"Yeahbuts" = 1) That internal rationalization we sometimes engage in when evaluating a potential date that takes some undesirable trait and deflects the natural tendency to walk away by noting a mildly positive one. 2) The person we date following such a rationalization.
Example 1: He seems to be an alcoholic ... but he's a damn fine kisser.*
Example 2: He seems to have a third testicle aka odd growth ... but he's a damn fine kisser.*
*Yes, damn fine kissing can successfully, if only temporarily, deflect way too many evils.
I want substantially less Yeahbuts in my life. I'm contemplating a safari into the jungle of online dating and am determined to have less Yeahbuts as dates. See, a Yeahbut might seem a quick fix for loneliness but is, in fact, a contributing factor to sad panda syndrome everywhere as Yeahbuts muck up your life, sucking out all time and energy for those elusive creatures with only the positive - "but" factors.
In short, I need more good "buts" in my life.
*hee*
In fact, I enlist my friends as allies in this endeavor: Be on the lookout for Yeahbuts. If I appear to be succumbing even momentarily to a Yeahbut, you have my permission, my plea, to smack me upside the head.
[For those curious ones, yes, examples 1 & 2 stem from the same real person who shall remain a nameless EMT alcoholic ass with Dallas-worthy initials.]
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Shoe Scrape
Today, I witnessed possibly the most disgusting spectacle I've seen in the last five or more years ... all while walking to the restroom in my office building.
In order to reach said restroom, I had to traverse an interior walkway that, because of a wall of windows from 1st to 4th floor, allows for a full view of the parking lot outside of our building. Crossing as I was, I aimlessly stared outside, wishing for the sun, a walk, and my mp3 player (currently playing Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith).
[Side note: Go buy the book above right now. Any book that begins with "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains" and includes the five Bennet sisters being skilled in the "deadly arts" is a necessary read for all.]
My eye landed on three patriotically-clad people walking through our parking lot - two men and one woman. I watched with some disinterest as one man and the woman walked a bit ahead of the other man ... until I noticed the lagger step off to one side, farther away from the couple. My mild interest quickly turned to horror as the man then put his hand over his nose and proceeded to attempt a bushman's blow in public.
Now ... a bushman's blow is essentially ... blowing your nose without tissue or Kleenex or other suitable receptacle. Oh yeah ... make that face. It was dis-gus-TING! The attempt was apparently ... uh ... fruitful ... since he then flung the contents of his hand to the ground. Yeeah.
But wait ... there's more.
He stopped a moment, considering his hand. The flinging didn't quite do the job so he then lifted up the back of his shoe and scraped his hand on it.
Another look ... another scrape ... a few steps ... look ... scrape ... step ... look ... scrape ... step. The man's impromptu booger dance continued until he had scraped his hand off about six times.
It may have continued longer but he was then, thankfully, out of my view. Alas, not out of my memory.
I know not where the urban bushman went, I only know this - Watch where you step in downtown Grand Rapids people; between the spitters and the lagging bushman, it's a snotty mess out there.
[And lest anyone misunderstand my use of the term bushman as being racial, I'm talking about the action and nothing else, in fact, the bushman blowing today was Caucasian. Disgusting habits know no color boundary.]
In order to reach said restroom, I had to traverse an interior walkway that, because of a wall of windows from 1st to 4th floor, allows for a full view of the parking lot outside of our building. Crossing as I was, I aimlessly stared outside, wishing for the sun, a walk, and my mp3 player (currently playing Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith).
[Side note: Go buy the book above right now. Any book that begins with "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains" and includes the five Bennet sisters being skilled in the "deadly arts" is a necessary read for all.]
My eye landed on three patriotically-clad people walking through our parking lot - two men and one woman. I watched with some disinterest as one man and the woman walked a bit ahead of the other man ... until I noticed the lagger step off to one side, farther away from the couple. My mild interest quickly turned to horror as the man then put his hand over his nose and proceeded to attempt a bushman's blow in public.
Now ... a bushman's blow is essentially ... blowing your nose without tissue or Kleenex or other suitable receptacle. Oh yeah ... make that face. It was dis-gus-TING! The attempt was apparently ... uh ... fruitful ... since he then flung the contents of his hand to the ground. Yeeah.
But wait ... there's more.
He stopped a moment, considering his hand. The flinging didn't quite do the job so he then lifted up the back of his shoe and scraped his hand on it.
Another look ... another scrape ... a few steps ... look ... scrape ... step ... look ... scrape ... step. The man's impromptu booger dance continued until he had scraped his hand off about six times.
