Sucky Customer Service Reps Can KISS MY ASS!

So, I try to never leave the house.couch potato kitty I find staying at home keeps me happy and healthy and less stressed. Plus, if I go out then I have to put on makeup and brush my hair…it’s just so much to worry about. Okay, half-kidding here, but seriously, I’ve spent the majority of my life ripping and running about so it’s nice to be able to stay home a fair amount of the time. And today is a perfect example of why I like to remain on my sofa.

dye job

I got my hair dyed on Monday. While it looks pretty, it’s not what I wanted it to look like. So I got in my car and drove to Sally Beauty supply. It’s about a 15-20 minute drive, but I figured it was worth the extra time in the car during rush hour to get help from the experts.

Well…I coulda asked my cat Moopy and gotten more help.Moopy

I walked into the store and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. I could have robbed the place blind were I so inclined. I said, “Hello,” in a very nice voice and I got a, “Hey,” said back to me. And that was it. I still didn’t see a human anywhere.

So I said, “Can you please help me with some hair color?” She finally comes out of the back room and I explain what I’m looking for (which was a black hair dye with a blue undertone). She said, “I’ve never heard of that. Here use this.” And she hands me bright blue hair dye. I mean solid electric blue hair dye. So I explained I meant blue/black. (Every fuckin’ manufacturer in the world makes it.) She said, “Look, I’ve really got to get back to what I was doing,” and she walks away.

Moments later I hear her say into the phone, “Yeah baby. I’m back (insert grunt here). So, (insert gum smacking noise) what do you want for dinner?”

My head about popped the fuck off. Grumpy CatREALLY? REALLY? That’s what kept you from being even slightly friendly or helpful? You are seriously getting paid to essentially tell me to go fuck myself while you sit in the back room, smacking gum and chatting with your boyfriend about dinner? I wanted to go in there and rip her head off and then shove it up her ass. Alas, I just stuffed my pockets full of expensive make-up and left.

KIDDING!!!!! I’m the kind of person who gives money back to the store if they give me a dime too much in change. But I’m telling you, she wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass if I had. What a hideous employee.

Then, on to my next stop: TJMaxx.

I had to return 2 rings. So I get in the return line, wait for almost 10 minutes, get to the front and the very polite girl says, “Oh, you have to go to jewelry to return it.”

Okay, fine. Not her fault and she was nice, so I was polite, thanked her for the help and went to the jewelry department.

Where I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally after about 8-9 minutes a girl comes up and asks if she can help. She was very nice and smiley, returned my rings with no problem. And when we were done returning she asked if I wanted to see something else. I told her I’d scoped out a few necklaces and rings I wanted to see and was ready to try them on.

About that time a girl walks up to the counter and the chick who’s helping me turns around and talks to her for about 5 minutes about her shoes. Happy feetNOT KIDDING at all. For fuck’s sake. Really? I’m sorry your feet aren’t happy. You poor thing. Mine aren’t very happy either standing here waiting on your rude ass.

Then she finished up her very important, “My feet are sore” conversation and I say, “Hi again, can I please try on a few of these rings?” At which point she turns around, walks to the other side of the counter and starts helping people who had just walked up that moment.

Yet again, WHAT THE FUCK????

Now, for those of you who don’t know me well, or only know me via my sass-mouthed blog, you may not know this, but I am polite to a fault. I mean ridiculously polite. I say excuse me when someone rams into me. I’m a please, thank you, you are welcome kind of person. I always say hi. I usually find a way to compliment someone when doing business because it’s nice to see a smile cross their face. So if you are thinking, “Well, maybe you should adjust your attitude, missy!” just know that I never have one in a store. I really am stupid friendly.

As such, I have no clue why people suck so much!!!! When I’ve worked with the public in the past I’ve done my very best to take care of their every need and make them feel respected and appreciated in the process. Is such an attitude unheard of anymore in customer service?

I’m constantly stunned by the lack of giving a shit so many people have about their jobs and the way the treat people while at them.

I don’t know about you, but I’m thankful every day that I have a job. And so I do my damnedest to do it to the very best of my ability, and 90% of the time with a smile on my face. (Trust me, sometimes it is SOOOO hard to keep my sass mouth at bay, but I do because I’m at work and it’s the professional thing to do.)

Might I make a plea to all customer service reps out there (and I’ve been one before, so don’t think I’m being all accusatory and talking out of my ass without understanding how hard of a job it can be): If you don’t like people or can’t fake that you like people–GET ANOTHER FUCKING JOB! There are plenty of jobs where you can sit in a cubicle and not deal with the public. Do that instead.

There is never any reason to be an asshat to someone, especially if they are being nice to you. I understand if someone is treating you like shit that it can be difficult to maintain your cool, but for the rest of us out there that are kind and treat customer service reps with the respect they deserve, can you please at least pretend to do your job?

