when you have bad news," Diane said.
He had taken her out to Marco's, the most luxurious steakhouse in town. They had gotten their wine and appetizers, and Marvin still hadn't had the nerve to break the news to Diane. "Damn," he though, partially relieved, "she knows me way too well."
He took a sip of wine to delay the inevitable a second or two longer.
He took a deep breath, "Yeah, you're right."
She stared at him a moment as if she couldn't believe her worst intuitions were coming true.
"Well….what is it? Just tell me and get it over quickly," she replied. Her beautiful face had grown hard in just seconds, and his only wish was to soften it again.
"It is that fucking shrew Maribelle Duncan. She is blackmailing me," he spat out.
Diane's face drained of color. "I'm just going to ask you this once Marvin," her voice a sharp hiss, "Are you cheating on me?" She had gotten that fierce look in her eyes that Marvin knew she was steeling herself for a fight.
"No! No, not at all! Christ, Diane, it is about the busness," Marvin replied, shocked that Diane had even considered the possibility of infidelity.
Diane visibly relaxed, "Is that all?" she asked with a slight laugh.
Marvin gaped, "This isn't a good thing!"
"No, of course not, but that is better than you cheating on me," she replied with a little smile.
He smiled back; his beautiful wife. He didn't deserve her and her simple priorities. Him and the family first, the money a far distant priority.
"So, what exactly is the problem with the business?" she asked.
"Let's just say that she has dirt on some business dealings that occurred when my grandfather was running the business that will cause our worth to plummet if it were to come out now. Something about art dealings with the Nazis, I mean, I can barely even believe that could be true, but she has all these documents and receipts. Apparently my Pops was as meticulous with his record keeping as the Germans were."
She frowned.
"The art dealings were just a tiny part of the business, basically a side hobby, but the scandal will scare investors right out of town with the atmosphere the way it is now. She is going to mulct me dry in the meantime," Marvin continued, rubbing his forehead.
Diane's frown deepened and she took a of wine, "Isn't it sort of a delicate balance for her? If she exposes you she'll lose her position of strength with the blackmail, if you have no money she can't get anything out of you."
"Yes. I don't know. She claims some of the paintings were stolen from her family. I think in the end all she wants to see is the downfall of someone in the family. Revenge, I don't know. You know, these paintings were sold before I was even born!" Marvin exclaimed.
"What did you tell her?" Diane asked, she had that calculating look and Marvin could tell her mind was churning but he couldn't tell where she was going with all of this.
"I bluffed and blustered," he replied helplessly.
Diane was quiet a moment, chewing over a piece of Brie.
"I think I may have plan, but let me ask you this, do you trust me?" she asked, a slight gleam in her eyes.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Gregarious
Word of the Day Thursday, February 25, 2010
gregarious
\grih-GAIR-ee-us\ , adjective;
1. Tending to form a group with others of the same kind.
2. Seeking and enjoying the company of others.
Shawn rolled over in bed and morosely stared at the ceiling. The incessant beeping of the alarm clock still reverberated in his head. Just eight more minutes he thought to himself, closing his eyes and trying to coax his body into going back to sleep.
He was just tired. Worn out. Run down. If I can just sleep in a couple extra hours he always thought to himself. But for some reason he always slept in better on weekdays, it always seemed like when Saturday rolled around, he would clear his morning schedule to accommodate a late morning in bed, and he always found that he slept fitfully all night and his back started to ache by7:00.
It wasn't really like him. Always the gregarious little brother, always in the middle of things and organizing one event or another with friends and family.
That is the problem, he thought to himself, is that I never stop. His calendar was booked four months in advance and once one party or activity was over he was searching the event calendars for the next thing to do. Snow-shoeing, science lectures, events at the library, a happy hour here, a night playing Rock Band with the family there.
Wouldn't it be nice just to have someone else take care of all those things, just for once? he thought to himself just as the gauzy haze of sleep started to wash over him.
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
His eight minutes were up.
gregarious
\grih-GAIR-ee-us\ , adjective;
1. Tending to form a group with others of the same kind.
2. Seeking and enjoying the company of others.
Shawn rolled over in bed and morosely stared at the ceiling. The incessant beeping of the alarm clock still reverberated in his head. Just eight more minutes he thought to himself, closing his eyes and trying to coax his body into going back to sleep.
He was just tired. Worn out. Run down. If I can just sleep in a couple extra hours he always thought to himself. But for some reason he always slept in better on weekdays, it always seemed like when Saturday rolled around, he would clear his morning schedule to accommodate a late morning in bed, and he always found that he slept fitfully all night and his back started to ache by7:00.
It wasn't really like him. Always the gregarious little brother, always in the middle of things and organizing one event or another with friends and family.
That is the problem, he thought to himself, is that I never stop. His calendar was booked four months in advance and once one party or activity was over he was searching the event calendars for the next thing to do. Snow-shoeing, science lectures, events at the library, a happy hour here, a night playing Rock Band with the family there.
Wouldn't it be nice just to have someone else take care of all those things, just for once? he thought to himself just as the gauzy haze of sleep started to wash over him.
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
His eight minutes were up.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Arcanum
Word of the Day Wednesday, February 24, 2010
arcanum
\ar-KAY-nuhm\ , noun;
plural arcana \-nuh\
1. A secret; a mystery.
2. Specialized or mysterious knowledge, language, or information that is not accessible to the average person (generally used in the plural).
"Um," he said, his eyes searching the ceiling as he thought.
"You know that last guy actually had the balls to tell me 'um' was a one syllable word when I did the same thing," she told him leaning forward conspiratorially.
"That guy over there?" he asked nodding to the next table.
"Yeah, like he was on a game show," she added with a laugh.
"Wow, I wonder if that is part of the arcana of the Toxic Bachelor," he mused giving the other guy a closer second look.
"Oooh, Toxic Bachelor, eh? You sound well versed in your Sex and the City episodes," she added with an eye brow arch.
"You know, that was going to be my clever opening question….which Sex and the City character are you the most like? But then I realized that I don't come off as the, err, most masculine date with that sort of question," he said with a hapless shrug, "Unfortunately, I didn't realize that until about three speed dates into this thing."
"Hmm, yes, I can see that. But I'd have to say Miranda with a smidge of Charlotte," she replied, "You?"
"Definitely a Steve with a splash of Burger," he answered promptly.
"Burger, eh?"
"I like the dry, sarcastic wit. And by the way, are you Canadian or something? What is with al the ehs?" he paused a moment, "Wow, that sounds like a bad Wheel of Fortune joke or something."
She giggled, "You're close, a bad habit I picked up from a Canadian friend I used to work with. But I don't know, sometimes a statement just needs an eh."
He nodded, "I can see that."
They were silent a moment.
"So, what was his polysyllabic word?" he asked with a smile.
"You know, we never got that far. Although I guessed sanctimonious prick," she answered and found herself twisting her shoulders into her flirty pose. She was really enjoying this guy.
"Ah, good one. Although…." he trailed off the sentence.
"Yes, I know. Two words. He was sweet enough to point that out as well,"
He burst out laughing, "Oh christ, you've got to be kidding me. Well, I think I have found my polysyllabic word. Enamored." he said with a shy smile.
She grinned, "Very cute."
"What can I say, I'm a sucker for an exotic Canadian accent."
She looked at her watch, "We still have one minute and 14 seconds left."
"Hmm…in that case I better give you my number now while I still have time," he said pulling out a pen and a business card.
"Absolutely," she murmured.
arcanum
\ar-KAY-nuhm\ , noun;
plural arcana \-nuh\
1. A secret; a mystery.
2. Specialized or mysterious knowledge, language, or information that is not accessible to the average person (generally used in the plural).
"Um," he said, his eyes searching the ceiling as he thought.
"You know that last guy actually had the balls to tell me 'um' was a one syllable word when I did the same thing," she told him leaning forward conspiratorially.
"That guy over there?" he asked nodding to the next table.
"Yeah, like he was on a game show," she added with a laugh.
"Wow, I wonder if that is part of the arcana of the Toxic Bachelor," he mused giving the other guy a closer second look.
"Oooh, Toxic Bachelor, eh? You sound well versed in your Sex and the City episodes," she added with an eye brow arch.
"You know, that was going to be my clever opening question….which Sex and the City character are you the most like? But then I realized that I don't come off as the, err, most masculine date with that sort of question," he said with a hapless shrug, "Unfortunately, I didn't realize that until about three speed dates into this thing."
"Hmm, yes, I can see that. But I'd have to say Miranda with a smidge of Charlotte," she replied, "You?"
"Definitely a Steve with a splash of Burger," he answered promptly.
"Burger, eh?"
"I like the dry, sarcastic wit. And by the way, are you Canadian or something? What is with al the ehs?" he paused a moment, "Wow, that sounds like a bad Wheel of Fortune joke or something."
She giggled, "You're close, a bad habit I picked up from a Canadian friend I used to work with. But I don't know, sometimes a statement just needs an eh."
He nodded, "I can see that."
They were silent a moment.
"So, what was his polysyllabic word?" he asked with a smile.
"You know, we never got that far. Although I guessed sanctimonious prick," she answered and found herself twisting her shoulders into her flirty pose. She was really enjoying this guy.
"Ah, good one. Although…." he trailed off the sentence.
"Yes, I know. Two words. He was sweet enough to point that out as well,"
He burst out laughing, "Oh christ, you've got to be kidding me. Well, I think I have found my polysyllabic word. Enamored." he said with a shy smile.
She grinned, "Very cute."
"What can I say, I'm a sucker for an exotic Canadian accent."
She looked at her watch, "We still have one minute and 14 seconds left."
"Hmm…in that case I better give you my number now while I still have time," he said pulling out a pen and a business card.
"Absolutely," she murmured.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Fructuous
Word of the Day Tuesday, February 23, 2010
fructuous
\FRUHK-choo-uhs\ , adjective;
1. Fruitful; productive.
She tightly gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on staying out of the rain filled ruts in the freeway.
It had been a bad week. One miserable event after another was erupting onto her daily landscape and it was all she could do to feel like she was keeping her head above water and not floundering. The incessant rain wasn't helping to shake the feelings of drowning.
The spray from the cars ahead of her blurred the windshield and she adjusted the wind shield wipers a notch higher deciding that she would just have to put up with the scraping squeak it made with every pass.
Squeak…..squeak…..squeak…..squeak.squeak.squeak.squeak.
At the beginning of the month she had actually had high hopes for a fructuous month. Work was going well, her new exercise routine was still fun and motivating, life at home was pleasant and filled with joy and fun.
It must be something about the month of February. Like because it is the shortest month it demands its pound of flesh with deeper cuts to make up for the fact that it has less time to collect payment.
