So I was in a meeting yesterday and someone kept saying “irregardless” and I wanted to jump out of my skin and yell “THAT IS NOT A WORD”…but because I do really like my job, and ‘SANTA” was really generous to me this year (according to the packages rolling out of the top of my closet) I thought best to keep quiet. Upon further reflection, I also acknowledged the fact that since I can barely help my daughter with her 4th grade math homework, it may be a bit hypocritical for me to play the role of grammar police.
It got me thinking about how incorrect word usage has haunted my life either via a malapropism, mispronunciation or just flat out making up my own word. I have no idea why, but until I was like 20 something I thought “moment” was pronounced “mullment” and it wasn’t until I was at a party with two of my best friends that they both were like “what the hell are you saying??” and I just shrugged it off, saying “I said moment, it just sounded like mullment because I had a sausage ball in my mouth”….btw in the late 90’s, in Atlanta, the Bisquick sausage ball was party favorite for 20 somethings making $25,000 a yr…this is based on my personal extensive research.
Then another key one that comes to mind is a little sad…sad and embarrassing. So I was at a funeral with my best friend and they are carrying the coffin out and I lean over and say “I didn’t know so-n-so was a Palmbearer!” and she just looks at me with a WTF look- and says “you MEAN Pallbearer” and I am like “NO, I MEAN Palmbearer….like back in the day when they used to lay palms over the coffin. I was confirmed in the Episcopal Church, went to Holy Innocents AND was an acolyte. I know of what I speak”. So to not cause a ruckus at aforementioned somber event she just looked at me like “being friends with you is a lot of work…it is a good thing you are funny”….well she probably just thought “being friends with you is hard” as at this point in my life I also had a strong affinity for blazers with shoulder pads and high-waisted jeans.
Anyhoo, later as I binged it (and yes people I BING, I do not GOOGLE….as Google isn’t paying for my retirement, kids colleges or soon to be needed plastic surgery) I realized that Miss Malaprop had struck again. In my defense, can’t you see the illustration in your preschool bible of Abraham laying palm fronds over a basket and sending it down the river Jordan….I mean, honest mistake people.
As much as I love to make fun of myself, I also like to acknowledge when others are more of an idiot than me, which brings me to my next anecdote.
So Doug and I are on a sales incentive trip that his company qualified for and there are 150 couples, all ages, but I would guess average age was 40. So one evening we are at the nightly cocktail party (yes, there is one every night, always in a great hotel in a fabulous locale- all expenses paid- very nice perk of Doug’s job that I am happy to help him enjoy) and this guy, likely about 45, comes over to our table and is like “do you all know what DTF means?” and we all laugh and say “yes, why?” and he says “well my wife is clueless and I told her it meant “are you ready to eat?”, so if she comes over here and asks you if you are DTF, just go with it”.
And yes, this lady had gone around the cocktail party asking varying people if they were DTF, and it didn’t help that she was a little drunk, wearing white jeans that some would consider (ok, maybe just I would consider) a tad bit too tight and a revealing top. So since I feel it is our duty to help other women in such situations, I pulled her aside and told her…poor thing, she was horrified and I think I can say with 200% certainness that that dude got no action for the rest of the trip, possibly his life…as she was never going to be DTF him again.
This story should validate that everyone, regardless of age, needs to be up on their current lingo, because really if this woman had gotten off “The Facebook” and followed just one person on Instagram this entire situation could have been avoided.
My mother is a pro at swinging to the other side of pendulum when it comes to being cool/hip with current lingo, which has led to some of the most embarrassing mullments of my life. I am still scarred by the fact that when I was in college it came to her attention that people were “high” and that there was a lot of “hooking up”. To clarify, in 1989 in Boulder if you were “high” you had been smoking pot and if you “hooked up” you would have made-out or heavy petting. My mom thought “high” meant drunk, and that “hooking up” meant going out on the town.
SO, with all that in mind envision Peggy in her cowboy get up (I mean she was INTO the look- it was like Ralph Lauren Aspen store and the Marlboro man imploded) and comes to visit me and is taking a bunch of my friends and I (boys and girls) out to dinner and after everyone got past her floor length duster coat and cowboy hat they embraced her lovely sense of humor and the fact that they were getting free drinks….and all of a sudden my mom leans over to my boyfriend, whom she has never met, and says “so did y’all get high and hook up last night”. <insert Mandy Patinkin’s voice from Princess Bride>….”You keep using that word. I do not think that means what you think it means”. Nico, Cari, Cameron, Tracy…anyone remember this???
In other news, I feel like a fat troll and am going back on the Whole 30 January 3rd if anyone wants to join me and will chronicle said torture again on my blog. I have really determined that I don’t have gut sensitivities I just like to eat and drink and over 40 when you eat and drink a lot you gain weight…..and I have only gained back 3 pounds, but honestly my skin is bad and I miss my sleep. Also, my Christmas tree is so fat we could barely get through the door and the top of it looks like Fat Bastard from Austin Powers.