Adds To The Humor

Slake

2010-04-07T21:33:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Friday, April 02, 2010

slake

\SLAYK\ , verb;

1. To satisfy; to quench; to extinguish; as, to slake thirst.
2. To cause to lessen; to make less active or intense; to moderate; as, slaking his anger.
3. To cause (as lime) to heat and crumble by treatment with water.
intransitive verb:
1. To become slaked; to crumble or disintegrate, as lime.

She glared at him from across the desk.

"What Gloria?" Marvin snapped glaring back at her.

"You set this all up somehow! You ruined me!" her hands trembled with fury, clutching her black patent leather hand bag. "It was all some elaborate plan!"

He stared at her in disbelief, then smirked and pulled open his bottom desk drawer with his toe. "Do you drink bourbon?" he asked.

"No," she spat at him.

"Good, more for me," he replied filling a tall tumbler with the bottle.

"You didn't answer me!" she snapped.

"What can I say to that?!? I had some crazy elaborate plan to get my wife to leave me? My marriage, the only thing I have ever really cared about in entire life, is over! With no chance of reconciliation. Why yes, you raging cunt, I planned all that out just to screw you over!" he gasped drinking heavily from the tumbler of bourbon.

"We never had an affair!" she yelled at him, "How can she have proof of that!"

Marvin buried his face in his hands. "She says she has pictures….of something. My lawyer has seen them and he says they are damning."

"I never let you put your filthy hand on me!" she yelled again.

He stared at her. "My reputation is ruined. My life is falling apart. You have to fight the rumors!" now she was pleading with him.

"What, or you are going to blackmail me?" he asked bitterly. She looked stung for a moment. "You know, this never would have happened if you hadn't gotten greedy. $200,000! I should have just let you out my grandfather. That is what tipped her off. The funny business with the accounting. She kept track of all that you know." Marvin explained growing more and more animated.

"No, it was you insisting on meeting up at hotels. That is what gave the wrong impression. The gossip circles are tearing me apart. I have been blacklisted all across town," she went on ignoring everything he had said.

"Why don't you just come out with the truth? Tell everyone that you were blackmailing me, not fucking me." he said bluntly draining the last of the bourbon in the glass.

"I will not be accused of blackmail on top of this affair scandal," she retorted.

"Accused?" Marvin asked dryly.

"Let me tell you what you are going to do Marvin Cohen," she hissed standing up from her chair.

Marvin slammed the bourbon bottle down on his desk slaking the momentum she was gathering for her tirade.

"No! Let me tell you what you are going to do. You are going to take that $200,000 I gave you and you are going to go away. You are going to let me and my wife divorce, messily I might add, with my ex-wife taking me to the cleaners, I might add. And that will be the end of all of this," he said.

"Why the hell would you ever imagine that I would agree to that?" she asked letting out peals of laughter.

Marvin settled back in his chair ready to toss out his trump card.

Hugger-mugger

2010-04-07T21:13:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Thursday, April 01, 2010

hugger-mugger

\HUH-guhr-muh-guhr\ , noun;

1. A disorderly jumble; muddle; confusion.
2. Secrecy; concealment.
adjective:
1. Confused; muddled; disorderly.
2. Secret.
adverb:
1. In a muddle or confusion.
2. Secretly.
transitive verb:
1. To keep secret.
intransitive verb:
1. To act in a secretive manner.

Leonard paused fro the first time in what seemed like hours and wiped his forehead with the bandanna he had wrapped around his neck.

He surveyed the small room, the lack of supplies, the over-whelming number of people in need and for a moment felt like he was drowning, gasping for air.

"Just ten more minutes," he told himself for the fiftieth time that day, "Ten more minutes and then you can call it quits." He felt his heart rate slow back down.

When he had run into a foreign aid group two weeks prior at a little local restaurant he hadn't thought too much about what he was getting himself into when he had volunteered his time with them.

He had been in the country for a little over a month, he had seen enough sights and had traveled around enough that he felt that he was starting to get the hang of the travel bum lifestyle. He knew how to make his way through a corded area without loosing any of his stuff, find a place to sleep without getting swindled and how to find a decent meal.

In all honesty, he was looking for a new adventure while off on his adventure. So when this group of doctors had come into the restaurant, speaking English, he had immediately introduced himself. "Do you guys ever need extra volunteers?" he had asked.

The next day he had been initiated with the hugger-mugger of their little out-post clinic rushing the meager supplies they had from one crisis to the next, passing out water, and trying to ride out the roller coaster of emotion he found himself on.

Absentmindedly he put his hand in this left pocket and rolled the acorn nut between his fingers. I had become his worry stone, and for the first time in days he wondered what Elliot was up to. And at the same time couldn't imagine how he had ever been able to stand cubicle life in an insurance agency.

Bedizen

2010-04-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Wednesday, March 31, 2010

bedizen

\bih-DY-zuhn\ , transitive verb;

1. To dress or adorn in gaudy manner.

It was one of the most extravagant events Evalina had ever been to. Certainly not gaudy, but clearly every single retail had been attended to with exquisite care. The large flower arrangements were breath-taking. The table settings elegant. The open bar impressive. A jazz quartet plinked away in the corner of the room at a conversationally friendly volume, and Evalina slowly made her way around the room enjoying the sweeping city skyline.

"Lina? Is that you?" a loud voice exclaimed behind her. Evalina turned at the sound of her childhood nickname, and was greeted with the dimpled cheeks of her cousin Bethany.

"Beth! I didn't know you were coming to this! How nice to see you," Evalina told her, trying to make her smile appear genuine.

Truth be told, Bethany was her least favorite cousin. Loud-mouthed and opinionated with no tact and very few personal boundaries, Bethany was, challenging.

"So, what do you think of this shindig?" she asked loudly.

"They did a beautiful job, I'm enjoying myself very much," Evalina replied helping herself to some of the hors d'oeuvres the wait staff was milling around with.

"Those look pretty, but they taste like horse crap," Bethany added loudly right as Evalina had positioned the cracker in front of her mouth. She took a bit anyway. Oh my God, she thought, this has a sliver of truffle on it. She briefly closed her eyes to savor the taste.

"I know what you mean. I had to close my eyes to choke that down too," Bethany remarked.

Evalina smiled falsely at her, "So, Bethany, where did you find that brilliantly bedizened dress?"

"What? No, this wasn't BeDazzled. I only WISH I had a BeDazzler! If I had I would have just gussied up one of my own dresses instead of spending so much money at Saks Fifth Avenue. I don't know where I'll wear this thing again, but you know, I didn't want to stand out or anything at the Big Party."

Popinjay

2010-04-06T21:36:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Tuesday, March 30, 2010

popinjay

\POP-in-jay\ , noun;

1. A vain and talkative person.

"Fucking asshole, narcissist, popinjay, self-deluded, prick," she chanted under her breath. She wrung the steering whet pretending it was his neck.

"Piece of shit, rat-bastard," she continued.

The next morning, after she had had a night to cool off, she had been able to be more reasonable about the whole situation. It really wasn't his fault, she was shooting the messenger. Well, the arrogant messenger. But in her defense, she truly had been devastated to find out that Ricky Martin was gay.

Neophyte

2010-04-06T21:20:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Monday, March 29, 2010

neophyte

\NEE-uh-fyt\ , noun;

1. A new convert or proselyte.
2. A novice; a beginner in anything.

Elliot slid into an empty seat and fiddled with her pad of paper and pencil. She was always early to everything. A trait that drove almost everyone she knew a little bonkers.

Absentmindedly she started sketching a pile of boxes lying in the middle of the room. Slowly more students started to filter into the room. She looked up and smiled at them. They all looked so young and artsy. Fresh out of high school. Well, duh, she thought to herself. They probably are fresh out of high school.

She felt ancient at age 25. The ancient neophyte university student.

It suited her though.

Packing up her belongings from her mouther's house had been particularly satisfying. Her mother had been so excited when she had mentioned she was applying to colleges. No doubt she had been hoping Elliot would follow in her brother's footsteps and grace the family with another doctor. Her face had actually fallen in disappointment when Elliot had gleefully announced her acceptance to the Art Institute of Chicago.

"Mom, do you even realize how prestigious that school is?" she had asked incredulously. "Well, it isn't Juilliard now, is it? had been her mother's nasty reply.

Elliot continued doodling the boxes. The boy sitting next to her leaned over, "Are you working on the assignment?" he asked earnestly, a slight look of apprehension coloring his face.

"No, I was just the first person in here and didn't know what else to do with myself," she replied with a smile. He smiled back briefly.

Yes, Elliot thought, this was the right place for her. Africa would have been an excuse, following someone else's dream. She had floundered for years in the mucky expectations of other people's dreams. She was finally following the path she knew in her heart, just like the geese heading back north, was the one she should be following.

Portentous

2010-04-06T21:17:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Sunday, March 28, 2010

portentous

\por-TEN-tus\ , adjective;

1. Foreboding; foreshadowing, especially foreshadowing ill; ominous.
2. Marvelous; prodigious; wonderful; as, a beast of portentous size.
3. Pompous.

She leaned on her shovel for a moment, in between moving piles of ravel, and looked up at the sky. Dark purple, portentous clouds were moving towards them from the southwest.

She wiped her brow and scooped up a shovel full of gravel as her dad came around the corner with the wheel barrow. They would just keep working until that rain cloud broke. Luckily it appeared it would happen any moment now.

Sylvan

2010-04-06T21:12:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Saturday, March 27, 2010

sylvan

\SIL-vuhn\ , adjective;

1. Of or pertaining to woods or forest regions.
2. Living or located in a wood or forest.
3. Abounding in forests or trees; wooded.
noun:
1. A fabled deity or spirit of the woods.
2. One that lives in or frequents the woods or forest; a rustic.

"You are aware of the abundance of female attention that is directed towards you, right?" she asked.

An easy smile broke out on his face, "Well, yeah," he replied.

"Good. I'd hate to see all that effort wasted on an oblivious male," she teased.

He looked at her for a long moment, "Does it bother you?" he asked.

"Yes and no," she answered glancing around the secluded, sylvan cottage they had rented for a weekend get-away. Their first weekend out of town together. "I mean, it represents all the other choices you have. And lord knows you have choices. I have found a piece of happiness with you and all that choice means that someday you might change your mind about spending time with me. But really that doesn't matter so much," she continued.

"Really? How can that not matter? The idea of losing a piece of happiness?" he asked, a frown mark deepening between his brows.

"Because, it exists, and it can't be changed. We already experienced that happiness and we can't undo it. So we can't loose it either. We can choose to make more happiness together, or we can choose to make happiness without one another," she said simply.

"I like that. That you can't loose any of your happiness. Although it seems rather Pollyanna-ish. Are you really able to choose happiness in all the moments of your life?" he asked seriously.

"If you are asking if I'm always happy, the answer is no. At one point in my life I had literally lost everything I cared about. That meant anything to me. That is a dark place to be. It took me a long time to decide to build my life back up around the beliefs that truly mattered to me."

"So, you try to enjoy every moment," he replied, his beautiful chin nestled into his palm.

"It is more than that. It is more like I try to have the moment I'm experiencing now be the most important thing. Not to let my uncertainly of the future, or the darkness of my past affect my enjoyment of today," she said.

"That sounds almost spiritual," he murmured.

She shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that sultry brunette that was at dinner the other night? The one with the double D's bursting out of her dress? She may entice you later, or she may not. I'm just not going to make myself unhappy worrying about it. Especially now worry about it enough to ruin the enjoyment of that roast duck and amazing bottle of wine that we had."

"Wow, double D's?" he asked grabbing her foot and pulling her across the sheets, "And you didn't even point them out to me? I would have gotten enjoyment out of that," he murmured.

"Eh, they were fake, totally not your style," she murmured back against his lips.

Impecunious

2010-04-06T20:41:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Friday, March 26, 2010

impecunious

\im-pih-KYOO-nee-uhs\ , adjective;

1. Not having money; habitually without money; poor.

Joshua sighed and pulled his electric razor out. It was ridiculous, shaving twice a day, but it was necessary.

The women he wanted to date were already out of his league. The last thing he needed was to hand them an easy excuse to turn him down. Swarthy is a good look on a pirate. Not on a dentist.

Luckily, he would be the good looking one tonight. Ever since Jack had started dating Bridgette, Joshua had been left without a wing-man. Of course, with Jack around all he got was the left overs. Women flocked to Jack like ants to sugar. You could almost see their antenna quivering when he entered a room.

But never mind that, he thought, Jack was off the market, and he was going out with Emmett. The perpetually impecunious bachelor. Famously attractive and equally stingy. He was the perfect wing-man. All the best looking women were glancing their way, but inevitably Emmett would start diving up the bill, a major social faux pas with high maintenance women.

It was at that point that Joshua would swoop in, pick up the tab and his clean shaven, if a little weak, jawline would look a lot more attractive.

Lucre

2010-04-06T20:34:00.000-07:00

Sheesh...was I kidnapped by pirates asking for ransom? Did I fall into my outhouse only to be saved by the Do-gooder neighbor dog 8 days later? Was I in a Vicodin haze?

One will forever wonder.....

Word of the Day Thursday, March 25, 2010

lucre

\LOO-kuhr\ , noun;

1. Monetary gain; profit; riches; money; -- often in a bad sense.

He sat with his chin prompted up in his hand idly staring out the window. He appeared to be nothing more than a bored high school senior willing the remaining minutes of Biology class to melt away. He was actually spending down his new found lucre. The revenge plans were, of course, out. High school security was tighter than a nun's ass these days. Which left women or booze. Or perhaps, women and booze.

No one notice as he raised his eyebrows with self congratulatory smugness at his own brilliance.

Another Day Older and Deeper In Debt....

2010-03-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

Ok, so this weekend was a bust for story writing. But hey, look at the fire pit we built!

After digging out a fair bit of the yard (and it was raining most of the time so it was actually more mud than dirt), shoveling a cubic yard of gravel around, and moving 280 retaining wall bricks around the yard (sadly, multiple times)...I just didn't have much in me at the end of the night.

Well, okay, just enough in me to make sure pizza, or burritos, or whatever it was that we were eating got into my mouth.

However, I am working on story catch up. All is not lost, and we'll have a hell of a party space this summer....or whenever it stops raining here in Portland.

Defenestrate

2010-03-25T21:16:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Wednesday, March 24, 2010

defenestrate

\dee-FEN-uh-strayt\ , transitive verb;

1. To throw out of a window.

They drove along in silence. The warm summer air blowing in through the rolled down windows of the pick-up truck. The air wasn't cool enough to be refreshing, but it still felt good.

Margaret put her arm outside the window and moved it up and down in the air streaming around them. Kate looked over at her, her cowboy hat tipped back, and smiled. The hills and highway stretched on endlessly in front of them, and even though they were speeding into the future at 75 miles per hour, it left lazy as if they were traveling at a leisurely pace.

It had seemed like a lifetime ago that Kate had reached over and had defenestrated her bag speeding along the highway at 90, yelling at her the entire time. She had demanded that Kate let her out to retrieve her belongings. Everything she had left in the world. Kate had slammed on the brakes, the pick-up fish-tailing as it screeched to a halt and told her that if she got out of the car she would be hitch hiking to Austin.

She had gotten out of the truck anyway, and had watcher her life speed off without her.

It had taken a good hour to collect all the items that had burst out of her bag. In which time Kate had cooled off and returned for her. Things would be better. She knew this because she did not have the imagination to fathom them any worse.

Exiguous

2010-03-25T21:07:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Tuesday, March 23, 2010

exiguous

\ig-ZIG-yoo-us\ , adjective;

1. Extremely scanty; meager.

Loretta clutched her handbag, took a deep breath, and forced herself to walk into the store. It was like being submerged into Barbie's lingerie drawer. Hot pink, lace, ruffles everywhere. She stiffly walked over to a rack of camisoles and started flipping through the hangers, not even looking at the clothing. She was acutely aware of how out of place she looked. Dressed head to toe in black, well over 45, and with a stout build. She looked like frisking Darth Vader.

Darth Vader in a teddy. She giggled at the mental image and uttered a silent Fuck You to the store. Darth Vader deserved to get laid too.

"Are you finding everything okay?" a perky voice chirped behind her. Loretta turned around and was dismayed to see a blond, beautiful, hugely breasted nineteen year old sales clerk.

"I'm looking for a night gown. Something special," she replied, mentally turning on her Light Saber.

"We can definitely find you something. Are you looking for cute? Sexy? I want him to ravish me? Or mount him and spank him?" the girl asked smiling brightly.

Loretta smiled. The Force was strong with this one.

In her mind's eye she had always imagined an outrageously exiguous piece of lingerie for this particular night

"What exactly is the difference between ravish and spank?" she asked coyly.

The girl smiled back, "Let me show you."

Cacophony

2010-03-25T20:53:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Monday, March 22, 2010

cacophony

\kuh-KAH-fuh-nee\ , noun;

1. Harsh or discordant sound; dissonance.
2. The use of harsh or discordant sounds in literary composition.

Elliot pulled the front door shut behind her and started to dig through her purse looking for her keys. Her mother always chastised her for being so disorganized. "Just put your keys in the same place every time you come home," she had snapped irritably one morning while Elliot rummaged around the house. Elliot had decided a better solution would be to ride the bus to work in lieu of bumming a ride off of her mother in the morning.