Work had quickly become overwhelming, a triage of the projects that were piling up on her desk. The exercise routine left her leaving blah. Running made her feel fat and slow, cycling caused the sciatica to flare up. And as for home, when exactly did nine year olds affect the attitude of teenagers? Wasn't that supposed to happen at, like, age 10?
And now here she was, concentrating with every fiber of her being to make sure didn't fuck up while driving because she had so many people around her that would be so pissed off if she added another headache to the pile.
fructuous
\FRUHK-choo-uhs\ , adjective;
1. Fruitful; productive.
She tightly gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on staying out of the rain filled ruts in the freeway.
It had been a bad week. One miserable event after another was erupting onto her daily landscape and it was all she could do to feel like she was keeping her head above water and not floundering. The incessant rain wasn't helping to shake the feelings of drowning.
The spray from the cars ahead of her blurred the windshield and she adjusted the wind shield wipers a notch higher deciding that she would just have to put up with the scraping squeak it made with every pass.
Squeak…..squeak…..squeak…..squeak.squeak.squeak.squeak.
At the beginning of the month she had actually had high hopes for a fructuous month. Work was going well, her new exercise routine was still fun and motivating, life at home was pleasant and filled with joy and fun.
It must be something about the month of February. Like because it is the shortest month it demands its pound of flesh with deeper cuts to make up for the fact that it has less time to collect payment.
Work had quickly become overwhelming, a triage of the projects that were piling up on her desk. The exercise routine left her leaving blah. Running made her feel fat and slow, cycling caused the sciatica to flare up. And as for home, when exactly did nine year olds affect the attitude of teenagers? Wasn't that supposed to happen at, like, age 10?
And now here she was, concentrating with every fiber of her being to make sure didn't fuck up while driving because she had so many people around her that would be so pissed off if she added another headache to the pile.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Fractious
Word of the Day Monday, February 22, 2010
fractious
\FRAK-shuhs\ , adjective;
1. Tending to cause trouble; unruly.
2. Irritable; snappish; cranky.
Joe and Martin quietly worked together in the sand box building a Match Box car sized city. Joe's dad had drenched the sand with a hose and they had pulled all of their summer time sand castle building molds out of the basement to construct a real city.
They hadn't put together a cogent plan, however, both of them being eleven, or both of them being boys, or both having the same idea about city planning and engineering, whatever it was, the city grew around them quickly and without the usual committee caused building delays.
Their towers dried in the warm spring sunshine and metamorphosed into glittering, golden towers looming erect and proud over the clean streets free of Match Box sized traffic jams. One half expected King Arthur to appear and smile down upon this Golden Age of child's play.
Joe had just finished carving windows into the Tower for Peaceful Activities when Martin addressed him, "I think it is time," he said. Joe nodded, and pulled out his cell phone. "Hi, Becky? Martin and I were just wondering if you would like to come over and play City Council with us? Great, we'll see you in a little bit," and hung up the phone.
They continued quietly to smooth out the paved streets of their golden city until they heard the back gate open and slam shut. They both looked up, caught each others eye, and smiled.
"Hey Becky!" Joe called out, discreetly starting a stop watch in his pocket.
"Hey guys! Wow, great city!" she exclaimed making her way over to the sand box.
Both boys smiled broadly, still tickled with their own cleverness. See, Becky was the most fractious person in their class. It didn't matter what game they played, it almost always ended up with one of their toys being smashed against the wall or underfoot in one of Becky's angry outbursts at Martin and Joe not following along with how she wanted to play the game.
What was how Martin and Joe came up with the game of "How Fast Can the World Reach Utter and Complete Destruction?"
"I get to be mayor!" Martin exclaimed.
"No you don't! It has to be put up to a democratic vote," Becky immediately interjected.
"All in favor of me being Mayor say aye," Martin said promptly raising his hand and saying aye. Joe quickly followed suite.
"That isn't fair! You are just voting that way because I'm a girl," Becky whined.
"Ooh," Martin said turning to Joe, "We've never had an EEO complaint before." Joe wiggled his eyebrows. "Fine, you can be mayor," Becky said pouting, "But you only won because of an unfair smear campaign against me," she added.
"I don't know," Martin said, "I heard it was true about you farting in math class yesterday."
Becky's eyes flashed in anger and it one fluid motion she kicked over the three tallest sand buildings and had turned on her hell on her way out of the yard.
Martin pulled the stop watch out of his pocket. "I think that is an all tie world record. One minute 36 seconds. I don't know if we'll ever beat that one!" he said gleefully.
They happily proceeded to play Godzilla with the rest of their golden city.
fractious
\FRAK-shuhs\ , adjective;
1. Tending to cause trouble; unruly.
2. Irritable; snappish; cranky.
Joe and Martin quietly worked together in the sand box building a Match Box car sized city. Joe's dad had drenched the sand with a hose and they had pulled all of their summer time sand castle building molds out of the basement to construct a real city.
They hadn't put together a cogent plan, however, both of them being eleven, or both of them being boys, or both having the same idea about city planning and engineering, whatever it was, the city grew around them quickly and without the usual committee caused building delays.
Their towers dried in the warm spring sunshine and metamorphosed into glittering, golden towers looming erect and proud over the clean streets free of Match Box sized traffic jams. One half expected King Arthur to appear and smile down upon this Golden Age of child's play.
Joe had just finished carving windows into the Tower for Peaceful Activities when Martin addressed him, "I think it is time," he said. Joe nodded, and pulled out his cell phone. "Hi, Becky? Martin and I were just wondering if you would like to come over and play City Council with us? Great, we'll see you in a little bit," and hung up the phone.
They continued quietly to smooth out the paved streets of their golden city until they heard the back gate open and slam shut. They both looked up, caught each others eye, and smiled.
"Hey Becky!" Joe called out, discreetly starting a stop watch in his pocket.
"Hey guys! Wow, great city!" she exclaimed making her way over to the sand box.
Both boys smiled broadly, still tickled with their own cleverness. See, Becky was the most fractious person in their class. It didn't matter what game they played, it almost always ended up with one of their toys being smashed against the wall or underfoot in one of Becky's angry outbursts at Martin and Joe not following along with how she wanted to play the game.
What was how Martin and Joe came up with the game of "How Fast Can the World Reach Utter and Complete Destruction?"
"I get to be mayor!" Martin exclaimed.
"No you don't! It has to be put up to a democratic vote," Becky immediately interjected.
"All in favor of me being Mayor say aye," Martin said promptly raising his hand and saying aye. Joe quickly followed suite.
"That isn't fair! You are just voting that way because I'm a girl," Becky whined.
"Ooh," Martin said turning to Joe, "We've never had an EEO complaint before." Joe wiggled his eyebrows. "Fine, you can be mayor," Becky said pouting, "But you only won because of an unfair smear campaign against me," she added.
"I don't know," Martin said, "I heard it was true about you farting in math class yesterday."
Becky's eyes flashed in anger and it one fluid motion she kicked over the three tallest sand buildings and had turned on her hell on her way out of the yard.
Martin pulled the stop watch out of his pocket. "I think that is an all tie world record. One minute 36 seconds. I don't know if we'll ever beat that one!" he said gleefully.
They happily proceeded to play Godzilla with the rest of their golden city.
Bombast
Word of the Day Sunday, February 21, 2010
bombast
\BOM-bast\ , noun;
1. Pompous or pretentious speech or writing.
He pulled the yearbook across the table and flipped it open to the page dedicated to Homecoming. He briefly looked across the table at Stephanie Roger. She was preoccupied with some shenanigans across the room, not even paying attention to him. She must be one of those girls that wants to have everyone in the class sign her senior year book. That was the only reason he could come up with for her asking him to sign it in the first place. He hadn't been exactly embraced by his class ever since the Homecoming incident. Oh well, he thought, uncapping his pen. Here was his chance to bombast his version of the story, permanently, into Stephanie Roger's yearbook, for all eternity. He started it off with his favorite line of the year, "When I see you again in ten years…."
bombast
\BOM-bast\ , noun;
1. Pompous or pretentious speech or writing.
He pulled the yearbook across the table and flipped it open to the page dedicated to Homecoming. He briefly looked across the table at Stephanie Roger. She was preoccupied with some shenanigans across the room, not even paying attention to him. She must be one of those girls that wants to have everyone in the class sign her senior year book. That was the only reason he could come up with for her asking him to sign it in the first place. He hadn't been exactly embraced by his class ever since the Homecoming incident. Oh well, he thought, uncapping his pen. Here was his chance to bombast his version of the story, permanently, into Stephanie Roger's yearbook, for all eternity. He started it off with his favorite line of the year, "When I see you again in ten years…."
Egregious
Word of the Day Saturday, February 20, 2010
egregious
\ih-GREE-juhs\ , adjective;
1. Conspicuously and outrageously bad or reprehensible.
It had been a little social faux paus. He hadn't even thought a second thought about it at the time, it just seemed like the natural thing to do. Why not invite Derek along to the after party? It wasn't as if he was unknown in the social circles, he was probably more popular than Jaime himself, so he had figured he would be a welcome addition. Especially with Derek's bottomless pot supply. But boy had he been wrong.
It quickly became painfully apparent that he had committed and egregious blunder. They had walked into the house, large, a mansion with every light in the place blazing, packed with people. Yet as soon as they walked past the crowds would mute themselves for just a moment before they seemed to fold in like packets of origami in order to gossip a moment later. The silence a blip on the screen.
He just couldn't rationalize the anger towards Derek in his head, and since he couldn't understand it he had decided it didn't really matter and had gone on with his evening. He had gone about the rest of the evening flirting and drinking beers, clearly not fully comprehending how big of a deal his mistake really was, and the price he would most certainly pay for it.
egregious
\ih-GREE-juhs\ , adjective;
1. Conspicuously and outrageously bad or reprehensible.
It had been a little social faux paus. He hadn't even thought a second thought about it at the time, it just seemed like the natural thing to do. Why not invite Derek along to the after party? It wasn't as if he was unknown in the social circles, he was probably more popular than Jaime himself, so he had figured he would be a welcome addition. Especially with Derek's bottomless pot supply. But boy had he been wrong.
It quickly became painfully apparent that he had committed and egregious blunder. They had walked into the house, large, a mansion with every light in the place blazing, packed with people. Yet as soon as they walked past the crowds would mute themselves for just a moment before they seemed to fold in like packets of origami in order to gossip a moment later. The silence a blip on the screen.