For those of you who do that grinding job of dealing with the public and still manage to maintain your kindness…THANK YOU! I know it isn’t always easy, but people like me sure appreciate it. :)

That’s my rant o’the day!heat

Whew! That was exhausting!

Oh, and on top of everything my air conditioner died last night and it’s only 95 degrees this week. Ugh. Kill me! :)

I hope you guys have a good week.

Just Say No to dickheaded people. :)  Hugs!  :)

Mouthy Broad Alert!

Howdy!

Thank GOD it’s Fuckin’ Friday!!! I swear, my poor little noggin has processed more information this week than it knows what to do with. My brain sponge is full and leaking everywhere. I think I’ve lost memories all the way up to 6th grade.

Yes, that means I’ve forgotten the days when this was my outfit of choice:

Nothing But Trouble

 

So, since I’m now worthless and plan on doing nothing but staring at the TV while drooling (and possibly treating myself to chocolate chip pancakes) for the rest of the day, I thought I’d share that you can check out (read, LIVE BY, obey) my new article at Acquiring Man Magazine. (In case it’s not clear, click either “new article” or HERE to go read it. Yeah, I’m a smart ass…no two ways about it!)  ;)

Love you guys! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend full of chocolate, nookie, furry animals and more chocolate.

Wait…that’s what my weekend is going to look like.

May yours look equally awesome!

AND HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!!

Mom’s kick ass!!

XOXOXOXOXO

Redundant Redundancy is Repetitively Vexing

Okay, if you yourself use this expression then may I say two things:

  1. I’m terribly sorry if I offend you. You know that I while I live to horrify, I don’t live to make anyone feel bad.  I love me my peeps!
  2. STOP FUCKING SAYING IT! (Okay, that was harsh…but please stop. Please?)  :)

The expression “multiple different” makes me wanna shave my head, grab my gun and go a wee bit postal.

This is how I feel every time I hear it used:

Otter

Let’s see what dictionary.com has to say about these two words.

Multiple: consisting of, having, or involving several or many individuals, parts, elements, relations.

Different: various; several (Yeah, it’s the 3rd definition, but you get my point!) :)

So, if I’m understanding these words correctly, from both a denotative and connotative perspective, “different” implies things that are not alike. Things. Plural. As in multiple–more than one. You can’t be different from something if there isn’t something to be compared to–to be different from (yep, preposition at the end of my sentence. Suck it!). Therefore, something that is different from something else indicates a plural.

Along comes “multiple”. Ummmm…multiple doesn’t just imply more than one. That’s actually what it means.

Now, I’m fully aware you can have multiples of the same thing. For example, I have 3 Daisy Cow teddy bears. There’s Daisy Pockets, Doppel Daisy and Counterfeit Daisy. They are all multiples of the same thing. But I would say, “I have multiple Daisies.” I also have a bunch of what we call Doppel teddies that are all the same kind of teddy, but are different colors. (Think doppelganger.) So those are all different Doppels.  As in, “I have many different Doppel teddies.”

But let’s pull this apart as it may be used in a business sense.

Let’s say you have a product. Let’s go with an mp3. You may have multiple copies of the same mp3. You may have multiple versions of the same mp3 (think remixes, most of which usually suck). Is there really a need to throw the word different into any of that? Was I not clear? Isn’t saying “multiple versions” communicating the exact same thing as saying “multiple different versions” only in a much more intelligent way? Doesn’t the idea of “versions” imply variants?

So, someone please tell me how “multiple different” makes any sense?

I hear it all the time and it makes me bonkers!

Can we agree to ban that expression from Planet Earth? I’ll give you a dollar. :)

PS: Just so you know, I’m fully aware I say annoying things and have annoying habits of writing. I make up words and use prepositions improperly. I’m not too hideous a hypocrite. I’m just sayin’…multiple different is a pet peeve! ;)

Have a great weekend in a multiple different variety of ways! XO

Oh, and one of these days I’ll visually introduce you to the Daisies. They are truly awesome in their awesomeness! :)

What the Shit is This?

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Dear Cracker Jack people,

You can suck it!

What kind of rip off, jacked up “prize” is this?

Cracker Jack 1Cracker Jack 2

I’ll tell ya, it’s a shit prize. No. It’s not a prize. It’s a turd in a box of cheap popcorn with nuts so hard if you bite on them you’ll break your teeth.

Are you seriously telling me that your gift to me is an explanation I can get on Wikipedia? WHERE’S MY DIAMOND RING OR ACTION FIGURE OR TATTOO!?

I want my money back. I want my childhood dreams of finding a diamond ring in the box back. I want the Cracker Jacks makers to be shamed for their cheapness.