Her fingers finally brushed the key ring and she quickly turned the dead bolt with a click. Tossing her keys haphazardly back into her purse she looked up at the sun caressed morning sky. It was definitely transitioning into spring. The chilly mornings now mild and sweet smelling.

This thought was greeted by a cacophony of honking noises somewhere above her head. She looked up in curiosity. The same blue sky beamed gently down at her. Then, suddenly, she saw a dark wing and then several bodies appear as a very large flock of geese spilled through the air. The honking and calling overwhelming all other morning noises.

Elliot stood on the front porch, head upturned until they were all out of sight.

Finally. God, finally. Something in her brain clicked. It was time for her to leave and return to where she belonged too.

Fatidic

2010-03-25T20:43:00.001-07:00

Word of the Day Sunday, March 21, 2010

fatidic

\fuh-TID-ik\ , adjective;

1. Of, relating to, or characterized by prophecy; prophetic.

Diane breathed in a deep sign hoping it would release the huge burden of weight off of her chest. She found that she had been sighing frequently these days. And for the record, it didn't help.

She had dumped her bags in the foyer of their old Seattle house, the one they had been renting under her sister's management for years, and had crawled into bed.

She had hated L.A. when they first moved there, she actually missed the rain and clouds. After a while she had started to see them as a protective layer of skin. A shield keeping her from being exposed and naked to the sun.

Well, she thought wryly, there is always the smog. Of course, she considered as an after thought, only in L.A. would you consider something as nasty and harmful as smog as protective.

L.A. had left her bare and now she was hiding.

She remembered the first luncheon she had in L.A. with the wife of one of Marvin's business associates. She had been nice enough to actually make an effort with Diane.

"It all comes down to money," she had told her simply, "It always comes down to money." At the time Diane had felt repulsed at this notion. She had been four months pregnant at the time and was completely in love with the idea of finding the best in everyone and everything. But that woman's comment, Diane couldn't even remember her name now, had been depressingly fatidic.

She had been shocked and then numbed by the superficiality, the shiny image hiding the lack of substance, and the piles and piles of money. Each bit of peeling away a layer of humanity and replacing it with Botox and laser surgery to tighten the loose places.

Now she was back in Seattle where the rain eroded her hardened exterior and let her feel vulnerable again. Vulnerable but protected. And she had her daffodils back. They had greeted her with their silent, humble dance as she had plowed her way through the front door.

Garrulous

2010-03-25T20:30:00.001-07:00

Word of the Day Saturday, March 20, 2010

garrulous

\GAIR-uh-lus; GAIR-yuh-\ , adjective;

1. Talking much, especially about commonplace or trivial things; talkative.
2. Wordy.

I flashed by my bus pass at the driver and squeezed my way towards the back of the bus. The last row was empty so I slid into the seat by the window and flipped open my day planner. With my head buried in my to-do lists and back-yard sketches I barely noticed the man on the other side of the back row.

Ok, this isn't true. I did notice his jaunty news-boy cap.

"I'm on hold."

I look up at him and he points towards his cellphone.

"Ah," I replied, turning back toward my notebook.

"With the airlines. I got someone who doesn't speak English and she is very hard to understand," he went on.

"Yeah, especially in the back of the bus with the noisy engine," I said looking back up from my notebook, inwardly sighing.

"Yeah, I told her my flight info and she asked if I was taking Amtrak," he said raising one eyebrow dubiously.

"Ah," I said again nodding empathetically, but feeling resentful about running into Mr. Garrgulous on the bus. I only get so much time in my life, and I would never willingly engage in idle airplane chitchat with a bus stranger when I could remain caught up in my own daydreams.

Thankfully, he stands up and makes his way to the front of the bus to let the driver know his stop is coming up.

I settle back into the last couple minutes of my ride with sketches of my dream garden floating in my head.

Matutinal

2010-03-25T20:20:00.001-07:00

Word of the Day Friday, March 19, 2010

matutinal

\muh-TOOT-n-uhl\ , adjective;

1. Relating to or occurring in the morning; early.

She drove b the building. It was run down on the outside with very few lights on outside. A giant wooden dragon head sat outside on the front corner of the property. She parked her car and gingerly made her way around the building to the entrance. Several tall bushy haired men, seriously inhaling on their cigarettes, hunched over in the brisk matutinal air, passed by her. the patches and safety pins on their leather jackets, and the combats boots giving her pause and made her feel slightly out of place.

Inside the building a small, respectfully quiet crowd stood around the stage. Two men dressed in tattered burlap sack robes stood over two pieces of machinery. Her first thought was, "Huh, ti looks like the Sand People in Star Wars." The music was a scratchy, static-y, whiny noise. The two men seriously manipulated the dials on the machines silently.

Slowly a heart-beat emerged out of the noise-music. The beat of humanity still pulling the different corners of the crowd together.

Cozen

2010-03-23T20:43:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Thursday, March 18, 2010

cozen

\KUZ-un\ , transitive verb;

1. To cheat; to defraud; to deceive, usually by petty tricks.
2. To obtain by deceit.

intransitive verb:
1. To act deceitfully.

It wasn't like she had tried to lie about it. It had been an unfortunate misunderstanding not a cozen act of betrayal. The thing was, she just hadn't been hit on by a man in a really long time. When he had asked her if she would like to get something to eat, and she had uncertainly babbled, "Um….okay…." she had envisioned the three of them out to dinner and was still mentally hung up on how awkward that would be.

Now, oh christ, now what had she gotten herself into? Why couldn't she just suck it up and tell him, "Um, oops. You know when I told you I was interested in dinner? Um, what I actually meant was I"m sort of married?"

Although that made her sound like an idiot, and she couldn't have the cute guy thinking she was an idiot.

Potable

2010-03-23T19:15:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Wednesday, March 17, 2010

potable

\POH-tuh-buhl\ , adjective;

1. Fit to drink; suitable for drinking; drinkable.

noun:
1. A potable liquid; a beverage, especially an alcoholic beverage.

John wiped his brow again for the umpteenth time and forced himself to take another drink of the marginally potable coffee the secretary had offered him.

"I don't understand," he said again slowly, looking the very serious balding man in front of him in the eye.

"What do you not understand?" the man asked leerily just as tired and at his patience end as John felt.

"I don't understand what about this whole situation constitutes sexual harassment," his voice rising on the last word.

The man sighed deeply. "Mr. Farragut. Your son pinched a little girl inappropriately on the playground. The girl complained to her mother and there is now a sexual harassment complaint."

"But it was St. Patrick's Day! And the girl wasn't wearing green! And it was on the arm! And they are six! Isn't this just a case of kids being kids?" John burst out.

"Mr. Farragut. My personal opinion on this case is irrelevant. I'm just passing along the information and advising you about the next steps in this process. Although I would imagine it would be completely reasonable to work this issue out without any further legal proceedings. However, Ms. Schubert seems disinclined to cooperate," the man replied, his lips set in a thin, drawn line.

Hirsute

2010-03-23T19:14:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Tuesday, March 16, 2010

hirsute

\HUR-soot; HIR-soot; hur-SOOT; hir-SOOT\ , adjective;

1. Covered with hair; set with bristles; shaggy; hairy.

Joshua's real problem was hair. His quest for attaining uber coolness forever damned by his International Hirsute Club for Men membership.

He'd always thought it was cool that he had been the first guy in his class to sprout whiskers and chest hair, like it was a testament to his manliness. However, about the time Vivian Cox announced that instead of a Treasure Trail he had a treasure Super Highway he found out that the one characteristic that he thought made him manlier actually resulted in all sorts of urn-manly behavior.

Like shaving his chest.

If the International Hirsute Club for Men had a mascot, it would definitely be the Rogue Brewery guy, fist raised defiantly in revolt, clutching a pair of hair clippers.

Gravitas

2010-03-22T23:18:00.000-07:00

Don't worry ya'll....I have all my stories written, it just turns out I'm horrible at posting every day.

:::clapping hands:::

Ok, let's get this Story A DAY thing back on track people!

Word of the Day Monday, March 15, 2010

gravitas

\GRAV-uh-tahs\ , noun;

1. High seriousness (as in a person's bearing or in the treatment of a subject).

"How is it that you are even with this girl? She just doesn't seem like your type at all," Joshua said cradling his beer in front of him.

Jack shrugged, "I think she is very my type."

Joshua frowned.

Jack was one of those effortlessly cool people. His clothing, his hobbies, his home, his women. Everything was beautiful and chic, stream-lined and function driven like a purest minimalist, but elegant in a way that made it all seem luxurious. With a twist of 70's quirk nostalgia, of course.

If Joshua could be anyone, he would have chosen Jack.

Well, after Steve McQueen, obviously.

But part of what made Jack so effortlessly cool was the fact that it was all, well, effortless. He didn't think about any of it. Whereas Joshua was a studied cool. Jack drank his favorite microbrew because he liked the taste and drank it at this particular pub because he liked that people could bring their dogs with them to drink and he liked the sausages. Joshua drank the beer that he though would make him look sophisticated and worldly, with just a smidge of elitism, and he drank at this particular bar because the Hipsters that were always hanging around were the It group at the moment.

Jack genuinely enjoyed Joshua. He was a good guy at heart when he could forget himself a little bit. One of the good points about Josh's relentless pursuit of being cool was that he kept up on world events so he could hit all the talking points. Jack found that he was good for interesting conversation.

"But all the other girls you have dated have been so much more…polished,' Joshua continued.

"Yeah, that's true, Bridgette is a lot more earthy. But that is what is the most appealing thing about her. The things that she has in her life she genuinely cares about. She doesn't keep anything that doesn't have importance to her. She strips out the non-essential," Jack explained.

When he had first met her, this silly blind date, he had been shattered by how strong of an urge he had felt to open up to her. He had found himself inviting her up to his apartment and making her mulled wine in his grandfather's old chipped mug. Something he had never done for anyone.

He remembered that the look she had on her face that night was the same look she had the night of their first Valentine's Day together. She had scoured through a dozen antique stores buying old silver baby spoons, and being a metal artist, she had sculpted a little baby bird perched on the edge of a nest getting ready to launch himself into flight for the first time as a gift for him.

She had been searching his face the entire time he opened the gift, and when he felt his eyes tear up slightly, they both just knew that the sculpture embodied the two of them. A nascent connection leaping towards the unknown with nothing other than instinct and the belief that open, unlimited sky was where they belonged as a rationale.

"Everything about her is genuine. Her personality. Her kindness. Her art. All those other girls were just the same Gustav Klimt painting over and over," Jack continued, the gravitas of his voice causing Joshua to look up at him sharply.

Joshua secretly wondered if Jack was talking about the tacky bird statue that had appeared in his apartment a couple weeks ago. Obviously it was something Bridgette had brought over. He still couldn't understand what was so special about this hippie girl. But he also made the mental note not to bother with Gustav Klimt anymore.

Fulminate

2010-03-14T22:32:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Sunday, March 14, 2010

fulminate

\FUL-muh-nayt\ , intransitive verb;

1. To issue or utter verbal attacks or censures authoritatively or menacingly.
2. To explode; to detonate.

transitive verb:
1. To utter or send out with denunciations or censures.
2. To cause to explode.

They waited for the old lady with the scruffy little dog to pass by the green park bench they were sitting on before they continued their mutual fulmination.

It was silly really, clearly Johanna was correct in arguing that Pi Day was the most important holiday of the year. Bob definitely needed to take his Christmas tidings and shove them up his ass.

Erudite

2010-03-14T22:26:00.000-07:00

Word of the Day Saturday, March 13, 2010

erudite

\AIR-yuh-dyt; -uh-dyt\ , adjective;

1. Characterized by extensive reading or knowledge; learned.

She had been immensely intimidated by the large library he kept just off of the living room. Floor to ceiling book shelves lined every wall, a large sunken leather chair the only piece of furniture in the room other than the reading lamp.

"Is this a collection? Or do you read all of these?" she asked gesturing towards all the books.

He glanced towards where she was pointing, "Oh, all the books? I suppose you can call it a collection, I don't really like getting rid of books. Maybe obsession would be a better word than collection," he said with a smile, "But I have read almost everything in there. I have a stack over here that I'm waiting to get to."

She stared again at the room full of books.

"What do you do that you have time to read all of those?" she asked.

He frowned slightly, "Well, some of them, like this one," he said walking over to one shelf full of worn paperback books, the spines heavily creased, "These are science fiction from when I was a kid. So, I guess when you consider that this represents a good 30 years worth of reading, it actually seems kind of small. Don't you think?"

She smiled, "Yeah, I guess when you put it that way it makes sense."

She gently brushed her hand against a shelf of books, a pang of jealously at his effortless eruditeness. She had felt out of her league all night long, like she was swimming in deep, choppy water and could barely keep her head from going under.

"Do you have any books on fashion?" she asked immediately regretting the request.

To her surprise his eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "It is sort of a photography book, but there are a lot of fashion icons used as the subjects. But really, in a lot of ways the clothing makes as much of an impact in the photo as the faces of the model," he said plucking a large hardcover book off of the shelf and sitting down in the leather chair.

She relaxed slightly deciding that maybe the best part about this guy was the fact that he kept trying to bridge the gaps between them.

Solecism

2010-03-14T22:25:00.002-07:00

Word of the Day Friday, March 12, 2010

solecism

\SOL-uh-siz-uhm\ , noun;

1. A nonstandard usage or grammatical construction; also, a minor blunder in speech.
2. A breach of good manners or etiquette.
3. Any inconsistency, mistake, or impropriety.

Diane glared at him from across the table.

He averted her gaze and refilled his glass of wine.

After several heavy moments of silence he carefully set down his wine glass, "What?" he asked, exasperated. She had made the dinner reservation for that night, leaving the information about where he was expected to show up with his secretary that afternoon. Now, she had barely said two sentences to him once he had joined her at the table.

She had turned a frosty cheek to his kiss.

He, in turn, had quickly downed two glasses of wine, and was no longer very sober.

"You are a piece of shit," she replied curtly, her lips pursing.

Marvin smirked at her, "Is that all?" he asked, and took another sip of wine.

She stared at him, "I know," she replied lowering her voice.

He looked up at her, "Know what?"

"About her," she hissed leaning across the table.

He leaned back in his chair away from his wife's face, "Blah, blah, blah. I already discussed this with you. She is blackmailing me, remember? We talked about it. I'm paying her a shit load of money discretely. It is depressing the fuck out of me," he said his voice sounding very tired.

"You lied to me," Diane whispered.

"I lied to you! You are absurd!" he scoffed picking his glass of wine back up.

"You are fucking her," she hissed back at him.

He coughed as a lug of wine shot up his nose. People turned and stared as he coughed heavily. "You are being ridiculous, I made the money exchanges at the hotels like we discussed. I'm too well known in this city to meet up with her in public. We talked about this!" he said hoarsely, still trying to catch his breath.

"I have pictures you son of a bitch!" she yelled at him.

Everything in the restaurant drew to an abrupt halt, all eyes swiveling towards Diane.

"Diane, stop," he hissed.

"No! I will not stop, you miserable fuck! We are over! And the best part is that the last laugh will be on you because while you were spending all your time with your whore I was taking over your business!" she continued to yell.

His neck was crawling with all the eyes in the restaurant glued onto him waiting for what he would say. He could almost hear the gossip columnists scribbling away. "I love you," he said.

She stood up and tossed the last of her glass of wine into his face, turned on her heel, and swept out of the restaurant. The crowd had gasped at this final humiliating solecism and watched to see what the famous Marvin Cohen would do next.

He slowly pushed his chair back, left a pile of bills on the table, and gently lifted the snow white trench coat off of the back of Diane's chair as he made his way outside to catch a cab.

Salient

2010-03-14T22:25:00.001-07:00

Word of the Day Thursday, March 11, 2010

salient

\SAY-lee-unt; SAYL-yunt\ , adjective;

1. Shooting out or up; projecting.
2. Forcing itself on the attention; prominent; conspicuous; noticeable.
3. Leaping; springing; jumping.

noun:
1. An outwardly projecting part of a fortification, trench system, or line of defense.
2. A projecting angle or part.

Eric huddled in his hut with his head buried in his arms. All he knew was that he had been captured originally six months prior, and they hadn't killed him.

He kept expecting to be liquidated, like all the rest of the humans they came across, but they didn't. He had begged and pleaded, yelling from inside his cage until he had lost his voice. Then he had lost consciousness and had woke up outside, in the same eery rock formation filled forest where they had found him.

He didn't remember how he had escaped, but he must have. He had quickly melted into the landscape hiding as best as he could. He soon ran into all the same obstacles that he had been faced with before, where to find shelter, where to find food and water, and how to keep himself undetected and safe from all the horrifying creatures that were out there with him in the rock forest.

It seemed like every day there were new challenges to every miniscule bit of progress that he had made the day before. Part of his shelter had collapsed or washed away, or his food supply missing. He remembered spending four straight days devising a contraption to collect a bunch of edible fruits that were hanging in an salient, but out of reach, branch of a tree, after a swarm of ants had devoured a couple of fig-like fruits he had saved.