He just couldn't rationalize the anger towards Derek in his head, and since he couldn't understand it he had decided it didn't really matter and had gone on with his evening. He had gone about the rest of the evening flirting and drinking beers, clearly not fully comprehending how big of a deal his mistake really was, and the price he would most certainly pay for it.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Gastronome
Word of the Day Friday, February 19, 2010
gastronome
\GAS-truh-nohm\ , noun;
1. A connoisseur of good food and drink.
She was desperate. That was all there was to it. She was 34 without a serious boyfriend, let alone a husband, in sight and she was desperate for a baby. The men she dated could sense it, maybe even smell it on her even though she never mentioned marriage or children. She figured it was only equally desperate men who actually signed up for speed dating, so here she was.
The bell rang and she then had five minutes to convince a new man she was interesting enough to spend more time with. She had started to notice that everyone had created their own litmus test of sorts. "Do you speak a second language?" "What is your favorite book?" "What polysyllabic word best describes you?"
"Um," she had replied starting to list off words in her head.
"Ehhh," he had buzzed, "Sorry Contestant Number 8. 'Um' is a one syllable word. Thank you for playing."
She had sat there stunned for a moment. Then smiled brightly, "Got me there!" she said pointing a finger at him playfully. "Let me guess what your word would be, you know, for the losers bracket."
He laughed, "Sure, I'll let you try," he leaned back and crossed his arms arrogantly.
She pretended to squeeze a buzzer like on Jeopardy, "What is a sanctimonious prick," she curtly replied.
His mouth tightened into a firm line. He waited a beat and then buzzed again, "Ehhh, too bad Contestant Number 8. Sanctimonious prick is two words. Tough break," he replied his arms still folded tightly..
"Well, I found I just couldn't encompass your essence in just one word," she answered a smug smile creeping across her face. She looked at her watch.
They still had four minutes left.
They sat there in silence for a moment. "Gastronome," she said out of the blue.
"Excuse me?" he asked leaning forward an inch.
"My polysyllabic description. Gastronome," she answered.
She could see him rolling this around in his head for a moment. "Do you eat milk chocolate?" he asked casually.
"Of course," she immediately replied, not thinking twice about the answer.
He barked out a honking laugh, "You've got to be kidding me! What self respecting gastronome eats milk chocolate?!? Personally, I never eat less than 70% cacao. God!" he continued to chuckle.
She let a bemused smirk spread across her face although she said nothing. "What?" he finally asked. "It is cute really. But just so….passé. I only eat dark chocolate," she replied in a stuffy voice mimicking him. He bristled, "What do you know about it? Are you looking forward to Cadbury Eggs this Easter?" he asked harshly.
She stared at him for a long moment, "I know plenty about it. I work for Rober Linxe. After this miserable evening I'm leaving for Paris to help develop his line of gourmet milk chocolates," she replied never dropping eye contact.
He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.
"You know, I'm really starting to like you. You're feisty. Do you want to exchange numbers?" he asked.
She looked at him, for the first time really taking in his appearance. He was handsome, dark hair, square jaw, a nicely built chest, coordinated nice clothing. Everything she had been looking for.
"You know, I don't think so," she told him with a friendly smile.
He snorted, "You're what, 34 almost 35? And you desperately want kids, right? How many chances do you think you've still got?" he asked.
The buzzer went off and she glanced down the row of remaining speed daters. Almost as if to prove his point she saw that there were only a couple of men left to talk to.
"So, what do you say?" he asked, standing up and inching towards the next table.
"I say that, yet, I am desperate for a family. But not desperate enough to date you," and then turned to the next man approaching her table and flashed him a large smile. "So," started off after he sat down, "What polysyllabic word best describes you?" she asked with a coy smile.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Duplicity
Word of the Day Thursday, February 18, 2010
duplicity
\doo-PLIS-i-tee, dyoo-\ , noun;
1. Deliberate deceptiveness in behavior or speech; also, an instance of deliberate deceptiveness; double-dealing.
2. The quality or state of being twofold or double.
"Marvin, I danced one slow dance with you already. A second would be inappropriate," Diane hissed as him as he refused to let go of her hand.
The band was starting up another ballad and more couples were floating onto the dance floor now that Marvin and Diane hadn't started a yelling match while they had been dancing. Which secretly everyone was hoping to see.
"Diane, please. It has been such a beautiful night, I just want a couple more beautiful memories," he pleaded.
"Marvin. She is here you know," Diane breathed.
Marvin felt his face tighten. "Of course, I know she is here. All the more reason to say yes," he replied as lightly as he could. "Besides, I miss dancing with you."
Diane scrutinized his face with a hard stare, trying to detect any duplicity.
"Ok, one more," she relented.
Marvin slipped his hand around her waist a second time and started to twirl her across the dance floor.
"I'm really glad that Abby decided to have a spring wedding. I can't think of a better way to celebrate a marriage than to have it doused in daffodils," he murmured in her ear.
"Ah," Diane replied, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, "That was my idea."
duplicity
\doo-PLIS-i-tee, dyoo-\ , noun;
1. Deliberate deceptiveness in behavior or speech; also, an instance of deliberate deceptiveness; double-dealing.
2. The quality or state of being twofold or double.
"Marvin, I danced one slow dance with you already. A second would be inappropriate," Diane hissed as him as he refused to let go of her hand.
The band was starting up another ballad and more couples were floating onto the dance floor now that Marvin and Diane hadn't started a yelling match while they had been dancing. Which secretly everyone was hoping to see.
"Diane, please. It has been such a beautiful night, I just want a couple more beautiful memories," he pleaded.
"Marvin. She is here you know," Diane breathed.
Marvin felt his face tighten. "Of course, I know she is here. All the more reason to say yes," he replied as lightly as he could. "Besides, I miss dancing with you."
Diane scrutinized his face with a hard stare, trying to detect any duplicity.
"Ok, one more," she relented.
Marvin slipped his hand around her waist a second time and started to twirl her across the dance floor.
"I'm really glad that Abby decided to have a spring wedding. I can't think of a better way to celebrate a marriage than to have it doused in daffodils," he murmured in her ear.
"Ah," Diane replied, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, "That was my idea."
Hypnagogic
Word of the Day Wednesday, February 17, 2010
hypnagogic
\hip-nuh-GOJ-ik; -GOH-jik\ , adjective;
1. Of, pertaining to, or occurring in the state of drowsiness preceding sleep.
Eric scratched at the back of his neck and squished a small insect between his fingernails. He could smell his own dirty, stale smell. He couldn't remember the last time hie had bathed, his whiskers had long ago turned into a beard that was now matted against his throat. The only thing that stood out on him were the whites of his eyes and he tried to keep those down-turned as much as possible. Although he was sure that by now they were probably blood shot and no longer stood out in the dark.
It had mostly been luck that he had survived this long. At first he thought it had been fantastic bad luck that their ore extraction mission had been so grievously miscalculated. The planet actually being occupied and all. No one had seen that coming apparently. All life on the planet lived under ground off of sulfur vents just like in the very deepest depths of the ocean on Earth. Only they had full-fledged societies living here.
But the more he thought about it, the more he decided that it could't have been a mistake. The commission put together to advise the project had spent years researching the planet. How could they have missed a very sophisticated, well-armed population? The only answer he could come up with was that they didn't miss anything, he just couldn't figure out what the motivation for continuing their own, very poorly defended, mission.
They had stood no chance against the weapons the native population wielded. They had been designed to enact damage on the unbelievably tough shell that the local populations grew. The slightest graze from their weapons caused unbelievable damage to human tissue. The teammates that Eric had found alive after the first attacks he had ended up killing himself purely to put them out of their misery. If he hadn't already known the fate that was waiting for him at the end of one of those weapons he would have stopped running and hiding a long time ago.
But he also had no reason to keep running. He had seen the space dock leave orbit the day after the initial attack. Leaving twenty-three surface teams stranded. It wasn't surprising though. The odium on board the dock was worth a thousand times over the worth of the lives of the 230 people they had stranded.
And so he dug in. And had survived. For now.
He felt his eyelids close and struggled to hold onto the last shreds of hypnagogic consciousness. This was always the most dangerous time.
hypnagogic
\hip-nuh-GOJ-ik; -GOH-jik\ , adjective;
1. Of, pertaining to, or occurring in the state of drowsiness preceding sleep.
Eric scratched at the back of his neck and squished a small insect between his fingernails. He could smell his own dirty, stale smell. He couldn't remember the last time hie had bathed, his whiskers had long ago turned into a beard that was now matted against his throat. The only thing that stood out on him were the whites of his eyes and he tried to keep those down-turned as much as possible. Although he was sure that by now they were probably blood shot and no longer stood out in the dark.
It had mostly been luck that he had survived this long. At first he thought it had been fantastic bad luck that their ore extraction mission had been so grievously miscalculated. The planet actually being occupied and all. No one had seen that coming apparently. All life on the planet lived under ground off of sulfur vents just like in the very deepest depths of the ocean on Earth. Only they had full-fledged societies living here.
But the more he thought about it, the more he decided that it could't have been a mistake. The commission put together to advise the project had spent years researching the planet. How could they have missed a very sophisticated, well-armed population? The only answer he could come up with was that they didn't miss anything, he just couldn't figure out what the motivation for continuing their own, very poorly defended, mission.
They had stood no chance against the weapons the native population wielded. They had been designed to enact damage on the unbelievably tough shell that the local populations grew. The slightest graze from their weapons caused unbelievable damage to human tissue. The teammates that Eric had found alive after the first attacks he had ended up killing himself purely to put them out of their misery. If he hadn't already known the fate that was waiting for him at the end of one of those weapons he would have stopped running and hiding a long time ago.
But he also had no reason to keep running. He had seen the space dock leave orbit the day after the initial attack. Leaving twenty-three surface teams stranded. It wasn't surprising though. The odium on board the dock was worth a thousand times over the worth of the lives of the 230 people they had stranded.
And so he dug in. And had survived. For now.
He felt his eyelids close and struggled to hold onto the last shreds of hypnagogic consciousness. This was always the most dangerous time.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Inexorable
Word of the Day Tuesday, February 16, 2010
inexorable
\in-EK-sur-uh-bul; in-EKS-ruh-bul\ , adjective;
1. Not to be persuaded or moved by entreaty or prayer; firm; determined; unyielding; unchangeable; inflexible; relentless.
I got on the light rail and as I made my way through the crowded aisles I noticed an unspoken restlessness among the passengers. Uncertain about what was causing the agitation I took my seat and pulled out my pad of paper to jot down my to-do list for when I got home.
"OHHHH! OOOHHHH! OH JESUS!"
I lifted my head up at the sound of the woman yelling half a car down from my seat.
"OOOH GOD! OHHH GOD! AAAHHHHH!"
It was really bizarre. I couldn't tell if this woman was doing a Meg Ryan impersonation, giving birth, in excruciating pain, highly distraught, or was just crazy.