It may have continued longer but he was then, thankfully, out of my view. Alas, not out of my memory.
I know not where the urban bushman went, I only know this - Watch where you step in downtown Grand Rapids people; between the spitters and the lagging bushman, it's a snotty mess out there.
[And lest anyone misunderstand my use of the term bushman as being racial, I'm talking about the action and nothing else, in fact, the bushman blowing today was Caucasian. Disgusting habits know no color boundary.]
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Going Down
God bless regional and/or familial differences; they keep us on our toes. Or at least wiping the tears away as we nearly get thrown out of a Jeep.
I spent part of this weekend with my little sister, Jenny, in Chicago. Jenny manages a SEE Optical there and is my personal dresser when it comes to my Velma look. So, this weekend found me doing at least two of many things I hate: driving to/from/in Chicago and picking out glasses. Thankfully, the trip also included a trip to the Museum of Science and Industry for the Harry Potter Exhibition, which is there through September 27, 2009. [YOU MUST GO!!!]
It was on the way to said exhibition that Jenny and I were delighted by the following exchange:
Jenny's friend, Beth, was gracious enough to go with us on our adventure and even more awesome by driving. On the way, Jenny was in need of caffeine so we pulled into a Dunkin' Donuts that was blessed with the drive-thru window. Now, I'm generally not a DD customer and, so, wasn't sure what, if anything, I'd want. I noted this as we were pulling in and Beth, rather than go forward to the drive-thru .... stopped in the middle of the parking lot.
"Do you need to go down?"
Um ... must not have heard her right.
"What?"
"Do you need to go down??"
Silence ... whadahuh?
"Do you need to go down?"
Let's go with the safe answer.
"Um ... no."
Jenny finally asked Beth, "Do you mean go 'in'?"
An exasperated, "Yes!" and stunned, "OH!!" later, Jenny and I dissolved into laughter. In the midst of that giggling, a now irritated Beth demanded that Jenny call her cousin to confirm that, yes, people actually DO say "go down" when they mean to go INTO a place.
I googled it. Um ... yeah ... not so much. [BTW, I don't recommend checking my research if you're currently at work. Just sayin'.]
But, yes, it was confirmed in that call that in Beth's family and circle, one meaning of the phrase "go down" is to go inside a place. Fun!
And we can't tease her too much given what our Mom calls the toilet ("stool") or her word for cleaning the floor regardless of its covering ("sweep" - it doesn't matter if you're using a vacuum aka "sweeper" to do it, it is still "sweeping" the floor - although at least dictionary.com backs her up in both of those).
It's a regional/family thing.
I spent part of this weekend with my little sister, Jenny, in Chicago. Jenny manages a SEE Optical there and is my personal dresser when it comes to my Velma look. So, this weekend found me doing at least two of many things I hate: driving to/from/in Chicago and picking out glasses. Thankfully, the trip also included a trip to the Museum of Science and Industry for the Harry Potter Exhibition, which is there through September 27, 2009. [YOU MUST GO!!!]
It was on the way to said exhibition that Jenny and I were delighted by the following exchange:
Jenny's friend, Beth, was gracious enough to go with us on our adventure and even more awesome by driving. On the way, Jenny was in need of caffeine so we pulled into a Dunkin' Donuts that was blessed with the drive-thru window. Now, I'm generally not a DD customer and, so, wasn't sure what, if anything, I'd want. I noted this as we were pulling in and Beth, rather than go forward to the drive-thru .... stopped in the middle of the parking lot.
"Do you need to go down?"
Um ... must not have heard her right.
"What?"
"Do you need to go down??"
Silence ... whadahuh?
"Do you need to go down?"
Let's go with the safe answer.
"Um ... no."
Jenny finally asked Beth, "Do you mean go 'in'?"
An exasperated, "Yes!" and stunned, "OH!!" later, Jenny and I dissolved into laughter. In the midst of that giggling, a now irritated Beth demanded that Jenny call her cousin to confirm that, yes, people actually DO say "go down" when they mean to go INTO a place.
I googled it. Um ... yeah ... not so much. [BTW, I don't recommend checking my research if you're currently at work. Just sayin'.]
But, yes, it was confirmed in that call that in Beth's family and circle, one meaning of the phrase "go down" is to go inside a place. Fun!
And we can't tease her too much given what our Mom calls the toilet ("stool") or her word for cleaning the floor regardless of its covering ("sweep" - it doesn't matter if you're using a vacuum aka "sweeper" to do it, it is still "sweeping" the floor - although at least dictionary.com backs her up in both of those).
It's a regional/family thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)