All the while trying to keep on the run from the aliens. Although it seemed like they had lost the furor with which they were pursuing him. Days would go by and all he would hear would be a group of them marching past through the bushes hissing and clicking at one another.

However, the thing that he found the most disconcerting was the fact that the panther-like creatures that had stalked him the entire time he had been on the run previously had not made an appearance yet. They were incredibly proficient predators, but not this stealthy.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what was not right about his current situation, even though everything about it was not right. All he knew was that before he had been out right terrified. This time he was uneasy, and out right terrified.

Phantasmagoria

2010-03-13T21:18:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Wednesday, March 10, 2010

phantasmagoria

\fan-taz-muh-GOR-ee-uh\ , noun;

1. A shifting series or succession of things seen or imagined, as in a dream.
2. Any constantly changing scene.

The phantasmagoria of faces blurred together into one steady stream. Like watching a video camera on fast-forward. A face would stop in front of him, move its mouth as if speaking to him, although he would devour hear any of the words coming out of their mouths. Some of them wore masks, some wore hats. Some were pretty young women, other serious middle aged men. The only thing that remained the same was the back drop behind them.

The lights would dim around him, although they never went completely out, on some sort of regular schedule. But he had no idea what sort of time frame all this activity happen within. There was no clock visible against his backdrop.

Once or twice he thought his father's face slide past him. Which was odd because his father lived across the country in Ohio and had never been able to conquer his fear of flying to make it out for a visit. His mouth seemed to tremble and his eyes were very moist.

It took a long time for it to occur to him that it was odd that the scenery in front of his eyes never changed, and then slowly, the slightly buoyant memories of a silver car appearing suddenly started to rise and coalesce on the tip of his brain.

Sachet

2010-03-09T21:11:00.000-08:00

Sheesh! What a break! Don't worry.....I didn't forget about you =)

Word of the Day Tuesday, March 09, 2010

sachet

\sa-SHEY\ , noun;

1. A small bag, case, or pad containing perfuming powder or the like, placed among handkerchiefs, etc., to impart a pleasant scent.
2. Also, sachet powder, the powder contained in such a case.

She slipped into the master bedroom and listened carefully for the signature noises that her parents made around the house. Her mother was singing, loudly and off-key, in the kitchen while washing the dishes, and her father was playing computer games, the sounds of sword fighting and stilted narration coming from the family room.

She silently moved across the carpeted floor over to the chest of drawers. She slid her hand lightly over the dark, smooth wood stopping on top of the cool silver nob. She fondled the elegant pull briefly admiring the comforting weight of it in her hand pleased with its aesthetics.

Silently she pulled the drawer open, lifting slightly to avoid any squeaking of the wood. Once open, the light floral scent from the sachet, buried at the bottom of the drawer, wafted to her nose. She leaned down and inhaled the scent. It smelled of her mother, of being a woman, of mature adultness, and of feminine beauty. "I got this as a wedding gift," her mother had mused, holding the green satin sack lined with ivory lace and delicate purple trimming gently in one hand.

She pushed the slips and lace aside until she found the little sachet and gently squeezed its sides. The potpourri crunching slightly under her fingers. As her mother continued to sing downstairs in the kitchen she mentally filed away this very important signature of womanhood.

Languor

2010-03-09T21:10:00.001-08:00

Word of the Day Monday, March 08, 2010

languor

\LANG-guhr; LANG-uhr\ , noun;

1. Mental or physical weariness or fatigue.
2. Listless indolence, especially the indolence of one who is satiated by a life of luxury or pleasure.
3. A heaviness or oppressive stillness of the air.

He couldn't get over how this place seemed to embody the most extreme contradictions.

The desperate poverty in a land so abundantly endowed with natural resources. The dry, sun scorched plains stretching as far as the eye could see in one brown monotonous stretch, offset by the most vivid sun rises and sunsets of his life; colors only imagined on God's palette. The slow, languorous smiles that broke like gentle waves across the faces of the local town folk as they gathered and told stories. The same smiles that were shattered against the backdrop of the most achingly inhuman suffering he had ever witnessed.

Yet, the whole place was teeming with life, like a coiled spring waiting to be unleashed. He had never felt so alive, as if the atoms that he was made up of were vibrating at a different frequency since he had stepped off of that airplane.

Maybe it was better that she hadn't come with him. He had been crushingly disappointed, but he already felt like a different person from the guy who had brushed tears away as he made his way through security. His growth was just like the life all around him, unlimited potential waiting to be unleashed. Would all that even have been possible with a part of his past there to remind him of who he was destroying in his metamorphosis? He wasn't sure.

He rolled the acorn between his thumb and finger inside his pocket and thought the African sky was the most perfect giant canvas he'd ever seen.

Inveterate

2010-03-09T21:09:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Sunday, March 07, 2010

inveterate

\in-VET-uhr-it\ , adjective;

1. Firmly established by long persistence; deep-rooted; of long standing.
2. Fixed in habit by long persistence; confirmed; habitual.

She sat as quietly as she could and summoned every ounce of will power she could conjure not to swing her legs as they dangled from the pew a good foot above the floor.

The preacher droned on and on, the only other sound the rustling of hymn books and the occasional shushing of mothers quieting their children.

The sunlight slid through the stained glass windows spilling color over the congregation. She studied the red and blue light on the top of Mr. Danielson's bald head and his fat wife's neck, and thought about how beautiful they looked having been splashed with God's rainbow. "The human race sure would be beautiful if God had made the sky a stained glass window," she thought silently.

In the midst of her rainbow colored day dreams she had started swinging her legs again, although the slightest movement from her grandmother, a gesture so inveterate within both of them, brought her leg to a sudden halt.

She had always liked going to church, the white noise of the preacher giving her the chance to have an hour within her own thoughts undisturbed. Of course, she never understood what the adults were talking about when they praised or disagreed with what the preacher was saying. She had remembered her surprise the first time she learned that people actually came to church for the sermon and not for rose colored view of mankind.

Masticate

2010-03-09T21:08:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Saturday, March 06, 2010

masticate

\MAS-tih-kayt\ , transitive verb;

1. To grind or crush with or as if with the teeth in preparation for swallowing and digestion; to chew; as, "to masticate food."
2. To crush or knead (rubber, for example) into a pulp.

intransitive verb:
1. To chew food.

She covered her mouth full of braces and giggled into her hand.

"Isn't that just the dirtiest sounding word ever?!?" she asked incredulously. Jody continued to giggle.

"I mean, people masticate at meetings all the time, right in front of each other. We masticated at the mall today!"

"Me and Joe masticated together in the back of Baskins Robbins the other night," Jody piped up dissolving into giggles again.

"Sometimes," Anna said, clearly just warming up, "I get a really large bowl of ice cream and just got at it and masticate like there is no tomorrow. And just when I don't think I could masticate anymore, I get a second masticating wind. I literally masticate seven or eight times a day."

"Joe and I will go out to dinner and sit across from each other, stare deeply into each others eyes and masticate until they offer us the dessert menu."

"That could be a new pick up line. Not, hey you want to go out to dinner? But, hey do you wan to masticate together tonight?"

"Ha ha! Sometimes, when I don't masticate long enough, I almost choke. Masticating saves lives!"

They both broke down into giggles again.

"That is totally going to be my senior quote this year!"

Fealty

2010-03-09T21:07:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Friday, March 05, 2010

fealty

\FEE-uhl-tee\ , noun;

1. Fidelity to one's lord; the feudal obligation by which the tenant or vassal was bound to be faithful to his lord.
2. The oath by which this obligation was assumed.
3. Fidelity; allegiance; faithfulness.

They sat on the floor facing one another, the carpet leaving indentations on the skin of their ankles and knees.

This was the most serious of childhood negotiations. The earliest transactions of bartering and trade. The first practice of trying to deceive and swindle.

It was all in the pitch, the building up, compliment after compliment, paving the way to the deal.

Of course, being the older sister she expected the younger sister fealty to play an important role in the negotiations. As a last resort she planned on using coercion. But only as a last resort.

She flipped her sticker book open to the page of the sub-par Peter Rabbit stickers, "I'll trade you this one of Peter Rabbit, for your fuzzy Teddy Bear sticker," she offered, starting to peel the sticker off the page.

Her little sister's large blue eyes wandered down to the sticker she was pointing to, "That isn't a good one, that is a bad trade. I'll give you the teddy bear for your Black Stallion sticker," her sister countered.

Of course, at the end of the sticker trading session they both still had all the same stickers in their books, neither one willing to give too much ground.

Didactic

2010-03-09T21:06:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Thursday, March 04, 2010

didactic

\dy-DAK-tik; duh-\ , adjective;

1. Fitted or intended to teach; conveying instruction; instructive; teaching some moral lesson; as, "didactic essays."
2. Inclined to teach or moralize excessively; moralistic.

The droning, monotonous buzz of the tattoo needle was starting to drill its way into Elliott's brain.

She looked over and saw that the outlining was finished and he had started adding the color to her new tattoo. It didn't really hurt as badly as she had thought it would, maybe sort of like tracing on your skin with a razor blade. At first she had been concerned that getting a tattoo on the inside of her wrist would sever her arteries and bleed all over the place.

"This isn't going to like, sever my wrist and kill me or anything, right?" she asked as the guy pressed the pattern of the design over her wrist.

"Nah, this just goes into your epidermis layer of the skin. It won't hit any veins," he assured her quietly.

Elliott watched his purple gloved fingers move over the delicate blue veins showing through her wrist and hoped he knew what he was doing.

"Oh my God! Mom is going to kill you Elle," McKenna said for the hundredth time. Elliott had brought her along for support, but in-between her didactic lectures about defiling her body, she had been freaking out about their mother.

"Christ McKenna, what is the big deal? Mom doesn't even need to know about it," Elliott retorted irritably.

"Yeah, how are you going to hid that?" McKenna asked with a scoffing laugh.

"I'll just wear a bracelet over it," Elliot said with a shrug.

McKenna looked over her shoulder, "What is with the Hall's throat lozenge anyway? That may be the most random thing in the world to get tattooed onto your body."

Elliott shrugged again, and didn't consider for a moment telling McKenna the significance.

Eructation

2010-03-03T21:26:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Wednesday, March 03, 2010

eructation

\ih-ruhk-TAY-shuhn\ , noun;

1. The act of belching; a belch.

"Marvin, what the hell is going on with you?" Anthony asked, closing the door gently behind him.

"Nothing, nothing!" Marvin replied waving his hand about in the air.

"Nothing? This isn't anything to be blasé about Marvin. Things are, um, moving around in the wings so to speak," Anthony continued, he leaned against Marvin's desk peering down at him intensely as if he were trying to suck answers out of Marvin's eye balls.

"Moving around? Nothing is moving," Marvin mumbled opening the drawer beside his desk.

"Marvin, after that little blip last month, and it wasn't that big of a deal, just a little slip. Diane set up a meeting with the share holders, there has been a bunch of consolidation and it looks as if the majority of the holdings are with Diane now. Do you know about this?" Anthony asked.

Marvin grimaced as if in pain, and shook his head, "No, it is my company not Diane's. Christ Tony, she can't run the company."

Anthony stared at him a moment, "Marvin, I didn't want to bring this up, but there are rumors floating around that you are slipping off the rails. Drinking, carousing. I didn't believe it, but you are three sheets to the wind right now."

Marvin grimaced again, eructated loudly and his face smoothed out into an expression of relief, "Tony! I told you, I have it all under control," his voice slurring slightly, he continued to root around inside the drawer, "Ah! Here it is!" he triumphantly pulled out a bottle of Scotch.

Anthony frowned, "Marvin, this is no time to have another drink."

"This is the perfect time to have another drink. You worry too much. Diane is a gem, she isn't going to let anything happen to the business," Marvin said slopping a pour into a tumbler.

"That's not what I'm worried about," Anthony murmured quietly taking a sip of the Scotch.

Temporize

2010-03-03T20:39:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Tuesday, March 02, 2010

temporize

\TEM-puh-ryz\ , intransitive verb;

1. To be indecisive or evasive in order to gain time or delay action.
2. To comply with the time or occasion; to yield to prevailing opinion or circumstances.
3. To engage in discussions or negotiations so as to gain time (usually followed by 'with').
4. To come to terms (usually followed by 'with').

"Soooooo, it turns out this musical is, like, really dangerrrrrrous."

The teenage girl sitting next to me on the bus was speaking to her two friends sitting in the seats in front of me.

"Beeeccccccause, like, Kaitlyn is on vocal rest. She can't talk in class even," she went on.

"She can't talk in class?" the girl in front exclaimed, "Teachers can't call on her?"

"No, like, she is reaaaaall dedicated to the musical and opening night is coooommmming up, and all the teachers are respecting thaaaaaaat."

I tried to concentrate on my book, but her long drawn out words were driving me to distraction. Was it a temporization method honed over years of evasive teenage communication? Or was it just a bizarre quirk of teenage girls these days?

"Buuuuuuut, I think she is feeling better, beeeeeecause I was getting books out of my looooooocker and she walked by and totally smacked meeeeeeeee on the butt. She couldn't say aaaaaaannnnything, but I could just tell she had this merciless laugh on the inside that she wanted to let out."

"Oh my God," I thought, "this conversation makes me want to die."

I closed my book and starred out the window at the passing scenery mentally trying to memorize the conversation so I could mock them in my blog later that night.

Pablum

2010-03-01T19:47:00.001-08:00

Word of the Day Monday, March 01, 2010

pablum

\PAB-luhm\ , noun;

1. Something (as writing or speech) that is trite, insipid, or simplistic.
2. (capitalized) A trademark used for a bland soft cereal for infants.

He didn't mean to be an asshole, although he was sure that would be the label he deserved. Who else critics a love letter? But he couldn't help it, there was just something about this girl that drove him to nit-pick, and the sad truth was that her letter was the longest piece of pablum he'd ever had the agony of reading.

She was beautiful, and sweet, and very kind, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer. He liked sharp. Razor sharp ideally.

He skimmed over her rambling about "being over the moon" and how she "had found her soul mate in him" and he felt mildly nauseated. No. Wait. That was just the left-over sushi he had just pulled out of the fridge.

"I'm just not that into you," he thought, putting the letter down on his dining room table, "Now how do I break the news to you?"

Quixotic

2010-03-01T19:46:00.001-08:00

Word of the Day Sunday, February 28, 2010

quixotic

\kwik-SOT-ik\ , adjective;

1. Caught up in the romance of noble deeds and the pursuit of unreachable goals; foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals.
2. Capricious; impulsive; unpredictable.

"I know what we could do! We could break into the animal areas of the lab and set all the mice free. No more death for the downtrodden, no more torture for the disenfranchised!" Anna yelled thumping her fist on the coffee table.

Zooey rubbed her forehead, "We aren't letting any animals free. We aren't breaking into any lab spaces. Christ! This is no time to let quixotic rhetoric get in the way of a perfectly good plan."

Anna frowned, "Your plan is completely ineffective. You want to get a job in a research lab and sabotage the lab from within? Mess up samples here and there. Record data incorrectly. How is that going to make animals have better lives? Huh? They are all still going to be in cages at the end of the day."

"Yeah, temperature controlled rooms set at the tropical temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit for every hour around the clock, with unlimited food and water, specialized healthcare on demand and company from other mice without over-crowding. Fuck, Anna. These mice live better than most Americans. I can't really get behind the Rah Rah animal rights movement because hell, all the drugs you take for your allergies were tested ON ANIMALS you hypocrite. This is about taking down a corrupt business. And how do you do that? You fuck with their pharmaceutical capacity," Zooey ranted starting to pace around the room.

Anna pouted, "Yeah, but Andy really likes the animal rights issues, and I really want to go out with him."

Supplicate

2010-02-28T19:51:00.000-08:00

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.

Mulct

2010-02-27T12:31:00.000-08:00

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.

Gregarious

2010-02-25T22:13:00.001-08:00

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.

Arcanum

2010-02-24T22:12:00.000-08:00

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.

Fructuous

2010-02-23T23:03:00.000-08:00

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.

Fractious

2010-02-22T22:51:00.002-08:00

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.

Bombast

2010-02-22T22:51:00.001-08:00

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…."

Egregious

2010-02-22T22:49:00.000-08:00

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.

Gastronome

2010-02-20T21:13:00.000-08:00

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.

Duplicity

2010-02-18T23:09:00.000-08:00

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."

Hypnagogic

2010-02-18T23:01:00.000-08:00

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.

Inexorable

2010-02-16T22:45:00.000-08:00

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.

Vivify

2010-02-16T22:03:00.000-08:00

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."

Billet-doux

2010-02-16T22:02:00.000-08:00

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".

Cupidity

2010-02-15T22:48:00.000-08:00

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.

Quietus

2010-02-15T22:47:00.000-08:00

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.

Playing Catch-up

2010-02-15T22:44:00.000-08:00

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.

Long Weekend

2010-02-13T11:04:00.000-08:00

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.