People were not even being discreet about looking towards the back of the train where she was yelling, heads craning all around me to get a better look at what was going on. Since I had just passed her on my way to my seat I felt like everyone was looking to me to roll my eyes or make some sort of comment about what was going on back there. Instead I tucked my head down and continued scribbling at my pad of paper fighting the urge to turn around and gawk.
However, the inexorable moaning from the back of the car was slicing into my thoughts like a cleaver. My pen remained raised above my pad of paper for a good several minutes before I could remember what I was trying to write down.
"AAAAHHHHH! JEESUS! OH GOD! OOOHHHHHHH!"
In between all the yelling and cursing she would either laugh, with an edge of hysteria, or mutter to herself. About the time she shouted out, "A SIGN OF THE DEVIL!" I decided she was just crazy and probably off her meds, and tried to decide if it would be a good idea to get off of the train just in case she were to get really out of control.
Finally I heard her say, "No, I'll be fine thank you," and assumed a fellow passenger had gotten the balls to ask her if she was alright. After this she seemed to quiet down, almost as if she realized she hadn't been doing all of her screaming in her head like she thought she had been doing.
Not surprisingly, when the train pulled up in front of the Kaiser Permenante the screaming started up again, "I'M GETTING OFF HERE! EXCUSE ME! I'M GETTING OFF AT THIS STTOOOOPPP!"
All the heads at my end of the train swiveled around towards the window on the door opening to the platform, everyone waiting with bated breath to catch a glimpse of the crazy woman, barrel-chested with short graying cropped hair, run-walking her way into the out-patient clinic.
inexorable
\in-EK-sur-uh-bul; in-EKS-ruh-bul\ , adjective;
1. Not to be persuaded or moved by entreaty or prayer; firm; determined; unyielding; unchangeable; inflexible; relentless.
I got on the light rail and as I made my way through the crowded aisles I noticed an unspoken restlessness among the passengers. Uncertain about what was causing the agitation I took my seat and pulled out my pad of paper to jot down my to-do list for when I got home.
"OHHHH! OOOHHHH! OH JESUS!"
I lifted my head up at the sound of the woman yelling half a car down from my seat.
"OOOH GOD! OHHH GOD! AAAHHHHH!"
It was really bizarre. I couldn't tell if this woman was doing a Meg Ryan impersonation, giving birth, in excruciating pain, highly distraught, or was just crazy.
People were not even being discreet about looking towards the back of the train where she was yelling, heads craning all around me to get a better look at what was going on. Since I had just passed her on my way to my seat I felt like everyone was looking to me to roll my eyes or make some sort of comment about what was going on back there. Instead I tucked my head down and continued scribbling at my pad of paper fighting the urge to turn around and gawk.
However, the inexorable moaning from the back of the car was slicing into my thoughts like a cleaver. My pen remained raised above my pad of paper for a good several minutes before I could remember what I was trying to write down.
"AAAAHHHHH! JEESUS! OH GOD! OOOHHHHHHH!"
In between all the yelling and cursing she would either laugh, with an edge of hysteria, or mutter to herself. About the time she shouted out, "A SIGN OF THE DEVIL!" I decided she was just crazy and probably off her meds, and tried to decide if it would be a good idea to get off of the train just in case she were to get really out of control.
Finally I heard her say, "No, I'll be fine thank you," and assumed a fellow passenger had gotten the balls to ask her if she was alright. After this she seemed to quiet down, almost as if she realized she hadn't been doing all of her screaming in her head like she thought she had been doing.
Not surprisingly, when the train pulled up in front of the Kaiser Permenante the screaming started up again, "I'M GETTING OFF HERE! EXCUSE ME! I'M GETTING OFF AT THIS STTOOOOPPP!"
All the heads at my end of the train swiveled around towards the window on the door opening to the platform, everyone waiting with bated breath to catch a glimpse of the crazy woman, barrel-chested with short graying cropped hair, run-walking her way into the out-patient clinic.
Vivify
Word of the Day Monday, February 15, 2010
vivify
\VIV-uh-fy\ , transitive verb;
1. To endue with life; to make alive; to animate.
2. To make more lively or intense.
Marvin slouched down further in his seat and struggled to keep his eyes open. The lecture hall was overly warm and stuffy, and Professor Hilldebrand was droning on in his usual monotone creating a perfect atmosphere for a nap. Marvin had always figured that if he made it to the lecture for his classes he would probably glean at least a little bit of knowledge for the effort, but as he looked down at the notes in front of him it was apparent that he had perfected the art of taking notes on autopilot. Luckily he was taking the class as a GPA buffer.
He looked out the window and saw that they drizzly Seattle morning had cleared up into a beautifully clear afternoon. Blue skies in February in Seattle was one occurrence that Marvin always felt extremely grateful for. Waiting out the long winter months of overcast skies and rain always started to seem like a mandatory sentencing, an unexpected preview of summer always felt like a winning lottery ticket. Of course, most of his classmates had decided not to go tot class that day, and considering that he easily could have taken his nap outside in the sun surrounded by the freshly bloomed daffodils, he forlornly wished he was skipping class as well.
The thought of enjoying a preview of spring and the return of the greenery in Seattle landscape had a vivifying effect on him, and instead of being rudely awaken at the end of the lecture he was one of the first students to scramble his papers together and bolt out the door. In his haste he neglected to notice the tall, slim, blonde girl coming around the corner finishing up the couple of notes to her Comparative Religion class and he collided into her creating a grandiose spillage of paper across the hallway.
A frown creased the girl's pretty forehead and Marvin immediately started to babble his defense. "What exactly is the emergency?" she interrupted his rambling impatiently. "I, uh, I need to go take a nap under the daffodils," he blurted out. A hint of a smile peaked at the corner of her mouth, "Really?" she asked skeptically. "Oh you know, 'In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.' " he repeated with a crooked smile.
The frown on the girl's forehead had melted completely and had been replaced with a smile, "My name is Diane, and I'd like to go see this daffodil napping place of yours."
vivify
\VIV-uh-fy\ , transitive verb;
1. To endue with life; to make alive; to animate.
2. To make more lively or intense.
Marvin slouched down further in his seat and struggled to keep his eyes open. The lecture hall was overly warm and stuffy, and Professor Hilldebrand was droning on in his usual monotone creating a perfect atmosphere for a nap. Marvin had always figured that if he made it to the lecture for his classes he would probably glean at least a little bit of knowledge for the effort, but as he looked down at the notes in front of him it was apparent that he had perfected the art of taking notes on autopilot. Luckily he was taking the class as a GPA buffer.
He looked out the window and saw that they drizzly Seattle morning had cleared up into a beautifully clear afternoon. Blue skies in February in Seattle was one occurrence that Marvin always felt extremely grateful for. Waiting out the long winter months of overcast skies and rain always started to seem like a mandatory sentencing, an unexpected preview of summer always felt like a winning lottery ticket. Of course, most of his classmates had decided not to go tot class that day, and considering that he easily could have taken his nap outside in the sun surrounded by the freshly bloomed daffodils, he forlornly wished he was skipping class as well.
The thought of enjoying a preview of spring and the return of the greenery in Seattle landscape had a vivifying effect on him, and instead of being rudely awaken at the end of the lecture he was one of the first students to scramble his papers together and bolt out the door. In his haste he neglected to notice the tall, slim, blonde girl coming around the corner finishing up the couple of notes to her Comparative Religion class and he collided into her creating a grandiose spillage of paper across the hallway.
A frown creased the girl's pretty forehead and Marvin immediately started to babble his defense. "What exactly is the emergency?" she interrupted his rambling impatiently. "I, uh, I need to go take a nap under the daffodils," he blurted out. A hint of a smile peaked at the corner of her mouth, "Really?" she asked skeptically. "Oh you know, 'In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.' " he repeated with a crooked smile.
The frown on the girl's forehead had melted completely and had been replaced with a smile, "My name is Diane, and I'd like to go see this daffodil napping place of yours."
Billet-doux
Word of the Day Sunday, February 14, 2010
billet-doux
\bil-ay-DOO\ , noun;
plural billets-doux \bil-ay-DOO(Z)\
1. A love letter or note.
"Whatcha doing honey?" Diane asked approaching Marvin from the driveway.
Marvin looked up, he was knee deep in dirt with mud smudges across his forehead. Two-thirds of the yard was dug up, and a large pile of bulbs sat piled up next to the pick-up truck.
"Hey baby!" he replied cheerfully looking up at her.
"I'm doing really well….honey, why is the yard all torn up?" Diane continued.
"It is my billet-doux to ou," he replied sweeping his arms wide.
"Really? Did you really need to tear up the entire yard?" she asked.
"Of course! I have $1500 worth of bulbs over there, I have to put them somewhere," Marvin replied picking up his trowel again.
"$1500?!?" Marvin! We are supposed to talk about money issues, you know plan our finances together!" Diane exclaimed.
"Honey, I'm going to make bazillions of dollars and we'll retire at age 35. However, this is important. You'll just have to wait a little bit to see why," he replied with a wide smile.
….
Five months later, the first of the daffodils had been poking through the winter flower beds for the past two weeks, splashes of gold against the dreary winter sky. The dancing daffodils bounced lightly in the wind and from the attic window Diane smiled upon $1500 worth of daffodil bulbs sweetly proclaiming "With Love".
billet-doux
\bil-ay-DOO\ , noun;
plural billets-doux \bil-ay-DOO(Z)\
1. A love letter or note.
"Whatcha doing honey?" Diane asked approaching Marvin from the driveway.
Marvin looked up, he was knee deep in dirt with mud smudges across his forehead. Two-thirds of the yard was dug up, and a large pile of bulbs sat piled up next to the pick-up truck.
"Hey baby!" he replied cheerfully looking up at her.
"I'm doing really well….honey, why is the yard all torn up?" Diane continued.
"It is my billet-doux to ou," he replied sweeping his arms wide.
"Really? Did you really need to tear up the entire yard?" she asked.
"Of course! I have $1500 worth of bulbs over there, I have to put them somewhere," Marvin replied picking up his trowel again.
"$1500?!?" Marvin! We are supposed to talk about money issues, you know plan our finances together!" Diane exclaimed.
"Honey, I'm going to make bazillions of dollars and we'll retire at age 35. However, this is important. You'll just have to wait a little bit to see why," he replied with a wide smile.
….
Five months later, the first of the daffodils had been poking through the winter flower beds for the past two weeks, splashes of gold against the dreary winter sky. The dancing daffodils bounced lightly in the wind and from the attic window Diane smiled upon $1500 worth of daffodil bulbs sweetly proclaiming "With Love".
Monday, February 15, 2010
Cupidity
Word of the Day Saturday, February 13, 2010
cupidity
\kyoo-PID-uh-tee\ , noun;
1. Eager or excessive desire, especially for wealth; greed; avarice.
He propped his elbows up on the bar and settled into his seat. A red vinyl covered stool, hooking his boots into the rungs. He had taken the gig as music reviewer for the money. He could write a scathing, snarky review without knowing a whole lot about music, and he quickly found that if he used enough polysyllabic words the masses seemed to respect his opinions even more.