Tarradiddle, not to be confused with a Yankee Doodle

2010-02-10T23:14:00.000-08:00

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.

Vitiate Me Baby

2010-02-10T23:00:00.000-08:00

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

Approbation Me Baby

2010-02-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

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.

It Has Been a Really Pleasant Day

2010-02-07T21:56:00.000-08:00

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.

OMG....We now own a Playstation 3

2010-02-07T00:54:00.000-08:00

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.

Extra Late

2010-02-06T16:17:00.001-08:00

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.

Late

2010-02-06T15:56:00.001-08:00

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.

Sunrise

2010-02-03T21:51:00.000-08:00

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.

Misunderstood

2010-02-02T23:36:00.000-08:00

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.

What Is Life

2010-02-01T20:05:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-01T20:02:00.001-08:00

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.

Washington State University is FULL of Them

2010-01-30T23:51:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Saturday, January 30, 2010

rapacious

\ruh-PAY-shuhs\ , adjective;

1. Given to plunder; seizing by force.
2. Subsisting on prey.
3. Grasping; greedy.

She sat towards the middle of the theater, slouched down slightly in her seat. She was a little embarrassed to be there, but not embarrassed enough not to show up. Granted, the Twilight books were really written for teenage girls, but she had enjoyed them, so what the hell?

"God Bella is an idiot," she thought to herself during the scene where Bella and Jacob were riding their motorcycles around, "She isn't good looking and basically has no redeeming qualities other than the fact that she can pull off skinny jeans."

She shook the box of Junior Mints trying to dislodge the last couple of candies from the bottom of the box. Finally she thrust one finger into the corner to scoop out the last one, and when she looked up Jacob was whipping off his t-shirt to wipe the blood from Bella's forehead and choked slightly on her Junior Mint.

Daaammmmn.

She sat there rapaciously enjoying the chiseled, seventeen year old chest muscles spread across the 50 foot screen.

"Well," she thought, "This is quite the movie. Vampires. Werewolves. And Cougars."

2010-01-29T23:07:00.000-08:00

Thank you Jesus! Friday is finally here! I actually sent Ken an email this morning saying something along the lines of, "Hey, that party is Saturday night, so I'm thinking tonight...you, me, Netflix, and home-made pizza?"

I'm thinking I had a way better Friday night than you did.

I mean seriously just look at that frakkin' pie over there. Home-made crust!

So, yeah there was the pepperoni, spinach, onion and garlic pizza (awesome) and then we had gotten Solaris from Netflix. Turns out it is pretty hardcore science-fiction and I enjoyed the hell out of it. Different idea, cool cinematography, all the allusions to Greek mythology, George Cloony's ass....what could possibly make this movie any better???

Oh yes....

Hope your Friday night was as good as mine! Oh, late morning sleeping in here I come!

Word of the Day Friday, January 29, 2010

verboten

\ver-BOHT-n\ , adjective;

1. Forbidden, as by law; prohibited.

"I'm going to do it," he said playing with a french fry. "I bought my ticket last night."

"You bought a ticket???" she exclaimed.

He nodded smiling. She felt a sharp kick of shock in her stomach, and mentally knew that she had to support him, but her reaction time was clearly disappointing.

"That is so fantastic!" she exclaimed forcing a smile.

They were out at Denny's, sharing a plate of fries. She barely ate any and instead sucked down cup after cup of black coffee sweetened with large chunks of brown sugar. She always insisted that they were just hanging out, they weren't dates. I mean, they had never kissed, and now that she was thinking about it, had they ever actually touched? How could they be dating?

"Come with me," he said immediately looking her square in the eye, his sweet mouth set in a hopeful smile.

She felt another kick of adrenaline shoot through her stomach at the thought of actually traveling with him. Of getting on a plane and flying into some unknown country with just the two of them.

"I…I, can't," she stammered, her answer surprising herself more than it surprised him.

He rolled his eyes, "Of course you can't. I know that all fun and adventure is verboten in the life of Elliot. Why can't you come?" he asked mocking her slightly.

She twisted her napkin around and around in her fingers.

"I don't have enough money saved up," she replied.

"Oh, come on. I know you have a pile of money, you have been working all year and I know you don't spend it going out. And clearly you don't spend it on clothing," he said smiling.

"Hey!" she protested meeting his eye.

"Seriously," he said quietly, "Come with me."

She felt so helpless. This wasn't her plan. He was right of course, she had been hoarding every penny she earned to put away for art school. Granted, she hadn't applied yet, but she was going to. Eventually.

And now here he was, his smile lighting up the dark, dingy corner of Denny's.

"Ok, well, just promise me that you will think about it," he said picking up the last french fry on the plate.

"I promise," she nodded.

Oh My God, Is This Week Over Yet?

2010-01-29T22:38:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Thursday, January 28, 2010

machination

\mack-uh-NAY-shuhn; mash-\ , noun;

1. The act of plotting.
2. A crafty scheme; a cunning design or plot intended to accomplish some usually evil end.

There was a good deal of gossiping as Marvin steered Diane onto the dance floor. Their divorce had been legendary in the social circles of LA, mostly because of their excessive art holdings but also because of the vehemence and ill will that had spilled all over town as their break up had become public.

They had both hired big name attorneys and had set them loose with no restrictions on the tool belt of shiny lawyer machinations. Marivn's attorney, an old friend named Jack, had actually pounded his desk with both fists in jubilation as unseemly photos were leaked to the press, "I'm going to nail that bitch to the floor!" he had howled. "Jack," Marvin had interjected immediately, "That is my wife you are talking about." "Marvin," Jack said disgustedly, "This is no time to get sentimental."

However, Marvin had gotten sentimental and had abruptly undone all the legal maneuvering he and his team had carefully set up without ever explaining himself. "What the fuck are you doing?" Jack had screamed at him, "She is going to clean you out!" "I know," Marvin had simply replied, "And that is fine. All I want is the Rothko. Everything else is negotiable."

Diane, of course, didn't trust him either. "What are you getting at?" she had asked him. They had met up at one of their old time regular cocktail bars for a drink after all was said and done.

"Nothing," he replied.

"I'm not going to sleep with you," she said caustically.

He chuckled. "It hadn't even crossed my mind." What had actually crossed his mind was how Neil Diamond had given his ex-wife half of his fortune when they divorced saying that she deserved it. Diane deserved it too. Although he'd never tell her that.

He spun her slowly as the photographers buzzed around them. "You did a nice job planning this party," he told her admiring the elegant tables and flower arrangements. She laughed, "Thanks. You should just be happy you didn't have to deal with Abby when it came to all the decision making," she said lightly. He pondered that, "You two are so much alike," he said, "But, you sure do know how to throw a party," he added smiling.

"Ah, well, I learned that from you," she replied smiling back.

Hump Day

2010-01-27T22:02:00.000-08:00

Tonight we ate dinner at the un-child friendly hour of 8:00 p.m. and have been in bed for the past hour. I don't know how you full time parents do it!

Word of the Day Wednesday, January 27, 2010

panjandrum

\pan-JAN-druhm\ , noun;

1. An important personage or pretentious official.

Eric glanced up in his rear-view mirror and watched the police officer climb out of his vehicle and saunter towards the car.

"Good morning officer," Eric said politely when the officer reached the window.

"License and registration," the officer replied curtly.

Eric handed the paperwork promptly through the window trying not to tap his foot impatiently. He had hit every, single stop light the entire way to work and had tapped his gas pedal to make it through the very last yellow. Of course there would be a police officer at that particular light.

"Eric Paghn?" the officer asked him his tone not quite so gruff. Eric looked up and behind him trying to get a look at the officer. God, he thought, these self-important….panjandrums! They always do that! Stand behind your head so you can't turn around and look at them.

"Eric Paghn from Wilsonview High School?" the officer continued. Eric froze, now how the hell would this guy know that?

"Um, yeah…do you know me?" Eric asked hesitantly.

"Yeah! It is Steve Burkowski! From Physics class! Don't you remember, we were lab partners for a month or so,"

Eric totally didn't remember, but figured it would be a mistake to blow this guy off.

"Steve! Of course! Hey man, how's it going? Clearly you are moving in the fast lane these days," he bullshitted. Steve's chest puffed up a little. "Yeah, an officer of the law. I really feel like I've made something of myself. And you know, occasionally I do give speeders a little lecture on inertia. That physics is still with me" he said conversationally tapping in temple.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Eric thought. "Ha ha! Yeah, I bet they don't even know what you are talking about. You going to the 10 year reunion? It is only a couple years away," Eric continued shifting in his seat a little.

"Oh yeah, I'll definitely be there, reliving the glory days," Steve replied. Eric was really hoping that with all the chit chat maybe he'd be able to talk his way out of a ticket.

"Now, just because we are friends and all, don't start thinking it is going to get you out of this ticket. I'm really moving up in my career right now and it would look bad to show favoritism towards friends. I'll be right back," Steve said abruptly and walked back to the police cruiser.

It was then, in one sweeping flashback, that Eric suddenly remembered Steve "Fart Train" Burkowski. Namely the extravagant amount of shit he and the other top cross country runners had given him throughout high school, and in one sinking moment realized that he was about to pay for every fart joke he had ever made.

Hard Feelings

2010-01-26T19:18:00.001-08:00

So, on top of the no sleeping-in weekend, which by the way is DESTROYING MY LIFE, we also seem to have gotten a tween all of a sudden.

I have come to find out that a tween is a lot like a teenager in that they speak to you with that sassy, petulant tone to their voice, and they have a vocabulary filled with only five words, "I don't know", "I don't care" and "okay". Oh, and the lying, the unimaginable amount of lying.

The difference between teenagers and tweens is that tweens still throw tantrums.

Yay!!!

You know, I really don't think I took ages 6, 7, and 8 for granted. They were fantastically fun and we did a lot of really memorable stuff. But Holy Christ (on a stick).....I am not ready for what is next if it has been anything like the past five days.

Or maybe we will never again leave town because I might be able to deal with all the completely unacceptable behavior we have had recently if I was actually sort of caught up on my sleep.

Word of the Day Tuesday, January 26, 2010

evince

\ih-VIN(T)S\ , transitive verb;

1. To show in a clear manner; to manifest; to make evident; to bring to light.

Looking back on that evening she was surprised at how all the details were still so crisp in her memory.

She had only gotten home a few minutes before them, enough time to grab a snack and use the bathroom before her husband and step-daughter had arrived filling the kitchen with their chatter.

"Since you are the keeper of the Christmas Present Idea List, I have an idea for my dad to tell you," her step-daughter had whispered loudly into her ear.

"Oh great!" she had replied, "But you are whispering really loudly. Why don't we go into a different room so your dad doesn't hear your idea, and I'll grab a piece of paper and a pencil to write it down so I don't forget."

She remembered that she had felt genuinely interested in hearing her step-daughter's idea, and pleased that the generosity and thoughtfulness of Christmas was carrying over into the new year.

"A Red Hot Chili Peppers album," her step-daughter had whispered to her. "That is a little odd," she thought as she scribbled the idea down on the scrap of paper, thinking that it would have been weird for her husband to express a specific desire for a Red Hot Chili Peppers album, but it was nice that her step-daughter was thinking of other people. Her husband did love music. She stood up and set the paper on the counter and opened the refrigerator door to start pulling out dinner ingredients.

"If she was suggesting the Red Hot Chili Peppers as a gift idea, that is something she wants, not something I want," her husband said swirling the computer chair around towards her.

It took a moment for his statement to evince the reality of what had just transpired between her and her step-daughter. The truth and self-centered motivations slowly unfurling like a lazy wave breaking upon the shore. It had seduced her with the familiar rhythm, the rise and fall of their typical routine, only to have it crash unexpectedly upon her. The momentum of the event then slowly sliding the rest of the way up the beach along her neck to her hairline.

Honestly, it surprised her. The feelings of betrayal, of the humiliation of being lied to and her silly gullibility, and at the very bottom of it, the overwhelming feeling of having been used, piercing through her chest.

And it was within that moment, as she looked back on it, that everything had changed for her.

I Don't Have a Witty Title Tonight

2010-01-25T22:33:00.000-08:00

Hence the old blog name of "Sometimes Witty"....I just can't bring my A-game every night of the year people. Especially not after getting my "sleeping in hours" this past weekend stolen from me because we were traveling. I'm just sayin'.

***Note***
I'm not sure what happened last night...I typed this all up while sitting in bed, and spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out a title, and then threw in the towel on the title, and then apparently didn't load the story....I blame it all on a lack of sleeping in....

Word of the Day Monday, January 25, 2010

plenipotentiary

\plen-uh-puh-TEN-shee-air-ee; -shuh-ree\ , adjective;

1. Containing or conferring full power; invested with full power; as, "plenipotentiary license; plenipotentiary ministers."

noun:
1. A person invested with full power to transact any business; especially, an ambassador or diplomatic agent with full power to negotiate a treaty or to transact other business.

"So, what, you're going on vacation or something?" Andy asked slightly confused.

"Well, yeah. I mean, it gets really tiring doing this job all day, every day and I just, you know, want a break from it all," Zeus replied shrugging.

"Can Gods take…breaks?" Andy asked frowning slightly.

"I can do whatever I want," Zeus replied flippantly.

"So, like, when I'm God I can just smite people for no good reason?" Andy asked perking up a little.

"Oh, totally! Watch this." Zeus made a sort of clear port hole through the clouds and Andy could see a busy street below like he was watching events unfold on TV. "Sca-doosh!" Zeus cried waving his pinky in a little circle. Down below on the TV screen porthole a bus suddenly veered off the street into the sidewalk, flattening a crowd of people.

"Oh my God!" Andy cried out.

"Um…that would be Gods, not God," Zeus quietly corrected him.

"How can you just kill people like that? Isn't that wrong?" Andy yelled at him, seriously shaken.

"No," Zeus said shrugging, "Watch this," and with another wave of his finger he set off an earthquake along the Pacific Rim.

"See, you are all caught up in the idea that human lives mean something. There have been billions and billions of humans on Earth throughout my life, they are like ants running around, and take it from me, it doesn't matter if you squish a few of them."

"Really?" Andy asked his voice screeching a little.

"Well, here, let me give you a plenipotentiary license, and let you take 're out for a spin, and you can tell me what you think," Zeus said waving his pinky finger at Andy briefly. Andy waited for something to change.

"Well?" Zeus asked.

"I don't feel any different," Andy replied gingerly holding his arms out from his body as if he were expecting them to puff out to the size of Zeus's arms.

"Oh, you aren't going to feel any different. You are still human, you just have the power to, well, transact business, so to speak," Zeus replied, turning to pick up his bags.

"This is so awesome! So, I can get any girl I want?"

Zeus nodded, "Oh yeah! That is one of the best perks, although, I prefer to change forms for that. You know, swans, bulls, golden clouds. You can get really creative, adds a little spice," he added with an eyebrow wiggle.

Andy buzzed with excitement and did the little finger swirl thing with his pinky. Traffic suddenly cleared along the I-5 freeway through Seattle. He turned to Zeus, "How long do I get to have all these powers?"

"Oh, until I decide to come back. I mean, you aren't going to mess up the world too badly. Those humans are pretty resourcefully, and if things go too badly I help them find a vaccine or get investor confidence to turn around. It's all no problem." he said with a wave of his hand, "In other words, don't bug me. I'm going to be on an island with lots of women, and I don't need the wifey bugging me." Zeus said giving him a stern look. After making sure he had driven home his point he walked out the door and disappeared.

"Aw, man," Andy thought, "I am totally going to break my top score at Rock Band!"

Stick a Fork In Me!

2010-01-24T20:53:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Sunday, January 24, 2010

frangible

\FRAN-juh-buhl\ , adjective;

1. Capable of being broken; brittle; fragile; easily broken.

She slowly pushed the walker a few feet ahead and shuffled along behind it. Her grandchildren moving almost in slow motion to keep up with her agonizing pace. It was sweet of them, really, to come by and take her out to lunch every Saturday. Most of her neighbors within the retirement village didn't see their children and grandchildren that often. But at times their presence was almost enough to suffocate her with the slightly patronizing tone of voice, and how they presented choices to her like she was a child. Sure, she knew that she was stooped over with osteoporosis, and that she had a hard time remembering all the little details (and some of the big details), but watching them be so careful of her, gingerly handling her and her frangible body just made her want to scream at them.

Every Saturday when they brought her back to her room, promising to be by on time the following week, she would smile and wave and once they were gone she would quickly pull out her photo albums. The photos from way back when, when her body had been lithe and strong. It was almost as if she were rinsing the morning of being weak and feeble away from her mind. She would pour over the pictures from the lake, swimming with all of her brothers, splashing and racing in the water for hours. Her favorite picture, taken by Bobby, before they had even become a couple, was of her pulling herself up onto the edge of the dock. The sunlight reflecting off a thousand droplets of water around her, the photo slightly blurred by the motion of her body being effortlessly launched into the air, and the daring, fierce, triumphant look of joy in her dark eyes set ablaze with a dazzling smile.

Before her fall, the subsequent broken foot, followed by the endless therapy and set backs with her recovery, she had tried out the water aerobics class a few times at the community pool Gingerly mading her way into the pool an inch at a time, clutching the handrails with a death grip the entire way. It was only when that fat pig Jonica, who thought she was such hot shit because she was one of the entertainment coordinators on movie night, had made some comment about being the fastest swimmer back when she was in high school that she finally snapped.

"You still have the right stuff, Jonica?" she had asked haughtily.

"Of course," Jonica had scoffed.

"Prove it," she had taunted.

Oh! It had been so exhilarating! All the other women in the class had just stared at them as they started to splash their way across the pool. The teacher had been scolding them to stop from the cement deck, but they both ignored her. It was only when Merrill had shouted, "You get her Peggy!" that she knew she was going to pull ahead and touch the ledge first. And in her mind's eye, what the lifeguard on the other side of the pool saw was a triumphant and joy filled pair of dark eyes surrounded by a wall of shimmering light.

Enough Already!

2010-01-24T18:54:00.001-08:00

Ok, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Enough with the social life! Please, for the love of God let me lead a boring life full of LotR on Friday nights with burritos and Brutal Bitter beer! Don't make me socialize anymore!

Ok, I don't really mean that. We headed up to Seattle/Everett this weekend to visit family, leaving town Saturday by 8:00 a.m. effectively KILLING any sleeping-in for the weekend. We are now home, and getting all geared up for work.

Once again, I did get my story written on Saturday, but we were too busy drinking port, playing Rock Band 2 (surprisingly fun, who knew??), and family Apples to Apples to get it posted. Don't worry, you'll have another one later tonight....oohhh, wait for it....waaaiiittt for iiittttt.....

Word of the Day Saturday, January 23, 2010

veritable

\VER-ih-tuh-bul\ , adjective;

1. Agreeable to truth or to fact; actual; real; true; genuine.

She briefly leaned over and checked for feet within the bathroom stall. Breathing a sigh of relief that it was empty, she bumped the door open with her elbow and gingerly locked the door behind her. She unbuttoned her jeans and assumed the "public restroom squat" since there were no seat covers available.

It had been a long 44 miles in-between rest stops. The asshole Suburban that had been tailing her in the middle lane had decided to pass on her in the right hand lane at the exact moment she was trying to get over for the rest stop exit. She had missed the exit and instead of turning back, she decided she would speed up and give the ass-hole driver a choice hand gesture. And then spent the next 43 miles in bladder agony.

She managed to walk into the restroom in a dignified walk, rather than the "pee gallop" but boy, was she happy to be faced with the volumes of veritable wisdom scrawled on the bathroom stall walls. There was a mathematical theorem proving men were the root of all evil, a limerick extolling the virtues of tits, and a rather eloquent tirade about the faults of a man named Tyrell.

Finishing her business as quickly as possible, she grabbed a piece of tissue to flush the toilet only to be greeted by a sign on the back of the stall wall information her to "Push Button to Flush." Only the "on" of the word button had been scratched off.

"Push Butt to Flush"

"Yeah," she thought, "I don't see that working." Yet, she still found herself pressing her index finger into her butt check with a smile, you know, just in case.

Resting Quietly

2010-01-22T22:33:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Friday, January 22, 2010

prevaricate

\prih-VAIR-uh-kayt\ , intransitive verb;

1. To depart from or evade the truth; to speak with equivocation.

I couldn't help but watch the single dad on the bus. He was clearly a professional, always appearing on the bus in neatly pressed button down shirts and carefully coordinated ties and shoes. The overly conservative look, and the leather briefcase lead me to believe he was probably an attorney. However, it wasn't his professional appearance that caught my eye, but the little blonde haired four year old that he toted along in the hand without the briefcase.

Like every other woman on the bus, a swift glance at his ring-less left hand left me secretly glancing his way whenever we happened to be on the same bus. I mean, he was attractive, but there was something about watching a man in his thirties carefully arrange hair into a ponytail while balancing a traveling mug of coffee between his knees that will cement an attraction.

However, on this particular evening bus ride he was all business. "Did you take a nap today?" he asked his daughter. She looked up at him, hesitating a moment too long, "Yes, da-da," she replied. "You did? I've been hearing from your teachers that you tend not to take naps anymore," he said to her. "Nope, I rested quietly," she prevaricated, her large brown eyes innocently peering up at him. "Hmmm," he replied. You could see the sharks starting to circle. "That is great, you must have had a good day," he continued. The little girl nodded, the blonde curls bouncing adorably. "So, what books did you read during nap time?" he asked nonchalantly. "Um, Green Eggs and Ham, and Elmo Goes to School," she immediately replied.

I glanced away tried to stifle my giggle into my book, but not before seeing the gleam of victory in her father's eyes.

Definitely an attorney.

The "L" Word

2010-01-21T23:37:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Thursday, January 21, 2010

bibelot

\BEE-buh-loh\ , noun;

1. A small decorative object without practical utility; a trinket.

She wasn't quite sure how she came upon this particular shop, but once she walked inside she just had a visceral feeling that it was the right shop for her purpose. The old dusty furniture, the heavy jewelry, and tarnished brass bibelots tucked into every corner and cranny of space.

She had been agonizing for the past two weeks over this particular Valentine's Day, trying to come up with the perfect gift. She was so nervous, they had only been dating a little over a month, and things were going spectacularly although they hadn't yet used the "L" word. Not that she didn't think they would get there, it was just too soon. Why did she have to start dating him so close to Valentine's Day? How do you get through Valentine's Day without reference to love??

She picked up old, leather bound books pleased with their weight and heft in her hand. A hideous, carved, wooden man statue that was so ugly she immediately fell in love with it leaning on his cane next to a small hand drum. A stuffed iguana peered studiously down from on top of a large wardrobe.

She thought about his sleek downtown loft apartment. Very industrial with the polished concrete floors and the exposed pipes in the ceiling. His spartan furniture and minimalist artwork. The first time she had gone over there all she could imagine was the string of cool, elegant blondes that had paraded through that loft and couldn't imagine why she was there. She had been lost in the middle of figuring out how she was going to politely ditch him that evening when he had come out of his gourmet, stainless steel kitchen with an old chipped mug of mulled wine.

"This was my grandfather's recipe," he said handing her the mug, steaming with the warm smell of cloves and cardamom, "Actually, that was his mug too. He used to sip on a mug of mulled wine every night after dinner and tell me and my little brother wild made up stories. He lived with us for several years after my grandmother passed away."

She had no idea why he had told her the story. The had spent dinner at a trendy, over priced restaurant exchanging playful, witty banter. The usual verbal fencing match that constituted dating. When he had mentioned that he "just lived around the corner" she almost couldn't resist rolling her eyes at how contrived the whole thing seemed to be. Yet here he was, literally holding out his chipped facade for her to hold in her hands.

Maybe that was why the shop and all the old, spiced with life items seemed like the perfect place to find the right gift to express everything she felt without having to use the "L" word on Valentine's Day.

On Time!

2010-01-20T19:54:00.000-08:00

Ah...being back in the regular routine is good...jambalaya for dinner and movie night at home with Ken.

Perfect.

Word of the Day Wednesday, January 20, 2010

lacuna

\luh-KYOO-nuh\ , noun;

plural lacunae \luh-KYOO-nee\ or lacunas

1. A blank space; a missing part; a gap.
2. (Biology) A small opening, depression, or cavity in an anatomical structure.

The physician adjusted the focus of his presentation on the screen on the back wall of the room and cleared this throat, "We were, of course, very surprised when the Department of Defense brought the alien species into our laboratory for autopsy, seeing as how we are primarily a research lab with a focus on biological assays. However, it quickly became apparent that protein as well as nucleic acid analysis would be a vital part of a through report of the specimen."

He switched the slide on the screen to a photo showing an image of the alien from the waist up. "As you can see, the alien had been wounded fatally in an escape attempt from our security forces. Sustaining blunt and traumatic trama to the chest and the head. Incidentally, each of these injuries would have been fatal to the alien independent of each other.

Once we had started the autopsy we immediately noted the numerous lacunae in the body of the alien. Most of the cavities turned out to be part of one long tube and appears to be part of a digestion and excrement system. Some, such as the lacuna in the middle of the abdomen, we are still puzzled about and are in the process of performing further experiments.

We were shocked to learn that this alien species has almost no exoskeleton. The primary defense against microorganisms appears to be a thin membrane made up mostly of collagen. Almost more shocking than the lack of an exoskeleton, is the meager endoskeleton protecting most of the vital organs.

Upon probing the thoracic wound, resulting from the attack by our guards, we found that one of his vital organs, a four chambered pump necessary for fluid and oxygen circulation, had been irreparably damaged. Interestingly, his inadequate protective endoskeleton actually fractured and punctured a necessary organ for oxygen exchange from the atmosphere.

At a molecular level all organic tissue in the alien is quite sensitive to radiation and proteases. Exposure to both, at relatively benign levels, quickly lead to apoptosis. After we had finished our laboratory analysis multiple live subjects were collected from the caves along the Balthium Cliffs and numerous studies were performed on the strength and durability of all the organic structures at the gross and molecular level. The details are quite fascinating, and Dr. Hskuki and I will be publishing our first of several papers next month.

However, let me turn the microphone over to our head of security who will outline our basic defense plan. Focusing primarily on the areas most vulnerable to attack on the alien species in the most cost efficient manner."

Dr. Plstzar collected his notes as the audience shuffled their brow plates, gossiping in muted hisses.

The lack of an exoskeleton on the alien had been intriguing. Especially in contrast to his own species which carried sixty percent of their body weight in organic carbon fiber armor. Clearly these aliens spent a significant calorie investment in maintaining their large valuable organs, but with very little protection. "They must be a very peaceful species," he thought to himself as the Director of the Department of Defense stood up.

But that just made it all the more baffling that this alien species would just show up and immediately start exporting raw materials without a trade agreement in place.

I Said Goddamn!

2010-01-19T23:02:00.000-08:00

Holy Christ! Boy did that little weekend visit from my dad sure mess up my WOTD stories or what?? Sheesh, I got them written each day, but woo-boy did a social life ever mess up the whole posting part of the plan!

Luckily for all of you, I have a paltry social life, so here ya go.

Word of the Day Tuesday, January 19, 2010

perambulate

\puh-RAM-byuh-layt\ , intransitive verb;

1. To walk about; to roam; to stroll; as, "he perambulated in the park."

transitive verb:
1. To walk through or over.
2. To travel over for the purpose of surveying or inspecting.

Back in the day before I started riding public transportation to work, I used to view sidewalks as a venue purely for urban perambulation. Whenever I saw someone sprinting down the sidewalk in the middle of downtown, I was always partially horrified, and partially curious as to what would make a sane person in dress clothes run through the business district of a crowded city.

However, it was during one lucid moment, as it crossed my mind to shove the porky police cyclist cruising down the middle of the sidewalk at a much slower pace than my own all-out sprint, that maybe all those crazy business people were trying to out run the jack-ass bus driver to the next closest bus stop because the driver had "pretended" not to see them as they had knocked on the bus door at the red light a half block back.

***Author's Note***
Ok, I'll fess up....this TOTALLY happened to me today. I hate that jack-ass bus driver. But HA HAHAHAHAH, I'm faster than his bus (ok, with a little head start, and some help from a couple of red lights), and he totally had to pick me up at the next stop even though I could have sworn he was trying to out race me so he wouldn't have to pick me up.

Pieces of Me

2010-01-19T22:18:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Monday, January 18, 2010

accord

1.
To be in agreement or harmony; agree.

transitive verb:
1. To cause to conform or agree; bring into harmony.
2. To grant; bestow.

noun:
1. Agreement; harmony.
2. A settlement or compromise of conflicting opinions.
3. A settlement of points at issue between nations.

Elliot kicked the acorn up the sidewalk aiming it over towards Leonard's general side of the sidewalk. She felt so clumsy and secretly hoped she wouldn't kick and miss the acorn each time it was her turn to kick.

"So, what would you rather be doing than working at The Office?" Leonard asked. They had started spending their lunch breaks kicking an acorn around the block about a month prior when the snow had finally melted off and spring had finally seemed to take hold.

"God. Anything. Well, almost anything. I don't think being a janitor for The Office would be any better. You know, with Loretta and her monster work twosies and all," she replied immediately.

He smiled, "That's not really what I meant. I mean, if you could do anything, in the whole world, what would it be? What would be your dream job?" he asked effortlessly tapping the acorn ahead of them.

"Hmm," Elliot said trying to cover the panic she felt. She hated questions like that. The type of questions that actually required her to share a part of herself. She got all caught up in over-thinking the whole thing. What if he laughed at her? What if he thought she was completely ridiculous? What if she opened up and told him the true answer to his question and she lost that little part of herself forever?

"I don't know," she replied lamely. He stopped and turned toward her, "You don't know what your dream job would be??" he asked incredulously, "Wow, that is all I think about while I'm at work."

"Well, what is your dream job then?" she asked, secretly relieved to have dodged his question even with the mocking. "I'll tell you, but you still have to tell me yours," he said smiling.

She loved to see his smile, his face split in two with joy. "Ok," she agreed only half believing that she would actually tell him.

He took a deep breath. "I want to go to Africa," he said solemnly. Elliot immediately thought of the opening scene of The Lion King and that large, omnipresent sun rising majestically from the horizon, so intense that heat waves radiated through the air, and though the whole idea was perfect. Perfectly Leonard.

"You think it is dumb, right? That I don't even have a real plan?" he said his face falling slightly. "No!" she said immediately, "No, not at all. I can't think of a more perfect place for you to be," she said sincerely and seriously, meeting his eye. His doubtful eyes broke into a smile again, "Really?" he asked sounding so vulnerable that all Elliot could do is nod because she was afraid she'd get a frog in her throat.

"I know it is kind of weird. But it means a lot to hear that. From you," he said. She smiled and turned toward the acorn again, giving it a little kick. "But I guess it isn't that weird. I mean, you are my best friend and all," he added. "I'm your best friend?" she asked, stopping in mid-kick. "According to me, yes, you are my best friend," he said, "Is that alright with you?"

She looked down at the acorn again and then back up at Leonard. "My dream job is to paint. Paint huge building sized canvases. To paint an entire city. In bright, livid colors," she blurted out not even expecting that to have been her response.

He bent over and scooped up the acorn from the sidewalk and put it in his pants pocket, and smiled, "I knew it," he replied. She looked at him quizzically, his bizarre response getting her to finally look up at his face. "I always knew you were like this cottage, and from the outside you can just see a little wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney, but if you are brave enough to knock on the door and ask to be let in, that there would be a warm, raging fire waiting inside," he said.

Astonishingly, she had never anticipated that she would actually want him to keep the little piece of herself that she had reluctantly offered for display. Yet here she was.

Every Which Way But Loose

2010-01-17T22:59:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day January 17, 2010

apposite

\AP-uh-zit\

1. Being of striking appropriateness and relevance; very applicable; apt.

"Your name is Edward?"

He looked up. She was giggly, brunette, maybe thirteen years old, still in braces and with bright, shiny eyes.

"Um, yeah, my name is Edward."

She grinned, her mouth full of metal, "That's, like, my favorite name." He nodded, forcing a smile back at her.

"Have you ever read Twilight?" she asked. He took a deep breath, "No, I haven't gotten to that one yet," he replied. She started at him. "Um, is it any good?" he asked after an awkward pause. "Oh my god! The Twilight books are like, the best books ever. The main character, Edward, is like the hottest guy," she said giggling.

Edward did everything he could not to roll his eyes. Every since those goddamn books came out they had been the bane of his existence. He hated them, but needed them at the same time. They had become his bread and butter

"So, um, can I help you pick something out?" he asked shifting his weight uncomfortably. She giggled again, and appositely the next words out of her metal lined mouth were, "I like totally want a vampire costume. I'm like, going to go to the Halloween party dressed up like Bella," she giggled.

He suppressed a smile. Every other girl that had been into the costume store in the past week was going to their Halloween costumes as Bella. "You know, I bet you'll be the only girl there with that idea," he said, the twinkly metal in her mouth shining out at him.

Chris Pine, beer, and more Chris Pine = Chris Pine sandwich

2010-01-17T10:03:00.000-08:00

So, apparently my social life is hopping when my dad is town. Because once again, I did get my story written just not posted. However, I have seen my sister two days in a row, which never happens, so yes, the social life comment (as outrageous as it seems) appears to have some weight to it. However, I have two things to say for my Day-o-Fun yesterday.

1) This has got to be the best Rogue Nation Card picture.....ever. God, my dad is awesome.

2) Holy CHRIST is Chris Pine hot. The new Star Trek movie, which I have now finally seen, has definitely walked onto shaky territory with creating an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE and all to plunk the original crew of the Enterprise into. However, as I have pointed out, Chris Pine is insanely good looking, and I haven't watched the original series yet, AND Chris Pine is really fucking hot, so eh, I'll let that minor plot point slide.

Now, on with the show.

Word of the Day Saturday, January 16, 2010

countervail

\kown-tur-VAYL\ , transitive verb;

1. To act against with equal force, power, or effect; to counteract.
2. To compensate for; to offset; to furnish or serve as an equivalent to.

intransitive verb:
1. To exert force against an opposing, often bad, influence or power.