The bartender brought him his whiskey, he nodded his appreciation and turned his stool around to face the stage. He made a couple of notes about the atmosphere, or lack there of, and the dreariness of the bar. Generic, uninspired, not geared towards music but towards the propagation of mainstream ideas. Blah blah blah, his usual Ivory Tower tripe.
He sighed and took another sip off his whiskey. He couldn't imagine continuing this gig for much longer, he was starting to disgust himself with the bullshit he spewed out. He liked tearing people to shreds and all, but this wasn't even challenging. He spun the stool from side to side slightly. Okay, well, what would be challenging? Ha, trying to selling this place as actually hip he thought with a bitter laugh.
But then he stopped laughing. That would actually be kind of an interesting challenge. To give this place a review that wouldn't ruin his reputation as an honest reviewer, but to take a place that wasn't special and try to turn it around purely by his review alone.
He relished his own hubris, seeing it for exactly what it was, a cupidity for power bubbling underneath him like a stew coming to a boil, but not really caring how arrogant it made him. Someone had to tell the rest of the world what to think about things, why not him? And so he started to scribble furiously into his notepad deciding with a quick look around the bar that this place would now be the hangout of choice for the urban cowboy at heart.
cupidity
\kyoo-PID-uh-tee\ , noun;
1. Eager or excessive desire, especially for wealth; greed; avarice.
He propped his elbows up on the bar and settled into his seat. A red vinyl covered stool, hooking his boots into the rungs. He had taken the gig as music reviewer for the money. He could write a scathing, snarky review without knowing a whole lot about music, and he quickly found that if he used enough polysyllabic words the masses seemed to respect his opinions even more.
The bartender brought him his whiskey, he nodded his appreciation and turned his stool around to face the stage. He made a couple of notes about the atmosphere, or lack there of, and the dreariness of the bar. Generic, uninspired, not geared towards music but towards the propagation of mainstream ideas. Blah blah blah, his usual Ivory Tower tripe.
He sighed and took another sip off his whiskey. He couldn't imagine continuing this gig for much longer, he was starting to disgust himself with the bullshit he spewed out. He liked tearing people to shreds and all, but this wasn't even challenging. He spun the stool from side to side slightly. Okay, well, what would be challenging? Ha, trying to selling this place as actually hip he thought with a bitter laugh.
But then he stopped laughing. That would actually be kind of an interesting challenge. To give this place a review that wouldn't ruin his reputation as an honest reviewer, but to take a place that wasn't special and try to turn it around purely by his review alone.
He relished his own hubris, seeing it for exactly what it was, a cupidity for power bubbling underneath him like a stew coming to a boil, but not really caring how arrogant it made him. Someone had to tell the rest of the world what to think about things, why not him? And so he started to scribble furiously into his notepad deciding with a quick look around the bar that this place would now be the hangout of choice for the urban cowboy at heart.
Quietus
Word of the Day Friday, February 12, 2010
quietus
\kwy-EE-tuhs\ , noun;
1. Final discharge or acquittance, as from debt or obligation.
2. Removal from activity; rest; death.
3. Something that serves to suppress or quiet.
Marvin didn't look up from the papers in front of him when he heard the heeled shoes click into his office.
"Mister Cohen," a feminine voice chirped at him. He grunted, still not looking up from his papers.
"I'm just here to remind you that Ms. Duncan is still waiting to see you int he lobby."
"I have already told you twice today, Lilly, that I'm not going to speak to Ms. Duncan. Why hasn't she been escorted out of my building yet? I have no idea why I even need to ask you this," Marvin snapped finally looking up from his papers.
Lilly stood her ground, staring at Marvin without blinking, "Lilly. It isn't going to happen," he said again. Lilly lightly tapped her fingers together, still not saying anything. Marvin gave her an exasperated look. "You are being a buffoon, if I may say so Mister Cohen," Lilly answered in a pleasant voice.
"Fine," he snapped, "Bring her in." Lilly walked out to the room briskly and returned shortly with a small, dark haired woman who sat down in the chair oppose his desk without waiting for permission. Her purse primly perched on her lap.
"Ms. Duncan, welcome, I'm so honored to have you here. What can I do for you?" Marvin gushed with obviously falseness.
"I'm not here to grant to you quietus Mister Cohen," she replied tersely.
Marvin felt his face fall slightly, "Of course not. I would never imagine such a thing. So, tell me, Ms. Duncan. What exactly are you here for?" he asked harshly.
Her eyebrows lifted a tick, "Nothing you don't have to give," she replied.
Game on, thought Marvin leaning back slightly in his chair.
quietus
\kwy-EE-tuhs\ , noun;
1. Final discharge or acquittance, as from debt or obligation.
2. Removal from activity; rest; death.
3. Something that serves to suppress or quiet.
Marvin didn't look up from the papers in front of him when he heard the heeled shoes click into his office.
"Mister Cohen," a feminine voice chirped at him. He grunted, still not looking up from his papers.
"I'm just here to remind you that Ms. Duncan is still waiting to see you int he lobby."
"I have already told you twice today, Lilly, that I'm not going to speak to Ms. Duncan. Why hasn't she been escorted out of my building yet? I have no idea why I even need to ask you this," Marvin snapped finally looking up from his papers.
Lilly stood her ground, staring at Marvin without blinking, "Lilly. It isn't going to happen," he said again. Lilly lightly tapped her fingers together, still not saying anything. Marvin gave her an exasperated look. "You are being a buffoon, if I may say so Mister Cohen," Lilly answered in a pleasant voice.
"Fine," he snapped, "Bring her in." Lilly walked out to the room briskly and returned shortly with a small, dark haired woman who sat down in the chair oppose his desk without waiting for permission. Her purse primly perched on her lap.
"Ms. Duncan, welcome, I'm so honored to have you here. What can I do for you?" Marvin gushed with obviously falseness.
"I'm not here to grant to you quietus Mister Cohen," she replied tersely.
Marvin felt his face fall slightly, "Of course not. I would never imagine such a thing. So, tell me, Ms. Duncan. What exactly are you here for?" he asked harshly.
Her eyebrows lifted a tick, "Nothing you don't have to give," she replied.
Game on, thought Marvin leaning back slightly in his chair.
Playing Catch-up
Wow, who knew no Wi-fi would be such a frickin' problem?!?
So, not only am I trying to play catch up, I also didn't have access to the word of the day for Sunday. So, yeah, I guess TECHNICALLY I didn't write a story yesterday, but I'll be all caught up tomorrow and we can all pretend it never happened.
Word of the Day Thursday, February 11, 2010
coquetry
\KOH-ki-tree; koh-KE-tree\ , noun;
1. Dalliance; flirtation.
She stood in line somewhat impatiently. She wasn't even at the grocery store because she needed food but because she was on a date.
Ok, well, not really a real date. But the closest she came to dating. Granted, her social life was pretty pitiful, what, being reducing to her outings for grocery shopping and the brief imaginary coquetry she dabbled in with the better looking produce manager and the one cute, although somewhat pudgy evening shift checker.
But really, it was a very intimate thing, to let someone see the things that you purchase, reflecting your desires, cravings, vices, secret ailments and bodily failures. In some ways a grocery check-out stand was almost a modern day confessional. Absolving a person of whatever sins their purchases divulged. Condoms. Triple Fudge ice-cream. Metamucil. Martha Stewart Magazine.
Plus, all the groping and squeezing of fruit in the produce section. It was totally primal and laced with sexual innuendo. Now if she could just start a conversation it one of these men that would be a great first start.
So, not only am I trying to play catch up, I also didn't have access to the word of the day for Sunday. So, yeah, I guess TECHNICALLY I didn't write a story yesterday, but I'll be all caught up tomorrow and we can all pretend it never happened.
Word of the Day Thursday, February 11, 2010
coquetry
\KOH-ki-tree; koh-KE-tree\ , noun;
1. Dalliance; flirtation.
She stood in line somewhat impatiently. She wasn't even at the grocery store because she needed food but because she was on a date.
Ok, well, not really a real date. But the closest she came to dating. Granted, her social life was pretty pitiful, what, being reducing to her outings for grocery shopping and the brief imaginary coquetry she dabbled in with the better looking produce manager and the one cute, although somewhat pudgy evening shift checker.
But really, it was a very intimate thing, to let someone see the things that you purchase, reflecting your desires, cravings, vices, secret ailments and bodily failures. In some ways a grocery check-out stand was almost a modern day confessional. Absolving a person of whatever sins their purchases divulged. Condoms. Triple Fudge ice-cream. Metamucil. Martha Stewart Magazine.
Plus, all the groping and squeezing of fruit in the produce section. It was totally primal and laced with sexual innuendo. Now if she could just start a conversation it one of these men that would be a great first start.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Long Weekend
Hey all.....we are headed out of town for a long weekend yurt camping. We will be roughing it in the extreme. Which is to say the camp-site has no Wi-Fi.
:::::scream of horror:::::
You guys will basically get a novel when I get back, since Rock Band 2 has been taking precedence over posting my stories the last couple of days.
What?
I can totally rock the guitar on medium already.
:::::scream of horror:::::
You guys will basically get a novel when I get back, since Rock Band 2 has been taking precedence over posting my stories the last couple of days.
What?
I can totally rock the guitar on medium already.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tarradiddle, not to be confused with a Yankee Doodle
Word of the Day Wednesday, February 10, 2010
tarradiddle
\tair-uh-DID-uhl\ , noun;
also taradiddle
1. A petty falsehood; a fib.
2. Pretentious nonsense.
"Hey, it is me. I was just calling to see where you were at," he said into his self phone. She noticed that his free arm unconsciously wrapped around his chest tightly as if he were protecting himself.
"You are up at Jamison Park? Oh, taking her swimming. Sure," he was pacing in small circles, clearly agitated.
"We're at a wine tasting in the Park blocks outside of the Art Museum, we just got done with the Impressionist exhibit," he murmured.
Suddenly he made a face, exasperation and disgust distorting his normally good natured face.
"Yeah, I go to the Art Museum. Fine. We'll be there soon. Bye." He hung up the phone.
"What was with the face?" she asked as casually as possible, sliding her hand into the small of his back. He was still pacing around, moving to and from her hand.
"In a word, tarradiddle. Christ, that woman. I mentioned that we were at the Art Museum and her response was, 'Fascinating! I didn't know YOU went to the Art Museum'. YES, I go to the Art Museum. Anyway, are you ready to go?" he asked trying to change the subject in his head as well.