He planted his feet and shifted all of his weight into the countervailing wind. To his surprise he found that he could lean to a very sharp degree without falling over. He pressed the green button on the side of his titanium shell and activated the oscillating magenta function on his boots, allowing him to release one foot at a time from the ground. Back on the ship they called it the "Fido Button", the one that let them go for a walk.

Free to move around, he slowly started to walk forward. The surface of Quadriga was polished almost to a mirror like surface so iron rich that the magnetic boots had been a huge asset to the mission. Especially considering that the unpredictable, not to mention 100 miles per hour and upward, winds and precarious cliffs on the planet had lead to the deaths of sixty percent of their staff only two months into the project.

Eric had only arrived at the space dock in orbit around Quadriga a week prior and was just finishing up his mission training. He remembered watching "The Deadliest Catch" on the archives and figured this must sort of be like what those fishing boat trips must have been like back when there were actually fish still in the ocean.

"Ok Eric. You seem to have a good feel for the magnetized forward progression. Why don't you try moving down the face of the cliff," the voice came in directly to his implanted ear piece. "Roger," Eric replied moving to the edge of the cliff and taking a step off of the edge. The intensity of the wind gusts was shocking. Instead of using his strength to lean forward into the wind he had to use all of his strength just to stand upright. He crouched down into a hunker to reduce his exposed surface area and slowly make his way down the cliff face.

"Ok, there should be a cave coming up right in front of you," the crackle on the ear piece came in. "Try to keep your pace even. Time is critical." Eric continued forward, trying to keep his pace steady and saw the opening of the cave. "Weird," he thought as he walked over the lip of the opening and onto the ceiling of the cave.

The cave offered relief from the wind and he walked easily down the side of the cavern wall and switched the magnet function off. Slowly his eyes started to adjust to the lack of light and the sweet, money-lined sight of the odium crystals fluorescent glow started to emerge out of the darkness.

Blazer Mania, and Chalupas

2010-01-16T10:18:00.000-08:00

So, it turns out that my social life on Friday night's is totally hopin'! I mean sheesh, here I am again on another Friday night out so late, and having so much fun that I didn't get my story posted.

I got it written mind you. I just didn't get it posted. See I even have a picture of my story written out in my Blazers game program.

Blazers game program you say?

Indeed! I say.

Remember that "Big 6-0" blog I wrote a couple weeks ago? You know where I asked you all to toast my dad who was turning 60? What? You didn't toast him? Sheesh, you are you people?!?!

Anyway, so my sister and I decided, since you all didn't toast him and everything, that we were going to buy tickets for our dad to ride the train down to Portland and take him out to a Blazers game as a birthday present. And that Blazers game was last night.

And seriously.

It couldn't have been more cool.

I was born in Portland, I spent a good deal of my childhood growing up in Oregon (during the early 90's when the Blazers were actually good), and I have now lived here as an adult for almost seven years, and last night was the first time I had ever been to a Blazers game.

For shame!

Of course, we were way up in the 300 level of the Rose Garden, but it actually wasn't too bad, you could see them playing and it didn't feel like you had to pull out the binoculars. I was a little concerned about whether or not it would be a very good game because practically the entire team is injured, I mean, even the head coach is injured. No seriously.

But the Blazers actually lead the entire game, and ultimately ended up winning by around 20 points.

But more importantly, they won with the score of 102-something.

Why is this important?

Chalupas.

Yes, if the Blazers score 100 points or more at a home game everyone at the game wins a free Chalupa from Taco Bell. And they really ran it to the wire. They were barely on pace to score 100 the entire game, hitting 77 points just as the third quarter ended. And with a minute left they were at 99 points.

"Cha-Lu-Pa! Cha-Lu-Pa!" the crowd starts chanting. The Blazers have the ball, drive to the basket and.....MISS. Orlando brings the ball back down the court and I don't remember what happened but somehow, with 0.07 seconds or something Steve Blake hits a three to take the score over 100 right before the game ends!

:::WILD CHEERING:::

We then waited in line for forever to get our coupon. But awww baby! It is gonna be worth it!

So, of course, after the game we went out for a beer, and we had ridden the MAX to the game so we had to ride the MAX back home, and by the time we got home it was 12:30, and you know, I had to go to bed. So, today will be another twofer day in regard to WOTD stories.

LUCKY you!

Word of the Day Friday, January 15, 2010

pal⋅lid

[pal-id] –adjective

1.	pale; faint or deficient in color; wan: a pallid countenance.

2.	lacking in vitality or interest: a pallid musical performance.

He watched in horror as the remote control batteries cut out and the Ford Motor blimp at the Blazer game suddenly went adrift around the arena.

"Jeff! What are you doing?" Stephanie hissed at him frantically.

"The remote went out," he said feebly whacking the side of the remote a couple times, but to no avail.

They watched in fascinated horror as the motorized blimp aimlessly traveled on its own in spurts and jerks starting a slow spiral above the crowd. At first the patrons laughed and cheered thinking it was all a publicity stunt, and only when the blimp started to noise dive in a tight spiral, careening out of control that the collective gasps from the crowd could be heard.

Jeff watched, his nose pressed to the glass of the upper box as the blimp came down, front bumper first, the middle aged man underneath it frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, his face pallid with fear. The crowd let out screams and small children pointed as the blimp crashed into the crowd flipping upside down, and then erupted into cheers as the gift certificate dispenser on the bottom of the of the blimp malfunctioned spurting all the remaining gift certificates into the air in a flourish of confetti.

Work Place Blues

2010-01-14T23:14:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Thursday, January 14, 2010

draconian

\dray-KOHN-ee-uhn; druh-\ , adjective;

1. Pertaining to Draco, a lawgiver of Athens, 621 B.C.
2. Excessively harsh; severe.

Loretta let out a sigh. One of those deep, loud, passive aggressive sighs that are meant to send the message that one is annoyed. And she was egregiously annoyed. She looked back down at the form she was transferring into the computer and tried to concentrate. There they were again. Giggling about something on the other side of the cubicle. She sighed again and heard one of them distinctly whisper something about "huffing and puffing like a train".

That is it, she thought. She logged out of her computer, pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer of her desk, and marched off to the bathroom. She made a bee-line for the single stall bathroom where she could lock the door and have the entire bathroom to herself. Happily it wasn't occupied, and she gratefully locked the door behind her.

She set her purse down on the counter top and took a look at herself in the mirror. A little on the plump side, with the beginnings of jowls. She stretched her neck out to make them disappear. She tightened the hair tie around the draconian bun she wore on the top of her head and smoothed out the collar of her shirt and cardigan.

Those two obnoxious kids paling around the office like they were Batman and Robin, thinking they were such hot stuff and too good to be working there. They didn't know how lucky they were to even have a job. She knew plenty of people at her church and the clinic where she volunteered that would be ecstatic to be in their position.

She knew she shouldn't let them upset her so much, but the unfairness of it all just wound her up. Luckily she always came to work prepared.

She pulled the chair from the corner of the bathroom into the middle of the room and flipped the loud, old ceiling fan on. She climbed on top of the chair and pulled the pipe of pot and lighter out of her purse. She quickly lit up and took a deep drag. She blew the smoke directly into the ceiling fan and sprayed a generous amount of Aqua and Silver, the old lady perfume of choice, around the bathroom.

Ha, she thought climbing down off the chair, feeling much more relaxed, and they all thought she was in here taking a shit.

My Husband Is A Geek

2010-01-13T22:11:00.000-08:00

We just finished watching The Gamers: Dorkness Rising on Netflix.

That is all I have to say about that. =)

Word of the Day Wednesday, January 13, 2010

lapidary

\LAP-uh-dair-ee\ , adjective;

1.Of or pertaining to the art of cutting stones or engraving on them.
2.Engraved in stone.
3.Of or pertaining to the refined or terse style associated with inscriptions on monumental stone.

noun:
1.One who cuts, polishes, and engraves precious stones.
2.A dealer in precious stones.

Marvin looked across the table at his ex-wife and winked. She did a quick double take and squinted her eyes at him.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You know what," she replied, "You winked at me." She crossed her arms.

Marvin mimicked her, crossing his arms as well. "Is it a crime? The winking?" he asked her seriously.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed," she said leaning towards him slightly lowering her voice, "we're divorced."

"Ahh," Marvin replied leaning back in his chair, nodding in agreement. "That's right, we got divorced. It was very nasty."

"I took you to the cleaners," she said taking a sip of wine.

"Oh right. I remember that. Speaking of, how does the Warhol look in the new place?" he asked conversationally.

"It's in the foyer. Very dramatic," she replied smiling.

"So, are you going to dance with me now?" he asked.

"We hate each other, darling."

"Hmm, how true. What with the divorce and all," Marvin murmured. "Is this a lapidary rule? Or could we maybe make an exception at our daughter's wedding?" he asked holding out his hand.

She raised her eyebrow at him, "You are going to ruin my reputation," she replied taking his hand.

Look Out World!

2010-01-12T19:01:00.000-08:00

I applied for my passport today =D

Word of the Day Tuesday, January 12, 2010

torpor

\TAWR-per\ , noun;

1. Lacking in vitality or interest.
2. A state of mental or physical inactivity or insensibility.
3. Lethargy; apathy.

What is the point? We just eat, shit, and sleep. That is life. What kind of God would create that sort of existence? Well, maybe there isn't a God. Then there really isn't a point. Or is that the point? That there is no meaning to any of this. That can't be right. What kind of sick social experiment would that perspective be? Maybe we all have to create our own meaning. Could that be the point? But how do you create meaning? Especially meaning in a life? Does my life even mean anything to anyone else? Maybe my parents? But if I died, who would even notice or remember after a few years. Here lived the guy that played a lot of Xbox after school. Definitely not. Well, if the whole point is to create meaning for myself, what exactly is meaningful? Or would it be what society thinks is meaningful? If I'm the one creating meaning do I even need to take into account what society believes? Hmm. I'll have to think about that more. So, what is meaningful to me? Mom would probably make some snide remark about Xbox, or girls in bikinis, or dirt bikes. But that wasn't it. She didn't understand. What means something to me is understanding something. How something works. Yeah, but how does that create meaning? Especially meaning to life? Maybe understanding something bigger. Something that would affect a lot of people. That would definitely mean something. What would that be? Research? Exploration? History?

Marion watched her son out of the corner of her eye as she read at the dining room table. His long teenage body was sprawled out over the sofa in a pose of effortless torpor. A pile of socks and over-sized shoes had been kicked off next to an empty sandwich plate and soda can. How is it that he can lie there, staring into a magazine, thinking about nothing for hours on end, she wondered to herself.

Just do it, and do it, and do it do it doit....Tonight's the Night!

2010-01-11T20:05:00.000-08:00

It constantly surprises me that the most mundane activities can bring some of the most fun.

Ken and I cooked up fish tacos tonight, taking turns chopping veggies, lightly frying tortillas, and grilling up fish. As is my routine, after dinner is finished we clear off the table, I put on my apron, and bring up the Kitchen Cleaning Playlist on iTunes.

This is no ordinary playlist.

Rule #1) Whoever cleans the kitchen gets to choose the music (most of the time it is my music, and it is always bad music baby!)

Rule #2) Whatever music being played must be played fucking loud

Rule #3) If you ain't havin' fun, get out of the kitchen

So here is the scene.....I'm in my turtle apron, the music is cranked up....

:::Tonight's the night! Let's live it up!:::

:::start the ass shaking:::

:::follow up with finger dancing:::

:::complete the scene with bad singing and general craziness:::

I don't know if I've ever had more fun cleaning the kitchen. Tootsie-pop was flailing around crazy dancing, Ken was doing some ass-wiggling over in the corner, we were all singing loudly and badly.

Tootsie-pop goes running out of the kitchen and comes back sporting her OWN apron.

Dood.

My dancing inspires children to clean.

:::Bow down to my awesomeness!!!:::

So, not only did my little family have a ridiculously fun moment together, but poof next thing you know, the kitchen is spotless and it was the most fun I'd had all day. Aren't you all inspired to go clean your kitchen now? Good god, I'm practically a miracle worker over here!

Now, hold onto those good thoughts because I'm going to totally bum you out with today's story....

Word of the Day Monday, January 11, 2010

flagitious

\fluh-JISH-uhs\ , adjective;

1. Disgracefully or shamefully criminal; grossly wicked; scandalous; -- said of acts, crimes, etc.
2. Guilty of enormous crimes; corrupt; profligate; -- said of persons.
3. Characterized by enormous crimes or scandalous vices; as, "flagitious times."

His eyes jumped across the computer screen as the home page of the news website reloaded. The same headlines appeared as he quickly scrolled down the page. He had been antsy all morning knowing that the Supreme Court was expected to announce their ruling on the case that day.

It had been a long, hard, ugly journey since 2004. Of course, it had been punctuated with heady, exhilarating events. Ones that had seemed too good to be true.

They had spent more money on champagne during those several weeks than they had ever thought possible. "This is the last one…" Jeff said smiling, pulling out another bottle from the wine cabinet, "....of that case we bought." He felt himself grinning stupidly, "Isn't it great?" he replied, "To have a moment in your life that requires a dousing of champagne?"

Of course, they had been right to celebrate so intensely, with such enthusiasm, because all too quickly those heady moments had all been ripped out from underneath them. The fallout like nothing he could have imagined. It seemed like he was a cartoon character, one that was falling backwards, head over heels, down an upward escalator with the end nowhere in sight. Just landmarks out of the corner of his eye. Proposition 8. New York. New Jersey. Maine.

He shook his head thinking about the flagitious times that the country had been swirling within. So much nastiness that he couldn't begin to understand. The hate, the bigotry. The deeply offensive comments, the moments of gut wrenching disappointment.

All for what?

But that question was all too easy to answer.

It was for the tender heart breaking moments when he fell so in love, over and over, with the small things. The sunsets, the dinner over candle light, the day hikes, morning coffee while sharing the newspaper. For those liquid brown eyes melting with the same love, gazing into his own.

He refreshed the page again, his heart a cork thrashing around in a sea of uncertainty and apprehension. Hope, that buoyed him to the surface gasping for air, tumbled painfully against his throat.

Storm Watch

2010-01-10T20:43:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Sunday, January 10, 2010

onus

\OH-nuhs\ , noun;

1. A burden; an obligation; a disagreeable necessity.
2. a: A stigma. b: Blame.
3. The burden of proof.

She rubbed her fingers deeply into the middle of her forehead and scrunched her eyes shut as she often did when tired or under immense stress. This situation would definitely fall into the stress category.

The orange pee-chee folder in front of her shone like a beacon of obligation and duty. Or maybe the bright orange of hazard signs. She cautiously flipped it open with one finger having semi-convinced herself that bio-hazard material might be in there. Nope, just the usual pamphlets and fliers.

She felt her hand creeping back up towards her forehead.

"Stop! Stop rubbing your goddamn face! People do this all the time, it is normal, some people even look forward to this!" she scolded herself internally. "Just pull the first flier out."

She willed the hand, now fiddling with her left earring, down to the flier and flipped the page open. The onus of the endeavor washed up against her with the force of a coastal storm surf as she looked down at the brightly colored, glossy cookie sheet.

"Lord help me," she whispered out-loud to herself, hoping the other mothers hadn't over heard her plea.

The Girl Scout cookie sale season had started.

Told You So!

2010-01-09T16:51:00.001-08:00

And you all thought it was the beginning of the end.

Word of the Day Saturday, January 09, 2010

nebbish

\NEB-ish\ , noun;

1. A weak-willed, timid, or ineffectual person.

"Just go over and ask already," Rachel hissed at her without looking up from her text book. Courtney felt a flush creep up her neck and in studied calculation leaned away from the table with a quick glance across the room.

He was still over at the table by the window. And still completely oblivious to the fact that she and Rachel were watching him. "Seriously. You are starting to piss me off. All you do is talk about how much you like him. I'm sick of hearing it, go tell him. Not me," Rachel whispered.

Courtney glanced over at him. "I have no idea how to start a conversation with him," she whispered back. Rachel gaped at her, "You are in the same class. You are both at the library studying. Do you really need me to connect the last dot?" Courtney nodded, started to stand up and then collapsed back into the chair, her head buried in her hands, "I can't. What if I make an idiot out of myself. He is so gorgeous," she moaned.

"You are such a nebbish. Go do it!" Rachel snapped.

Courtney raised her head, staring at her friend, "What did you just call me?" she asked half laughing at her.

"What? It is Yiddish or something. My grandmother always used to call my grandfather a nebbish when he was being a chicken-shit twit. Like you are being now," Rachel replied.

They stared at each other a moment and started giggling.

"Ok, I'm leaving. I don't need to stalk some guy. Or study for that matter. See you back at the dorm," and with that Rachel scooped up her book and trailed out of the room.

Courtney peeked another glance at him. He was gazing out the window, tapping his pen softly against the edge of the table. Maybe Rachel was right, she thought pushing her chair back, what was the worst thing that could happen?

Better Late Than Never!