"If we must," she replied with a falsely brave smile. She knew full well who they were on their way to meet, and the red flags were waving briskly in the wind.
tarradiddle
\tair-uh-DID-uhl\ , noun;
also taradiddle
1. A petty falsehood; a fib.
2. Pretentious nonsense.
"Hey, it is me. I was just calling to see where you were at," he said into his self phone. She noticed that his free arm unconsciously wrapped around his chest tightly as if he were protecting himself.
"You are up at Jamison Park? Oh, taking her swimming. Sure," he was pacing in small circles, clearly agitated.
"We're at a wine tasting in the Park blocks outside of the Art Museum, we just got done with the Impressionist exhibit," he murmured.
Suddenly he made a face, exasperation and disgust distorting his normally good natured face.
"Yeah, I go to the Art Museum. Fine. We'll be there soon. Bye." He hung up the phone.
"What was with the face?" she asked as casually as possible, sliding her hand into the small of his back. He was still pacing around, moving to and from her hand.
"In a word, tarradiddle. Christ, that woman. I mentioned that we were at the Art Museum and her response was, 'Fascinating! I didn't know YOU went to the Art Museum'. YES, I go to the Art Museum. Anyway, are you ready to go?" he asked trying to change the subject in his head as well.
"If we must," she replied with a falsely brave smile. She knew full well who they were on their way to meet, and the red flags were waving briskly in the wind.
Vitiate Me Baby
Wow, that blog title just never gets old, does it?
Wilco was awesome, but I'll save that story for another night.
Word of the Day Tuesday, February 09, 2010
vitiate
\VISH-ee-ayt\ , transitive verb;
1. To make faulty or imperfect; to render defective; to impair; as, "exaggeration vitiates a style of writing."
2. To corrupt morally; to debase.
3. To render ineffective; as, "fraud vitiates a contract."
Jonah leaned back in his seat and took in the crowd. A mix of mostly thirties and forties. Hip looking, but with plenty of beards and balding heads. It blew his mind that the open house was allowing pints of beer into the seating arena. Albeit, the pints had to have little plastic lids on the little plastic ups. Glorified adult sippy cups but it was still beer in the opera house. But he supposed in this economy it made sense to let people spend their money more freely.
The sour looking elderly usher briskly lead couples to their seats as the house started to fill up. He smirked trying to imagine her rocking out to a rock band in the aisles.
It had been long time since he had last been on the stage. No amplifiers and electric guitars, but cellos and mandolins. Whatever, he thought, looking away from the stage. A different life.
And as the lights went down and the cheers erupted from the crowd, he discretely pulled out his pipe and quickly took a quick toke. A final act of vitiation to the setting of his downfall and humiliation, leaving dozens of rows all around him sharply sniffing at the air while they all clapped in unison
Wilco was awesome, but I'll save that story for another night.
Word of the Day Tuesday, February 09, 2010
vitiate
\VISH-ee-ayt\ , transitive verb;
1. To make faulty or imperfect; to render defective; to impair; as, "exaggeration vitiates a style of writing."
2. To corrupt morally; to debase.
3. To render ineffective; as, "fraud vitiates a contract."
Jonah leaned back in his seat and took in the crowd. A mix of mostly thirties and forties. Hip looking, but with plenty of beards and balding heads. It blew his mind that the open house was allowing pints of beer into the seating arena. Albeit, the pints had to have little plastic lids on the little plastic ups. Glorified adult sippy cups but it was still beer in the opera house. But he supposed in this economy it made sense to let people spend their money more freely.
The sour looking elderly usher briskly lead couples to their seats as the house started to fill up. He smirked trying to imagine her rocking out to a rock band in the aisles.
It had been long time since he had last been on the stage. No amplifiers and electric guitars, but cellos and mandolins. Whatever, he thought, looking away from the stage. A different life.
And as the lights went down and the cheers erupted from the crowd, he discretely pulled out his pipe and quickly took a quick toke. A final act of vitiation to the setting of his downfall and humiliation, leaving dozens of rows all around him sharply sniffing at the air while they all clapped in unison
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Approbation Me Baby
First, some gratuitous photos of the Pookies, just because they are just so darn tootin' cute!
Mr. Zimmerman is too sexy for the cat-walk.
And Princess Sassy-Face using the Cute Factor to stay out of trouble.
So, Ken and I are going to a Wilco show tonight, I'll write my story up, but you all won't get it tonight. But don't forget....Wilco will love you baby.
Word of the Day Monday, February 08, 2010
approbation
\ap-ruh-BAY-shuhn\ , noun;
1. The act of approving; formal or official approval.
2. Praise; commendation.
At first the envelope startled her, being sent from the Federal Government and all, and right before tax season. A thin manilla envelope. Then she saw a second letter from the same office and her stomach did an involuntary flip, because Christ, TWO letters? It was starting to look like some serious shit. Then she reread the title of the office where the letters were actually sent from, already mentally building her case of innocence, and started to vaguely recall writing a check out to the Department of State recently. What was that? And then with a magicians crack the smoky realization of what was in the envelope appeared before her.
She quickly tore the envelope open and slid the little blue passport booklet out into her hand.
She riffled her thumb through the crisp, new pages in awe of the freedom it bestowed upon her. This feeling was quickly followed by an intense urge to get the brand, sparkling, new book dirtied up a little with stamps, airport grime, and exotic dirt from far away lands. Her first thought was to call Leonard up and blurt out what she was now the proud owner of, hungry for his approbation on this particular matter. She figured the only reason she had the passport to begin with was because of him, he should be the first person to know about it.
However, she had actually never told him she had applied for the passport in the first place. She knew that he had invited her to Africa, almost begged her to come, but after that first invitation he had never mentioned her and the trip together again. Now, she wasn't quite sure how to broach the topic again.
Definitely a celebration of some sort, because hell, she was on her way to Africa.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
It Has Been a Really Pleasant Day
Now, I'm 31 years old and I'll make no secret of the fact that Ken and I have discussed the possibility of, expanding the brood, so to speak.
I have a whole list of fantastically selfish reasons for and against having a child, because let's be realistic, there is no other reason for having a child other than the fact that we would want to.
Having helped raise a child for the last six years I have a whole list of reasons why it seems like a fantastically bad idea, and I have also been fortunate enough to know how cool it would be. But I have to say that the main, really selfish, reason I have at the moment is that I feel like Ken and I have already had the job of parenting together and I think it would be really fucking cool to actually have the experience of raising a child together where we would get to make ALL the decisions.
Case in point. Fucking Girl Scouts.
Now, let me just say upfront, I don't support Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts. I have a major objection to their bigoted stance on homosexuals and I'm morally opposed to supporting them based solely on this fact. I also really don't like the religious agenda of the Girl Scouts.
So, I was dismayed when Tootsie-pop was signed up for this particular extra-curricular activity. I'd also like to point out that Ken and I were not consulted about whether or not we wanted Tootsie-pop in Girl Scouts, and I for one have only very grudgingly supported her involvement.
I can easily list off 1000 things off the top of my head that I would rather do than participate in Girl Scout bullshit with my weekend time. Yet here we are.
So my irritation over the fact that Tootsie-pop's mother decided it would be a good idea to get on our case about how Ken and I aren't doing enough to sell Tootsie-pop's fucking Girl Scout cookies pissed me off at the time she chose to open her god damn mouth, and I'm still over the top pissed about it.
Needless to say, today's story is hardly fiction.
Word of the Day Sunday, February 07, 2010
ignoramus
\ig-nuh-RAY-mus\ , noun;
1. An ignorant person; a dunce.
She wasn't an ignoramus. She knew the rules of the game, mainly that they had been created in a way that left her at a disadvantage. But her husband was a skilled diplomat and negotiator. A professional mediator. She felt for him when she watched him using those skills trying to defuse her own hair trigger temper.
It just wasn't fair.
And she would be goddamned if this last offense was going to go with a turned cheek.
Her husband had pleaded with her not to write the email that was firing off her tongue, punctuated with the vocabulary of a sailor.
Ka-BOOM! Christ how she would love to see the email shrapnel from that one. The vicious verbal attacks being hurled like satisfying handfuls of gloppy mud. It would be a relief to let the torrent of names and insults come pouring from her mouth into the ear of that woman.
Unfortunately she knew that any action of hers would came back to land on her husband. That stacked deck of rules, she thought bitterly to herself. That and the fact that her husband always gently reminded her of whenever she found herself with the blood lust to send hateful emails flowing through her temples.
It is all about the innocents. They don't do those sorts of things because of the collateral damage that would be inflicted on the only person reinforcing the bond in the first place.
She felt trapped, and really just wanted to kick someone in the head. Unfortunately she had just made the untimely decision to quit her kickboxing gym.
I have a whole list of fantastically selfish reasons for and against having a child, because let's be realistic, there is no other reason for having a child other than the fact that we would want to.
Having helped raise a child for the last six years I have a whole list of reasons why it seems like a fantastically bad idea, and I have also been fortunate enough to know how cool it would be. But I have to say that the main, really selfish, reason I have at the moment is that I feel like Ken and I have already had the job of parenting together and I think it would be really fucking cool to actually have the experience of raising a child together where we would get to make ALL the decisions.
Case in point. Fucking Girl Scouts.
Now, let me just say upfront, I don't support Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts. I have a major objection to their bigoted stance on homosexuals and I'm morally opposed to supporting them based solely on this fact. I also really don't like the religious agenda of the Girl Scouts.
So, I was dismayed when Tootsie-pop was signed up for this particular extra-curricular activity. I'd also like to point out that Ken and I were not consulted about whether or not we wanted Tootsie-pop in Girl Scouts, and I for one have only very grudgingly supported her involvement.
I can easily list off 1000 things off the top of my head that I would rather do than participate in Girl Scout bullshit with my weekend time. Yet here we are.
So my irritation over the fact that Tootsie-pop's mother decided it would be a good idea to get on our case about how Ken and I aren't doing enough to sell Tootsie-pop's fucking Girl Scout cookies pissed me off at the time she chose to open her god damn mouth, and I'm still over the top pissed about it.
Needless to say, today's story is hardly fiction.
Word of the Day Sunday, February 07, 2010
ignoramus
\ig-nuh-RAY-mus\ , noun;
1. An ignorant person; a dunce.
She wasn't an ignoramus. She knew the rules of the game, mainly that they had been created in a way that left her at a disadvantage. But her husband was a skilled diplomat and negotiator. A professional mediator. She felt for him when she watched him using those skills trying to defuse her own hair trigger temper.
It just wasn't fair.
And she would be goddamned if this last offense was going to go with a turned cheek.
Her husband had pleaded with her not to write the email that was firing off her tongue, punctuated with the vocabulary of a sailor.
Ka-BOOM! Christ how she would love to see the email shrapnel from that one. The vicious verbal attacks being hurled like satisfying handfuls of gloppy mud. It would be a relief to let the torrent of names and insults come pouring from her mouth into the ear of that woman.
Unfortunately she knew that any action of hers would came back to land on her husband. That stacked deck of rules, she thought bitterly to herself. That and the fact that her husband always gently reminded her of whenever she found herself with the blood lust to send hateful emails flowing through her temples.
It is all about the innocents. They don't do those sorts of things because of the collateral damage that would be inflicted on the only person reinforcing the bond in the first place.
She felt trapped, and really just wanted to kick someone in the head. Unfortunately she had just made the untimely decision to quit her kickboxing gym.
OMG....We now own a Playstation 3
I'm pretty sure I know why they call it a Wii.....it is because that is the noise you make when you are sliding down the slippery slope that is video games.
See you at the bottom my friends!
Word of the Day Saturday, February 06, 2010
eschew
\es-CHOO\ , transitive verb;
1. To shun; to avoid (as something wrong or distasteful).
It was really all due to her overwhelming competitive nature. It was inherent, her need to win at all costs. Those costs including friendship and love apparently. On more than one occasion, and she wasn't proud of this fact, she had stormed out of a boyfriend's house due to the fact that he wouldn't let her win at the board game they happened to be playing.
But dammit. She was smarter than all of them! She should be able to beat them at a fricking board game!
That was really how she knew Chuck was the one man she would spend the rest of her life with.
When they first started dating, and she thought he was fantastically cute with his chunky black framed glasses and stubbly beard she had merely demurred when it came to board games. Of course, when she mentioned that she would rather make out on his couch than play a board game, Trivial Pursuit rarely came up again in conversation again.
However, after they had inexplicably remained a couple for more than two or three months, Chuck's love of games quickly became apparent. The fascinating part was that he just liked to play them. Not win them. Play them. And eventually she couldn't quite talk her way out of playing anymore.
"Look," she told him, "The truth is that I'm a really bad loser. Like, really bad. Embarrassingly bad loser. You'll break up with me. Wouldn't you rather make out on the couch?"
He laughed, and clearly didn't believe her.
Later when he suggested that she meet some of his friends across town and play some Playstation games together, "Don't you remember what I told you about the games? I wasn't kidding. Your friends will hate me if I play video games against them. I'll be the bitch ex-girlfriend that threw a fit over losing the James Bond game,"
He stared at her a moment, "Did that happen in college or something?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, "Sophomore year. I couldn't figure out how the guns worked the gave Jeff a black eye when I threw the controller across the room."
Chuck smiled, "You know what? Games have gotten better these days. You can actually play games instead of just compete. We'll play some Rock Band together. We'll be a team, and no one will need to get a black eye."
And they lived happily ever after.
See you at the bottom my friends!
Word of the Day Saturday, February 06, 2010
eschew
\es-CHOO\ , transitive verb;
1. To shun; to avoid (as something wrong or distasteful).
It was really all due to her overwhelming competitive nature. It was inherent, her need to win at all costs. Those costs including friendship and love apparently. On more than one occasion, and she wasn't proud of this fact, she had stormed out of a boyfriend's house due to the fact that he wouldn't let her win at the board game they happened to be playing.
But dammit. She was smarter than all of them! She should be able to beat them at a fricking board game!
That was really how she knew Chuck was the one man she would spend the rest of her life with.
When they first started dating, and she thought he was fantastically cute with his chunky black framed glasses and stubbly beard she had merely demurred when it came to board games. Of course, when she mentioned that she would rather make out on his couch than play a board game, Trivial Pursuit rarely came up again in conversation again.
However, after they had inexplicably remained a couple for more than two or three months, Chuck's love of games quickly became apparent. The fascinating part was that he just liked to play them. Not win them. Play them. And eventually she couldn't quite talk her way out of playing anymore.
"Look," she told him, "The truth is that I'm a really bad loser. Like, really bad. Embarrassingly bad loser. You'll break up with me. Wouldn't you rather make out on the couch?"
He laughed, and clearly didn't believe her.
Later when he suggested that she meet some of his friends across town and play some Playstation games together, "Don't you remember what I told you about the games? I wasn't kidding. Your friends will hate me if I play video games against them. I'll be the bitch ex-girlfriend that threw a fit over losing the James Bond game,"
He stared at her a moment, "Did that happen in college or something?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, "Sophomore year. I couldn't figure out how the guns worked the gave Jeff a black eye when I threw the controller across the room."
Chuck smiled, "You know what? Games have gotten better these days. You can actually play games instead of just compete. We'll play some Rock Band together. We'll be a team, and no one will need to get a black eye."
And they lived happily ever after.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Extra Late
Once again I have gotten my stories written each day but I don't get them posted. Yesterday it was due to the fact that Ken and I are the most boring couple in the world.
See, we had been invited out dancing at 80's Night at the Crystal Ballroom, but I was dog-ass tired and we decided instead that it would be a good idea to stay home, make pizza and watch TV on DVD.
It was about 9:30 and I had Mr. Z on my lap, and Ken had Princess Sassy-Face in his lap, and we had already watched three episodes of Weeds when I turned to Ken and said,
"We are the most boring couple in the world. And I absolutely love it."
Here is a picture of me getting my story written out in between episodes of Weeds last night.
Word of the Day Friday, February 05, 2010
distrait
\dis-TRAY\ , adjective;
1. Divided or withdrawn in attention, especially because of anxiety.
He silently gnawed on his fingernail distraitly glancing out the window. His thumbnail started to bleed but he kept picking away at it. How could he be so stupid? He never had anything but good intentions, but somehow his plans never quite worked out the way he thought they would.
Seriously, al he wanted to do was get all of his family together for dinner. How exactly it turned into this particular level of hell he wasn't exactly sure. All he knew now was that he would rather not eat dinner at all that night. He peaked out of the corner of the kitchen window again for the tenth time in the last five minutes.
Just then he saw his brother's Range Rover pull up along the front driveway.
More wine, he thought to himself, we are definitely going to need another bottle of wine, and he busied himself with the corkscrew as his wife went to go answer the door.
See, we had been invited out dancing at 80's Night at the Crystal Ballroom, but I was dog-ass tired and we decided instead that it would be a good idea to stay home, make pizza and watch TV on DVD.
It was about 9:30 and I had Mr. Z on my lap, and Ken had Princess Sassy-Face in his lap, and we had already watched three episodes of Weeds when I turned to Ken and said,
"We are the most boring couple in the world. And I absolutely love it."
Here is a picture of me getting my story written out in between episodes of Weeds last night.
Word of the Day Friday, February 05, 2010
distrait
\dis-TRAY\ , adjective;
1. Divided or withdrawn in attention, especially because of anxiety.
He silently gnawed on his fingernail distraitly glancing out the window. His thumbnail started to bleed but he kept picking away at it. How could he be so stupid? He never had anything but good intentions, but somehow his plans never quite worked out the way he thought they would.
Seriously, al he wanted to do was get all of his family together for dinner. How exactly it turned into this particular level of hell he wasn't exactly sure. All he knew now was that he would rather not eat dinner at all that night. He peaked out of the corner of the kitchen window again for the tenth time in the last five minutes.
Just then he saw his brother's Range Rover pull up along the front driveway.
More wine, he thought to himself, we are definitely going to need another bottle of wine, and he busied himself with the corkscrew as his wife went to go answer the door.
Late
Word of the Day Thursday, February 04, 2010
pecuniary
\pih-KYOO-nee-air-ee\ , adjective;
1. Relating to money; monetary.
2. Consisting of money.
3. Requiring payment of money.
She did what she usually did in situations such as these and quickly changed the subject. She had been raised to avoid the public discussion of pecuniary issues.
"Only the uncouth and the noisy talk about money," her father had admonished one afternoon in his elegant and leather clad office. She had solemnly nodded her head silently wishing that she had asked him about her allowance sooner.
She turned her attention back to her very cute date and tried to ignore the echo of her father's words as he started prattling on about the bill gratuity again.
pecuniary
\pih-KYOO-nee-air-ee\ , adjective;
1. Relating to money; monetary.
2. Consisting of money.
3. Requiring payment of money.
She did what she usually did in situations such as these and quickly changed the subject. She had been raised to avoid the public discussion of pecuniary issues.
"Only the uncouth and the noisy talk about money," her father had admonished one afternoon in his elegant and leather clad office. She had solemnly nodded her head silently wishing that she had asked him about her allowance sooner.
She turned her attention back to her very cute date and tried to ignore the echo of her father's words as he started prattling on about the bill gratuity again.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Sunrise
Word of the Day Wednesday, February 03, 2010
aubade
\oh-BAHD\ , noun;
1. A song or poem greeting the dawn; also, a composition suggestive of morning.
He slowly pushed the door open and saw that his wife was curled up asleep on one side of the bed. Her slow, rhythmic breathing a familiar night-time sound. He continued pushing the door open just short of the point where it would let out a metallic squeak and slid through the gap into the room.
It was just before dawn, and even though he had been awake for almost 31 hours he couldn't relax enough to sit still, let alone fall asleep.
He softly shuffled over to the bassinet and peaked over at the tiny bundle that was his brand new son.
He stared in silence for a moment, watching every finger wiggle and eye-lid flutter with a heart-breaking tenderness. He thought his presence had gone unnoticed until the tiny eyes fluttered open and stared blearily up at him.
The sun was just starting to peak over the crest of the hills on the horizon filling the morning sky with the first pink streaks and smudges. He carefully leaned over and scooped his baby out of the bassinet and carried him over to the window.
"Look at that," he whispered in his son's ear, "Your first sunrise." As the golden light slowly started to spill into the room he softly started to murmur the first tune that came to his head. He was surprised to hear the aubade his father had always sang to him, and was rocketed back to the memories of his four year old self and watching the sun rise over lake at their cabin early one summer morning while the rest of the family slept. His father's sweet voice drawing the sun over the hills.
He gently rocked the two of them back and forth and sang his son into the first day of the rest of his life.
aubade
\oh-BAHD\ , noun;
1. A song or poem greeting the dawn; also, a composition suggestive of morning.
He slowly pushed the door open and saw that his wife was curled up asleep on one side of the bed. Her slow, rhythmic breathing a familiar night-time sound. He continued pushing the door open just short of the point where it would let out a metallic squeak and slid through the gap into the room.
It was just before dawn, and even though he had been awake for almost 31 hours he couldn't relax enough to sit still, let alone fall asleep.
He softly shuffled over to the bassinet and peaked over at the tiny bundle that was his brand new son.
He stared in silence for a moment, watching every finger wiggle and eye-lid flutter with a heart-breaking tenderness. He thought his presence had gone unnoticed until the tiny eyes fluttered open and stared blearily up at him.