2010-01-09T11:14:00.000-08:00

So, first off let me just say that I did write a story for January 8th. I wrote it on my bus ride home scribbling away while feeling immensely paranoid that the person sitting next to me is trying to read what I am writing over my shoulder.

I just didn't get the story typed out because I was biz-eh.

Busy with what you might ask? Well, after many, many credible sources (yes Doug, sad to say that you are a credible source) informed me that I HAD to go see Avatar in the theater in 3D I decided that they were probably right (I mean, everyone told us that we should go see the new Star Trek movie in the theater, and we didn't, and actually we still haven't seen it and I'm sure I will regret that because I just saw the preview for it a couple weeks ago....I know, I know....and it looks awesome) and made plans with my sister and J to go see it.

But we didn't just make any plans, we made plans to go see it at Cinetopia in the Living Room theater. Fatty leather seats. A plush foot rest. Stadium seating set up so that you can even see the row below you. At all.

Being wicked smart and all I had purchased our tickets the night before which was good because the movie ended up being sold out. We got in line, got our glasses, and managed to find four seats together. So we sit down and the waitress comes by.

Oh yeah? Did I forget to mention that the theater was 21+ (no punk-ass kid texting in THIS movie!) and has a menu you can order from before the movie? So Ken and I ended up tucking in to a glass of port and a chocolate lava cake as the movie started. Ok, so the chocolate lava cake was totally gone by the time the movie started, but the glass of port was pretty damn tasty.

So, we are all chatting and eating and this guy pops up in this balcony thingy off to one side of the theater and starts talking on a microphone.

"Did you guys know that Cinetopia has live music on Friday and Saturday nights?" he asked.

No. No we did not.

So, we got a live classical guitar serenade before the show as well.

It was awesome.

And the movie hadn't even STARTED yet. I actually had no idea what the movie was about, but I enjoyed the hell out of it (yes, Doug, Eric you were totally right....and thanks for the suggestion). I wouldn't have gone to see this movie without the recommendation, but that would have sucked. It is a pretty good story, the 3D is pretty amazing, and there is nothing I like better than to see a military dumbass become an environmentalist. So James Cameron, you are an arrogant fuck, but you make good movies....I'll give him that.

So, THAT is why I didn't get my story typed up. But I did the work and it still counts because you all are basically guests in my life around here (mawh-ha-hahahahahah) so deal. I'll post another one tonight for sure-sies.

Word of the Day Friday, January 8, 2010

gesticulate \juh-STIK-yuh-layt), intransitive verb:

1. To make gestures or motions, especially while speaking or instead of speaking.

I leaned up against the bar, squeezed between the mash of people in the club, and tried to catch the bartender's eye. She nodded at me, "What's it going to be?" she yelled leaning towards me.

"A Dirty Girl Scout!" I shouted back over the din of the crowd and the blaring music throbbing from the dance floor.

I had been hoping for a smirk with my drink choice, and was grudgingly mollified with a slight eye-brow loft. "What is in that" she asked.

"That's what she said," I quipped laughing at my own joke until I saw the corners of her mouth tighten, "Ah, um, vodka, Crème de menthe, Baily's and Kaluha," I added quickly. She brought my drink back in short order in a very wide martini glass, "You didn't spit in this, did you?" I joked as she handed the drink over to me. "That'll be nine bucks," she responded dryly. I clumsily tried to juggle my dangerously top heavy drink, cocktail napkin and ten dollar bill under her un-waivering stare, "Thanks!" I said finally getting the money to her.

Quickly I took a sip off the top of my drink hoping to make it easier to carry without spilling and started to make my way over towards my sister and her crowd of friends. Cushioning my drink I slipped my way through the crowd. A little spin move here, another sip of the cocktail there, I'm a full on drink suspension machine baby! Followed by, fatal arm jostle.

"Fuck!" I shouted, now wearing half of my Dirty Girl Scout. I pounded the remaining bit of my drink, haphazardly placed the glass on the nearest flat surface, and proceeded to dab at my shirt with my itty-bitty cocktail napkin. "Fuck!" I shouted again suddenly aware of the fact that I had just sopped up a good two dollars worth of vodka into the napkin. I pulled my shirt up to my mouth to suck whatever leftover vodka I could find out of my shirt.

"Want some help with that?" a male voice sneered at me.

"No thanks. I'm married. To a man." I replied pulling the shirt out of my mouth.

"What are you doing at a lesbian club then?" he asked sourly.

"I'm with my sister. What are YOU doing at a lesbian club?" I asked back pointedly.

He shrugged and walked off, probably in hopes of finding another girl sucking on her shirt. Unincumbered I plowed my way through the crowd over to my sister.

"Hey, I thought ou were getting a drink? Why do you smell all minty?" my sister asked when I finally joined up with them. I looked over at Bethany, two years younger than me and with every feminine gene I didn't get. Her swishy flower printed skirt and matching dainty pink shoes in stark contrast to my black, and minty smelling, tank-top.

"What is wrong with these cocktail glasses?!?" I exclaimed gesticulating wildly, "It is like they are made to ensure you will dump out half your drink," and at that moment, in slow motion, I watched as my hand, the one pointing emphatically at the wide mojito-filled martini glass Bethany was holding, smacked into the edge of her glass, sloshing its contents across the swishy flower printed skirt.

"Oooooh," her crowd of friends gasped, collectively taking a step away from me while unconsciously tucking their drink glasses away.

Bethany looked up at me, her face contorted with fury.

"Look at what you did! Look at what you did to me! I was cute before you came over here!"

"That's what she sa....Um, there is a guy over there that willing to suck on your shirt for you," I suggested unhelpfully.

"Just go buy me another drink," she said not handing me any cash, "The one you are wearing smells good. And try not to spill this one."

***Author's Note***
Sadly this is based on a true story. All witty banter and shirt sucking is complete fantasy, but I the entire drink spilling scene is completely true. And my sister did accuse me of making her less cute. Which I will sadly have to live with for the rest of my life.

The Big 6-0

2010-01-07T20:49:00.000-08:00

Today is my dad's 60th Birthday and I just want to give him an Internet shout out congratulating him on being 60 years young!

As I have gotten older I find that I look at each birthday as an excuse to throw a bigger party, and so birthdays are actually still a lot of fun. And with this mind-set I also get super exciting for other people on their birthday because, hell, it's another party!

So, if you are drinking a beer, or a glass of wine, or are enjoying a low-fat, vegetable laden snack ;-) Give my dad a toast, because he always comes down for my parties, and I'm looking forward to many, many more good times!

Word of the Day Thursday, January 07, 2010

quotidian

\kwoh-TID-ee-uhn\ , adjective;

1. Occurring or returning daily; as, a quotidian fever.
2. Of an everyday character; ordinary; commonplace.

"Hey! Look at this!" Leonard exclaimed popped his head abruptly over the top of the cubicle wall.

Elliott sighed and looked up at whatever it was that Leonard was dangling over her head.

"What is that?" she asked in her usual semi-annoyed-semi-sarcastic-sounding-work monotone.

"Cough drops," Leonard said. He pulled one out of the bag and tossed it down to her.

As expected, she didn't catch it and had to fish out from behind her magnetic paperclip container.

"Why are you showing this to me? I don't have a cough," she continued, flinging the cough drop back at Leonard's head, "Do you hear me coughing through these paper thin cubicle walls?"

He ducked the projectile cough drop and grinned at her, "It is a special cough drop, just wait and see. But first you have to eat one."

"I'm not going to eat a cough drop. That is inappropriately medicating myself. Besides I'm at work. Are there any warnings on there about operating machinery? I AM using a computer at the moment. I could get fired," Elliott continued trying to keep up her bored, annoyed tone of voice while consciously stifling the smile starting to play on her lips.

She actually adored Leonard.

He had been sitting on the other side of her cubicle wall for the past six months and even though she would complain bitterly to anyone who listened about how much she hated the quotidian slog of being an insurance company data-entry drone, she actually looked forward to going to work each morning specifically because Leonard would eventually pop his head up over her cubicle wall.

She always tried to feign indifference or annoyance, but they both knew they were partners in crime.

The crime, of course, being that they were both too smart to be data-entry drones.

"C'mon, just put one in your mouth. Here I'll unwrap it for you, and feed it to you. It'll be like communion," he said his eyes twinkling. He held the lozenge out over her mouth.

"Gimme that," she said snatching the unwrapped cough drop and popping it in her mouth, the lock-down smile leaking out at the corners of her mouth.

They both waited there in silence for a moment sucking on their throat lozenges.

"Ok, so what is so special about this?" Elliott finally asked thickly through a mouth full of saliva.

"Look!" he thrust the little plastic lozenge bag towards her face, "It is "Blue Ice Flavored"! At this moment we are tasting a color!"

She looked up at his triumphant face, shining down at her like the sun rising through an office gray sky, and finally turned the key on that smile.

Also Applicable To Most Bus Rides....

2010-01-06T17:43:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Wednesday, January 06, 2010

flibbertigibbet

\FLIB-ur-tee-jib-it\ , noun;

1. A silly, flighty, or scatterbrained person, especially a pert young woman with such qualities.

He glanced at her crossly from across the cab of the pick-up truck.

She noticed the slight movement on his part and interpreted it as an invitation to continue the monologue brimming behind her lips.

"What makes your truck so loud grandpa? Because our car at home never makes this much noise. It sort of sounds like our neighbor's car. The ones down the street with the dog that barks when you walk by. My dad says the....mutter....or something like that on their car must be broken and the city should be notified that they are a noise nuisance."

He clutched the steering wheel tighter as she continued to chitter on about noise nuisances, the irony completely lost on her.

"I don't know, if a car is a noise nuisance, why isn't a hair dryer a nuisance? It seems pretty loud to me…"

"Stop talking!" he finally bellowed drowning out the noise of the motor. "Why must you be such a flibbertigibbet?!?"

His granddaughter, her eyes wide with surprise, stopped talking in mid-sentence, her lips still frozen in position to form the next word on the tip of her tongue.

He immediately felt remorseful, snapping at her that way. She was only seven after all, and being the youngest of five children he imagined she had been trained as a squeaky wheel.

"Grandpa?" she asked timidly after a moment.

"Yes?" he replied trying to mold his tone from gruff to kind.

"Is that even a real word?" she asked.

"Of course it is a real word!" he declared indignantly, the gruffness appearing briefly in his voice. "It happens to be dictionary.com's Word of the Day today. I always try to learn the word of the day and use it in a sentence. I was skeptical this morning if I would even be able to find a use for flibbertigibbet today. However, I had anticipated that your Grandmother would be picking you up this afternoon, not me," he mused almost to himself.

The girl was quiet for a moment, the coughing motor filling the silence.

"That is really lucky that you could use your word," she said earnestly, turning to face him with those large brown innocent eyes, genuinely pleased for him, "I hope the next time I come to visit the word of the day is crotchety so I can use it in a sentence. I just learned that one from my dad this morning."

Blast from the Past...Specifically, 2002!!!

2010-01-05T17:41:00.000-08:00

This story is actually one I started writing several years ago when I first started writing WOTD stories (turns out dictionary.com totally repeats the words they use for their word of the day emails). But I like this story so much, and really when will I get another chance to put this story out there with this project? So I'm going to go ahead and rework it and then use it for today's story.

Word of the Day Tuesday, January 05, 2010

atelier

\at-l-YAY\ , noun;

1. A workshop; a studio.

He was an artist. The dark brooding type; intense like a live grenade. The wounded, bitter, wrong type of guy. The bane of every nice guy's existence.

I had a unique perspective into this strange world of art, as the window of my studio apartment looked directly into his curtainless atelier. And you thought reality television was addictive? It was a fabulous silent film where I was free to make up my own names, dialogue and rationale. He soon became the son of a fantastically wealthy family, his golden older brother being groomed to become a Senator. Early on his undiagnosed dyslexia labeled him as a "problem" child, and as he continued to spiral out of control the family decided it best to send him off with a monthly allowance in order to segregate the black sheep from the family.

He had a steady stream of tall, dangerously thin models as the subject of his work, draping, and later, bending them, over the sparse furniture. I ran into one of his models at the coffee shop on the corner one morning, and I remember asking her why she stayed with him through his bouts of depression and mania, his apathy and cruelty. She said that when you looked into his eyes you could see the passion of his art consuming him from the inside out and she wanted to be part of that magnificently brilliant funeral pyre. "How pathetic", I thought feeling nothing but pity as I watched her leave the coffee shop turning every head in the room, "that she doesn't feel that her own funeral pyre will ever be able to burn brightly enough."

On several occasions I would watch him retrieve an object left on the curb and bring it up to his room as a prop. One afternoon as he was vacantly starring off into space on his balcony I went out to the curb with an ornate table and left it on the street. I scurried back up to my room and watched, a few moments later, as he hauled the table upstairs into the set of my entertainment. I felt a giddy excitement, possibly what a novice set designer feels on opening night, or an inexperienced extra on a movie set, a small part of the show. I watched him paint that night, and felt the power of being able to manipulate others wash over me.

I stared up at my own apartment through the curtainless window, seeing the dim light from my table lamp glowing out into the darkness. I took a sip of wine and turned around to watch him light the dozens of candles all around the room. They twinkled like fireflies at dusk, and I thought to myself that they gave off a beautiful luminous light and I should look for that brand of tea lights the next time I was at the corner market.

Everything Comes Down To......!

2010-01-04T21:49:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day Monday, January 04, 2010

enjoin

1. To direct or impose with authority; to order.
2. To prohibit; to forbid.

Marissa shifted uncomfortably on the seat in the bathroom stall causing the paper liner to crinkle loudly in the overly quiet restroom. She was acutely aware of the fact that she had walked in on a "Work Twosie" in the act.

She wished that women could be more like men in regard to the whole Work Twosie situation, and just own the whole thing. Men are like dogs. They will take a shit anywhere without regard to having anyone walk in on them, or how they make the bathroom smell. It was almost like a challenge for them. Eh? Can you out-do that? And after they are done they smile and wag their tail about the whole endeavor.

Marissa quickly finished her non-Twosie bathroom business and went to wash her hands. There hadn't been a single sound from the other stall from the moment she had walked in and she knew the woman in the other stall, whomever she was, was just counting the seconds until Marissa left. The Twosie Shame had permeated the restroom more pungently than the Twosie itself.

This is ridiculous, Marissa thought to herself checking her hair just to put Shame Fueled Twosie Woman through a little bit more agony. I am hereby writing a Work Twosie Manifesto. And she mentally tacked the proclamation to the outside of the bathroom door on her way out.

The Work Twosies Manifesto

We, the women of the global workforce, in order to form a more perfect work experience do hereby proclaim the following rights and benefits as inherent to all working women.

1. No shame or embarrassment in relation to the act of Twosies will be administered to women participating in Work Twosies.

2. All peer pressure seeking to enjoin fellow work place members from engaging in the act of Work Place Twosies is considered unconstitutional and a gross violation of the Manifesto.

3. Olfactory complaints are to be kept confidential, or at the very least, only to be mentioned to significant others or spouses, only in the privacy of the home, with no names mentioned.

Thank You Very Much

Food Baby....na nanana nana na na

2010-01-03T17:29:00.000-08:00

Food food baby! Sung to the tune of Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice.

So, merely two days in the 20-10 I believe I have already *faulted* on one of my 100 resolutions.

#52 - Never have a food baby

For those of you who have never seen Juno, a food baby is where you eat so much food/are so full that you look like you are pregnant.

"Thanksgiving Dinner full" is another way to describe the whole general concept.

So, yeah, I figured Food Babies, just in general, was a good thing to try to avoid this year, I'm just sayin'.

And I was doing so well yesterday! We had gone out to a lovely dinner at Authentic on Alberta for a family birthday dinner, and at the end of the meal I was still feeling just full, not *overly* full.

And then....IT happened.

You know what I'm talking about.

Chocolate Fondue happened.

Kristin and Jason came over for some Star Trek action at our house, and Ken and I stopped by New Season's and picked up a bottle of port (oh, you guys all remember my lover, Mr. Bottle of Port, right?) and they show up at the door not only with a bag full of chocolate chips and whipping cream, but also a copy of The Joy of Cooking.

This was serious ya'll.

And what is one to do when there is pound cake and delectable fruits to dip in chocolate while you are cherry picking the best Captain Picard episodes?

Food baby City!

But instead of a failure I have decided that my list of resolutions is a reflection of my life and goals therefore needn't be pass or fail, imposing a set of strict rules for people to follow (even ourselves) never works out well in the end, and I have therefore amended my goal for this year to be....

#52 - Never have a food baby....more than once

Word of the Day Sunday, January 03, 2010

tortuous

1. Marked by repeated turns and bends; as, "a tortuous road up the mountain."
2. Not straightforward; devious; as, "his tortuous reasoning."
3. Highly involved or intricate; as, "tortuous legal procedures."

She sighed and looked in the mirror again.

Unbelievably disgusting.

That is what she thought of her body whenever she looked at herself in the mirror. Disgusting. She refused to wear a bathing suit, a two piece was completely out of the question. And forget about dating! There was no way she would ever allow a man to see her looking like….this.

She didn't care what other people said, "Why don't you have a boyfriend? You have a wonderful personality!" "Any man would be lucky to have you! You are so funny, you make me laugh every time we hangout!" "You have such a pretty face!"