The sun was just starting to peak over the crest of the hills on the horizon filling the morning sky with the first pink streaks and smudges. He carefully leaned over and scooped his baby out of the bassinet and carried him over to the window.
"Look at that," he whispered in his son's ear, "Your first sunrise." As the golden light slowly started to spill into the room he softly started to murmur the first tune that came to his head. He was surprised to hear the aubade his father had always sang to him, and was rocketed back to the memories of his four year old self and watching the sun rise over lake at their cabin early one summer morning while the rest of the family slept. His father's sweet voice drawing the sun over the hills.
He gently rocked the two of them back and forth and sang his son into the first day of the rest of his life.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Misunderstood
Word of the Day Tuesday, February 02, 2010
gelid
\JEL-id\ , adjective;
1. Extremely cold; icy.
She pulled her wool over-coat tighter around her chest and continued walking toward the river, her head down and shoulders hunched, tucked in against the gelid night air. It was eerily quiet. It was too cold out for animals or even insects. No one but herself was out walking, and the evening traffic had deserted the precariously slippery roads.
Her step-mother had yelled at her to come back into the house when she had stormed out, telling her that it was too cold to be out. She had been so full of hot headed rage that she didn't think she would mind the cold one bit.
The full moon lit the empty world just for her with chrome light and she flung her seething anger over the sparkling landscape with each crack of her heel.
---
The river was inky black and still gushing in a violent torrent. Ice had formed at the edges of the bank but the continuous flow of the river had been too vigorous to quell.
She leaned morosely on the railing of the bridge over the river and stared down into the space below her. She found that the frigid air had in fact cooled down her temper and she now wished that she had thought to grab her gloves on the way out of the house. Of course, now that she wasn't reacting with her hair trigger temper she decided that the reality of the situation was that she had never felt so alone and misunderstood in her life.
She cleared her throat and spat into the river, wanting to see a part of herself be swallowed by the river, and then turned around and carefully made her way back toward the house along the ice incrusted street.
gelid
\JEL-id\ , adjective;
1. Extremely cold; icy.
She pulled her wool over-coat tighter around her chest and continued walking toward the river, her head down and shoulders hunched, tucked in against the gelid night air. It was eerily quiet. It was too cold out for animals or even insects. No one but herself was out walking, and the evening traffic had deserted the precariously slippery roads.
Her step-mother had yelled at her to come back into the house when she had stormed out, telling her that it was too cold to be out. She had been so full of hot headed rage that she didn't think she would mind the cold one bit.
The full moon lit the empty world just for her with chrome light and she flung her seething anger over the sparkling landscape with each crack of her heel.
---
The river was inky black and still gushing in a violent torrent. Ice had formed at the edges of the bank but the continuous flow of the river had been too vigorous to quell.
She leaned morosely on the railing of the bridge over the river and stared down into the space below her. She found that the frigid air had in fact cooled down her temper and she now wished that she had thought to grab her gloves on the way out of the house. Of course, now that she wasn't reacting with her hair trigger temper she decided that the reality of the situation was that she had never felt so alone and misunderstood in her life.
She cleared her throat and spat into the river, wanting to see a part of herself be swallowed by the river, and then turned around and carefully made her way back toward the house along the ice incrusted street.
Monday, February 1, 2010
What Is Life
After a nice break from Tootsie-pop the past five days, I have been reluctant about her showing up at the house again tonight. But I was pleasantly greeted with our usual sweet nine year old, and breathed a quick sigh of relief that the rest of our time with her this week would go well.Things got off to a smashing start tonight. Home-made pizza (again) which we were all very excited about. Even the onions decided they were pleased with the idea of home-made pizza (they totally arranged themselves into that smiley face, I didn't even have to manipulate them).
And then after a nice dinner, with a fantastic bottle of slightly bubbly pinot grigio, we got down to the business of cleaning up the kitchen. Now, let me just say this, Ken's thing is music. We have music on all the time, which is great, however I have decided that the rule for cleaning the kitchen is that "whoever cleans the kitchen gets to pick the music". Which is great for me because it gives me free access to all my bad music.
Which I play very loudly.
=)
But Ken is always trying to sneak his music onto my Kitchen Cleaning play-list.
"How about this one?" he asked, turning up George Harrison's "What is Life".
:::me shaking my ass a little:::
"Oh, yeah! This one can go onto the Kitchen Cleaning list!" I exclaimed.
:::me and Ken dancing together in the kitchen:::
"Hey you!" I shout over the music to Tootsie-pop, "Stop drying those dishes and get over here! No being a square!"
:::Tootsie-pop drops the towel and runs over:::
:::we all crazy dance for the duration of the song:::
If there is one thing I love about my little family of choice, above all the other good stuff that we do together, it is that we spend a good deal of time unabashedly dancing like crazy people.
It is good for the soul.
Word of the Day Monday, February 01, 2010
mondegreen
\MON-di-green\ , noun;
1. A word or phrase resulting from a misinterpretation of a word or phrase that has been heard.
I quickly walk across the street and check the estimated arrival time of the Number Eight bus. Five minutes. Then I notice that the later bus is supposed to arrive in five minutes as well.
"Great, the bus is running late," I think, but resign myself to the wait and the inevitably crowded bus that will soon arrive.
I pull my book out and start to read about the drama filled world of diamond mining.
"What the fuck! Where the fuck is the god damned bus!" I hear off to my right. I glance over towards the outburst without moving my head and recognize the Crazy Bus Guy.
Clearly he has been waiting for the bus for a while.
I look back down at my book and try to concentrate.
"Jesus! Why the fuck doesn't the bus fucking show up on time!" he mutters again loudly.
Now the rest of the crowd waiting for the bus has noticed Crazy Bus Guy unwinding, and collectively, we all shift our weight uncomfortably.
"God dammit! I gotta get to work on time! What the fuck!"
Our unsettled, agitated crowd continues to ignore Crazy Bus Guy with intense concentration and silently will the bus to show up a minute or two faster than expected. Although the thought does occur to me that once the bus shows up we will all soon be in a small, enclosed space with Crazy Bus Guy.
He goes on swearing up a storm as a father and this three young sons walk by, the four of them laughing and smiling. The thought crosses my mind to suggest to Crazy Bus Guy that he not swear in front of little kids, but think better of the urge and instead hope a more benign mondegreen will reach their youthful ears.
Finally, in the distance I see the Number Eight bus making its way down the street. Gratefully the rest of the crowd starts to shuffle towards the bus stop.
"Hey! Is that the Number Eight?" Crazy Bus Guy asks genially.
The crowd collectively nods and murmurs to him, hoping the arrival of the bus will quell the crazy, and he amicably climbs onto the bus with the rest of us.
Throughout this entire exchange I think to myself, "Dude. I can totally understand getting pissed off about the bus ride home running late, when one could miss out on something important like crazy dancing. But the bus ride to work?!?! Dude! Save the aneurism for something worthwhile!"
You Gotta Let It Rest
A month or so ago I decided that I wanted to try to cut out as many processed foods as I could out of our diet. Overall, Ken and I do really well in terms of cooking dinner for ourselves, and
for the most part we cook pretty healthy meals. One of the first places I decided we could easily cut out processed food was with bread. Luckily I had just found a decent whole-wheat bread recipe on my new favorite blog www.smittenkitchen.com (check it out, you will want to tongue kiss me for the recommendation).
It only took me four weeks to finally work out the recipe, well, and also work out my dough rolling technique so that my loaf of bread didn't end up with a HUGE gaping hole in the middle of it. But as you can see, the results have been highly delectable. You should DEFINITELY be very jealous
of my mad bread making skills ;-)
Now on to the show!!!
Word of the Day, Sunday, January 31, 2010
penchant
\PEN-chunt\ , noun;
1. Inclination; decided taste; a strong liking.
Alice took a sip off the top of her martini and kicked her heels off into the closet.
She had been counting down the minutes on Friday afternoon, waiting for 5:30 to finally arrive.
"Hey, you coming out with us tonight?" Todd had asked her as she punched the elevator button with her key. She flashed a big smile at him, "Sorry, actually, I have some big plans tonight," she said with a suggestive eye-brow wiggle.
Todd's face displayed mild shock and a slight amount of disappointment, "Really? Hot date?" he asked. Clearly he was jealous of whatever words were going to come out of her mouth next.
She smiled, "Oh, aren't they all?" she asked coyly.
She got in the elevator and watched as he gave her a weak smile between the closing doors. She had always had a penchant for blowing guys off, however Todd had been amazingly resistant to her discouraging messages.
But she did have big plans.
After her 40 minute commute home, crawling through traffic, she finally shuffled into her living room in her slippers and took another sip of her martini. Drinking and dancing on a Friday night with coworkers had no appeal in comparison to her date for the night.
With satisfaction she pulled her copy of "Artisan Bread in Five Minutes A Day" off of her book shelf and tied her apron around her waist with satisfaction.
for the most part we cook pretty healthy meals. One of the first places I decided we could easily cut out processed food was with bread. Luckily I had just found a decent whole-wheat bread recipe on my new favorite blog www.smittenkitchen.com (check it out, you will want to tongue kiss me for the recommendation).It only took me four weeks to finally work out the recipe, well, and also work out my dough rolling technique so that my loaf of bread didn't end up with a HUGE gaping hole in the middle of it. But as you can see, the results have been highly delectable. You should DEFINITELY be very jealous
of my mad bread making skills ;-)
Now on to the show!!!
Word of the Day, Sunday, January 31, 2010
penchant
\PEN-chunt\ , noun;
1. Inclination; decided taste; a strong liking.
Alice took a sip off the top of her martini and kicked her heels off into the closet.
She had been counting down the minutes on Friday afternoon, waiting for 5:30 to finally arrive.
"Hey, you coming out with us tonight?" Todd had asked her as she punched the elevator button with her key. She flashed a big smile at him, "Sorry, actually, I have some big plans tonight," she said with a suggestive eye-brow wiggle.
Todd's face displayed mild shock and a slight amount of disappointment, "Really? Hot date?" he asked. Clearly he was jealous of whatever words were going to come out of her mouth next.
She smiled, "Oh, aren't they all?" she asked coyly.
She got in the elevator and watched as he gave her a weak smile between the closing doors. She had always had a penchant for blowing guys off, however Todd had been amazingly resistant to her discouraging messages.
But she did have big plans.
After her 40 minute commute home, crawling through traffic, she finally shuffled into her living room in her slippers and took another sip of her martini. Drinking and dancing on a Friday night with coworkers had no appeal in comparison to her date for the night.
With satisfaction she pulled her copy of "Artisan Bread in Five Minutes A Day" off of her book shelf and tied her apron around her waist with satisfaction.
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