Nope. None of those excuses would convince her otherwise. What, did they think she was stupid? She had a mirror, she knew how utterly revolting she looked. It was clear as daylight.

She turned to the side and scrutinized her profile. The new angle just made things worse.

She poked at the flabby skin near her belly button waking up the alien parasite that burrowed into her lower abdomen. Its neck telescoped out a foot or so and started to writhe around tortuously as it tended to do when it was hungry.

"God," she said out loud, her tone of voice dripping with revulsion, "at least I don't gain weight with you around," and proceeded to lick the inside of the chocolate fondue pot.

Sushi Train!

2010-01-02T15:48:00.000-08:00

Today I went out shopping and lunching with my mom and sister as part of her post-birthday celebration. We did a little shopping at IKEA and then went over to this sushi place in the strip-mall hell next to the IKEA (seriously, the people in the parking lot of this place are all CRAZY! And in a frenzy to get the.best.parking.spot.)

I was sort of super excited about the sushi because it was the kind on the conveyor belt where you just sit down and start plucking plates of sushi off to eat, which I had never done before. And I was trying my best not to eat too many of the "black plates" because they were all $3.25 each. But there was this eel dish that was a "black plate" dish that my sister and I were both eyeing so we finally decided we'd grab the next one that came around.

:::seeing one coming down the pipe:::

"Ooh, ooh! There is one!" I said and Kristin eagerly swiped it off the conveyor belt. We pulled the lid off and she was immediately all, "Oh. Oohhh. That is bad."

:::leaning over for a closer look:::

"There is a big, curly black hair on the top of that," she says with a grimace.

:::looking around at the cooking and wait staff, all of whom are Asian and have straight, straight hair:::

::::eeewwww::::

"Let's just put it back..."

So we plunk the dish back on the conveyor belt, which was bad because each time I saw another eel plate coming around we would get all excited, scrutinize it further, and be all disappointed because that little black hair was still gleefully lounging on top of the sushi.

So, yes, today's story is a lot of art imitating life ;-) Happy Birthday though Kristin!

Word of the Day: Saturday, January 02, 2010
constitutional
1. A walk taken for one's health.

Marvin tried to disguise his belch behind his hand in an effort of discretion. He wasn't so sure it had been a effective as he had hoped. A pretty young mother, scooting her little girl past him had given him a side-long glance at his flagrant display of flatulence.

Bah, he thought. Fuck it. He was old, at least he looked older than his years, and he found that everyone seemed to cut him extra slack when it came to being elderly. He is old, he is probably losing his mind! Let him belch in public! Everyone knows old people don't have manners!

Marvin shuffled to the end of the sidewalk and turned around. He had excused himself from the table momentarily in between courses, "A man my age needs a mid-meal constitutional. It helps with the digestion problems," he had murmured to his daughter's soon-to-be husband who had nodded politely.

He chuckled to himself, and earned another pointed look from the couple on the bench ahead of him. I hadn't really needed a mid-meal constitutional. He had just noticed that there was a big, curly black hair daintily perched on top of the appetizer course, and he figured it would be an "old man" thing to do to make a fuss over it in public, but didn't want to have to wonder in horror if his ex-wife would unknowingly stick that particular piece of Brie in her mouth.

Happy New Year!

2010-01-01T11:32:00.000-08:00

So, every year instead of making one New Year resolution, I make 100 of them.

It is usually at this point that jaws drop and people get all crazed. 100?!?!

Yeah, 100. My theory is this. It is a given that I'll never accomplish all 100 resolutions, but with 100 of them I am bound to be successful at one or two or five of them so there is no pressure to fail at my one New Year resolution. I figure if I hit the 20% mark it has been a pretty good year.

So, the last couple of years I have put "Do the NaNoWriMo in November" (which I have been successful at the last three years thankyouverymuch). However, I didn't put that on my list for 2010.

I put down something much crazier....

#17 - Word of the Day stories - Blog

This is actually something I have wanted to do for a while but have never made the time for, or had the guts to try it. In a nutshell, I have been getting the "Word of the Day" emails from Dictionary.com since for forever and it has always been my idea to write a short story (around on page max!) as a way to learn the word, use the word, retain the meaning blah blah blah. I have a few stories here and there but I have never been self disciplined enough to write every day.

Well, that is the goal this year my friends. A story a day for all of 2010. Nothing like starting the year with grand plans, eh?

Without further ado...

Word of the Day: Friday, January 1, 2010

panacea

1. A remedy for all diseases, problems, or evils; a universal medicine; a cure-all

He stared dully across his living room at the various items of New Year's Eve celebration litter. Horns, hats, and copious amounts of confetti lay discarded amongst empty, lipstick stained champagne glasses. The Christmas tree lights were still on and blinking forlornly over in the corner, although now that he scrutinized the scene it appeared that the tree was on the verge of falling over.

He sat there silently trying to remember if anyone had been too inebriated to drive home, straining his ears for the sound of drunk snoring from one of the back rooms. Nothing. Clearly the biggest blow out party of the year hadn't been the panacea for company that he had been hoping for. Sure, everyone had come over and it had been fun, raucous time full of karaoke, dancing, and he vaguely remembered fireworks, but he had secretly been hoping that there would be someone there in the morning. Anyone. That he would have a guest to cook a big breakfast for. Eggs, scones, a pile of fresh fruit. He had been too self-conscious to invite his guests to breakfast, fearing that they would laugh at his “slumber party” idea.

He stood up, mentally noted that he should take some of the champagne glasses with him to the kitchen, but instead left them standing on the coffee table. He slid the cranberry-lemon scones into the oven for a slight warming and started the espresso maker on the stove. He continued to rattle and bump around the kitchen set on having the breakfast anyway, even if it was just for himself.

A head of messy blonde hair suddenly poked around the kitchen door frame, “Hi,” she said with a sheepish smile, “I, uh, guess I passed out in a closet back there last night?”

He stared, frozen with surprise, looking absurd with both of his arms sticking out in front of him, an oven mitt on one hand and pancake turner in the other.

“Um, I'll get going as soon as I find my, uh, shoes and.....uh, my....” she trailed off her sentence sheepishly, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
He became increasingly aware that he still had his arms in the air.

The scones were just starting to brown a little, and the heady smell of the espresso was filling the kitchen.

His face broke into a warm smile.

So They Say It's Your Birthday!

2009-12-21T20:19:00.000-08:00

Snap shots of Tootsie-pop's 9th Birthday:

.....

:::phone vibrating in my pocket:::

I pull the phone out, see it is Ken calling and flip open the phone.

Me: "Hello?"

Ken: "Hello! Wife of mine!"

:::me giggling:::

Me: "Hello! Husband of mine!"

.....

:::Up at Pizza Fino sitting in the window seat eating pizza, spaghetti and meatballs and a pitcher of beer:::

Ken: "Locus. Locii."

Me: "You know, I read this grammar book earlier this year and it was saying it is completely acceptable to just add 's' to the end of those words. Octopuses, and whatnot."

Ken: "Locuses."

Me: "Penis. Penises.....Although I don't know in what situation you'd need to use that in the plural."

Ken: "Lindsey Lohan."

:::me giggling:::

.....

:::Back at home, we have constructed an ice cream sundae for Tootsie-pop complete with flaming candle for her to blow out:::

Me: "Alrighty! A-one, A-two, A-three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!"

Ken: "Wait! Wait! I have to get the song!"

:::waiting:::

:::The Beatles Birthday song starts up:::

You say it's your birthday
It's my birthday too, yeah
They say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you.

:::we all start crazy dancing around the kitchen to the Birthday song:::

.....

Tootsie-pop: "Next year, I want that birthday song instead of the regular birthday song."

HAPPY 9th BIRTHDAY KIDDO!!!

You Can Lead Them to Water....

2009-12-20T21:59:00.001-08:00

So, this weekend my family was celebrating the college graduation of my aunt from George Fox University. She has spent the past 35 years taking college credits here and there and has finally worked her way through the remaining slog of credits for her bachelor's degree.

It is a really big deal and a large group of the family showed up at her ceremony to celebrate this amazing achievement.

:::cheering for Teresa!!!:::

Of course, like any small university, the graduation ceremony consisted of the every graduate's name being read out. Bachelors, Masters and Doctoral. When we got to the doctoral graduates they of course take a little longer because of the hooding ceremony.

Now, I remembered when my sister got her Masters hood and I leaned over and whispered to my mom.

Me: "So, what happens to the Masters hood when you get a PhD hood?

Mom: "I don't know..."

Me: "What, the Masters hood is just useless now?"

Mom: :::shrug:::

Mom: "What is the difference between the Masters hood and the PhD hood anyway?"

Me: :::flipping through program:::

Me: (reading directly from the program): "This says the Masters hood is three and a half feet long, and that the PhD hood is four feet long."

:::pause:::

Me: "I guess six inches does make a difference..."

:::my mom dissolving into a fit of hysterics that resulted in both of us needing Kleenx:::

One of Those Days

2009-12-17T20:30:00.000-08:00

So, the other day I was just having one of THOSE days.

It started off with my H1N1 vaccination shot, which lead to me feeling sort of crappy towards the end of the work day so I took off a little early and promptly fell asleep on the bus ride home. I didn't even THINK about picking up the gift card I was supposed to buy that evening on my way home from work (I remembered in an "OH CRAP" moment about four hours later.

:::aaahhhh!:::

I finally got home, I cleaned the house up and then went up to the store to buy ingredients for scones that I was going to make for a birthday party at work the next day. I proceeded to make the scone recipe TWICE and both times they didn't rise and were doughy disgusting messes (I'm blaming out of date cream of tartar on this one). Of course, two batches of baking requires two batches of kitchen clean up, which....yay! And somehow one of the dishes slipped out of my hand and shattered in the sink.

:::sigh:::

In the mean time we were trying to get our family photo taken for our Christmas card. We set up the self-timer on the camera, we smiled and squished together, and in the end.....we had no really good photo to show for it. Tootsie-pop thought it was HYSTERICAL this year to make faces and ruin the photos, or to smile manically which also ruined the photo.

:::grrrr:::

Fuck it. I thought, I 'll see if I can crop out the flowers that magically appeared in the corner of the first photo we took. Except Ritz Camera's website was not jiving with iPhoto and wouldn't search the photo library.

:::unbelievable:::

I was hoping that going to bed would put an end to my bad day run, but it turns out I was in the midst of a bad day hangover. Tootsie-pop was running late, although it turns out it was ACTUALLY a late start day for school that morning and we were actually supposed to be dropping her off with her mom....in downtown. Not North Portland where we were actually at.

:::aaaaahhhhh!:::

So, I call Ken, and we coordinate for me to pick him up, get him and Tootsie-pop together and I'll drive them into work. So, I turn the car around and start heading to the bus stop Ken got off at.

And this is when the dog ran across the street.

It ran in front of the car in front of me and we both slammed on our brakes and didn't hit the dog, but it then turned around and ran back into traffic where it was hit by a car in the other lane going awfully fast.

I closed my eyes.

Tires squealing, dog yelping, and everyone just froze.

Two women across the street (the owners?) are crying in each others arms, the dog appears from under the car, ALIVE and bewildered, but clearly with a hurt leg. Another woman is gently trying to coax the dog out of the street.

The car in front of me slowly drives off and I follow. We see Ken about a half mile up the road, and pull over to pick him up.

I promptly burst into tears.

The whole thing has been weighing really heavily on my mind the last couple of days.

We all have those days where things just aren't clicking, everything is slowly grating on your last nerve, and you just can't seem to sigh deeply or enough to get that weight off of your chest. The To-Do list keeps growing even as you are working your ass off, trying to get everything done, and then...POW...you get a knocked right in the face with the REAL things to worry about.

All those things don't matter. The ruined scones? I bought some pastries and they were delicious. The forgotten gift card? Turns out you can buy virtual gift cards online and have them emailed out. The broken dish? The garbage can is right under the sink. The piles of dishes? That is what the "Kitchen Cleaning Music" play list is for. The late start day at school? We all got downtown in time.

The looking out for your loved ones, two or four legged?

Give them all a hug right now, because that one isn't always so easy to fix.

The Christmas Spirit: Part 2

2009-12-13T19:41:00.000-08:00

So, I was out Christmas shopping today.

I had meant to meet up with my sister and things sort of went awry and I figured, since I was ALREADY downtown, I might as well knock out as much gift shopping as I could.

The problem was....it was horrible.

Ken and I have spent the last couple of years getting rid of as much STUFF as we can manage, and the last thing I wanted to do this Christmas was to buy my family more STUFF. Yet there I was today, buying STUFF.

And I remember, walking through Pioneer Square Mall, and looking over at the glitzy, pretty window display at the Bebe store and admiring the cute, sassy outfits they had put together with well coordinated accessories and thinking to myself, "I am seduced by that window display." I know how smart marketing campaigns are, and I know that I am susceptible to them. Seriously, left to my own devices (aka Ken didn't choose our wine) we would be drinking butt-loads of crappy wine with beautiful labels. I know that I don't want to partake in the buying-stuff-for-the-sake-of-having-stuff lifestyle, yet I didn't manage to dig myself out of that mindset this Christmas season.

I love Christmas time. I love decorating my house with Christmas decorations. I love driving around and seeing the Christmas lights my neighbors have hung up. I love getting together with my family. I love cooking for Christmas (I just made this and it is EVERY SORT of amazing). I love Christmas lights and Christmas music. I love it all.

I have just grown sick of the STUFF.

As Ken and I sat at one of our favorite NoPo pubs tonight we were discussing this very thing, and trying to come up with a plan for freeing ourselves from THE STUFF in the future.

Life, and our life together is such a good thing. Why is it so hard to get out of THE STUFF mindset?

The Christmas Spirit

2009-12-12T09:27:00.000-08:00

So, I like Christmas and I like to decorate my house for Christmas. I'm also a rather crafty person. And that being gluing-popsicle-sticks-together crafty, not plotting-devious-schemes crafty. So I have made a lot of my own Christmas decorations, including the Christmas wreath that I hang on the front door.

So it was particularly upsetting when the fucking wreath got stolen off of the front door the other morning while we were getting ready for work. What KILLS me is that I HEARD it happen, a sort of scratching noise at the door and the cats were peeking at something through their crack in the curtain and I didn't go out and look out the door because I just thought it was someone putting a flier on the door knob, not someone stealing my HAND MADE Christmas wreath.

So this morning I was all Merry Fucking Christmas, stupid trash fucking North Portland. Where you can't throw a Christmas wreath without hitting some sort of ignorant, loud-mouthed, poorly raised, shit for brains, punk-assed kid running around. And all these kids are running around because their ignorant, loud-mouthed, poorly raised, shit for brains, punk-assed parents are just as bad if not worse. Yay, North Portland you rock! And by rock I mean completely suck ass!

Anyway, I digress.

So, I went in for a hair appointment that same morning near Pioneer Square and I'm doing the snippy, blow drying, hair goo styling thing and whining about my wreath a little bit, but am starting to feel a little better about it, but still completely Bah Humbug about people in general. I mean, HELLO! The Christmas Spirit people! Does not include stealing wreathes!

Anyway, so the thing about my hair appointment is that I chopped off all my hair, probably a good nine inches and I decided to save the pony tail and donate it to Lock of Love.

So, I walk out of the salon with this little paper bag full of hair and I run into the "Macy's Crew" across the street. I had seen them before the cross walk light had changed and they were all dressed up like elves and handing fliers out

:::sigh:::

but I have to walk by them to get to my bus stop, so I just decide to deal with it and be nice to them, so when they solicit me I smile and stop to talk to them.

"Have you ever done a good deed?" the elf girl asks me, "Ever given blood?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," I tell her, "I actually have a bag full of hair right here I am going to donate," I add opening up my paper bag.

"That is great! Have a $25 gift certificate to Macy's for your good deed!" she exclaims handing me a gift card.

:::sort of shocked by this:::

"She is donating hair!" the elf girl says to the rest of her crew.

The photographer requests that I hold up my gift certificate and smile for the camera, and then asks my name and where I am from.

"North Portland" I hear myself say. See that NoPo? Even though you totally suck ass, I am trying to shine up your image.

But truth be told, the whole rewarding of the good deeds thing at Macy's did make me feel a lot better about my stolen wreath. I mean, these are essentially the two opposite sides of humanity. The ugly side and the optimistic side.

And even though I totally fantasized all day about what if I had opened the front door when I heard the noise that morning and saw the wreath being stolen, and then chased down the culprit and proceeded to beat the shit out of him with the empty wreath hanger, at least I can feel good about the fact that I am still a decent person who does try to make the world a little bit better.

Although later the only thing I could think about was...

:::oh, please Photoshop out the big zit on my chin for whatever advertising campaign this photo is going to end up in:::

The Real Fant-assy Football

2009-11-26T21:49:00.000-08:00

A conversation with my husband this morning (concerning his Fantasy Football league)

Ken: "One more and I'll have it clinched"

Me: ?

Ken: "A spot in the play-offs"

Me: "Oh. I thought maybe you were talking about your ass."