Cracker Jacks Ring

Back in the day there were few things more exciting then when Mom would surprise you with a box of Cracker Jacks and you couldn’t wait to get to the bottom for that awesome prize that you’d cherish until your sister stole it or you lost it or Mom sucked it up in the vacuum.

Now? I wouldn’t wipe my hamster’s butt with your “prize.”

Shame! Cracker Jack makers. Shame! Have some pride in your product please.

Yours truly,

Jodi

(Now a full and complete Poppycock lover! (Heh heh…she said cock.))  :)

YOUR PORN is getting on MY NERVES! ;)

Okay, fellow business travellers…I know you are away from home. You miss the wifey (or the hubby). You are lonely , bored at the hotel, and in need of some serious girl-on-girl action, but your porn watching makes my enjoyment of Rookie Blue, Season 4 on Amazon Streaming Video next to impossible!! ;)

I can be watching my shows with great HD quality, little-to-no buffering and be having a dandy ole time until PORN HOUR hits! Then it all goes to hell in a handbag. I guess it’s that sweet spot between dinner and going to bed when every man (and I guess some chicks) in the hotel logs onto their favorite skin site and now I can’t watch my dang show.

Can you please just download some good spankbank material to your local drive so that you don’t have to view it streaming? Pretty please? I simply cannot watch TV with commercials in it anymore so the TV hanging on the wall is essentially useless and I have to depend on Netflix or Amazon for commercial-free bliss. Help a sister out here? ;)

Yeah, yeah, I’m horrible and selfish!!! I know you need your porn. BufferingBut can you maybe do it in the morning (you KNOW your morning wood demands it!) instead of at night so the rest of us can watch a TV show online without staring at a buffering indicator for 20 minutes? ;)

(In all seriousness, I’m kidding. :) I just crack up when all of a sudden the Wi-fi takes a huge hit at about the same time each night. I picture every other room in the hotel being filled with wildly whacking wankers and it makes me giggle.)

HUGS!

duck

10 Things I Hate About PMS! ;)

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Yeah, yeah, TMI I know. But dammit, sometimes a girl just has to share.

10 reasons PMS sucks donkey balls:

  1. Men don’t have it. NOT FAIR!
  2. I’m hungry all the time.
  3. Did I mention that I’M HUNGRY ALL THE TIME!?
  4. All I want to eat is pizza, chocolate, McDonald’s french fries, more pizza, more chocolate, spaghetti with homemade sauce, Snickers and funnel cake.
  5. After eating all that, all I want to do is sleep and then wake up and then sleep some more.
  6. I gain like 3 pounds of water weight for about 6 days.
  7. I wake up 5 times a night to a bursting bladder. Then I can’t fall back asleep and lay there cursing anyone and everyone that is asleep at that precise moment.
  8. It’s the precursor to even more fun the next week. Yay!
  9. Did I mention that I can’t stop stuffing my gullet?
  10. MEN DON’T HAVE IT! STILL NOT FAIR!!!

I guess I should be thankful that I don’t get bitchy or whiny or weepy. I know the hubby is thankful for that! But dammit, the absence of one misery doesn’t negate the presence of others.

I saw on a TV show a man saying that women should just shut up about it because men, after all, have to get prostate exams. Needless to say I went over to the TV and smashed it with a bat. Then I found where the guy lived and burned his house to the ground with him and his prostate in it.

PMS

PMS 1

PMS 2

I like big words and I cannot lie! (But NOT if they make no sense, dammit!!!!)

.Big Bootie!

I’m shakin’ my ass all over the place now that the Big Butts song is stuck in my head!! ;)

Alas, I digress. Let’s get down to it!

Good grief. People drive me bonkers.

All of you guys know that I like to rant and fume about grammar, punctuation, word choice, etc… I find it fun (if not horribly hypocritical since I make mistakes all the time!) to throw fits over the ways that people speak and write. I’m a hideous person. I know.  ;)

I  also know that I like to occasionally use words that are longer than 6 letters. Not because they are longer than 6 letters, but because they fit with what I’m trying to say. I’m an old (stress the word old) English major, so I’ve read a bunch and know a fair amount of words.

BUT!!!! What I do NOT do is throw in 25 cent words to try and make myself sound smart because guess what? It doesn’t make anyone sound smart to use big words for the sole purpose of using big words and confusing people. It only makes the person speaking (or writing) look like an insecure asshat when they use words, especially buzz words, to sound all fancy.

This drives me insane: “I’m smarter than you because I said, ‘wheelhouse, out of the box and quorum’ all in one sentence! Don’t you feel dumb that you didn’t understand my sentence at all? You should, because I’m smart and use words in a way that no one gets because I’m brilliant and you are stupid.”

I swear, people who speak like that make me want to pull my hair out for several reasons. 1) Stop being a pompus ass! 2) You aren’t communicating effectively, you retarded moron 3) You are clearly incredibly insecure because you are trying to sound smart by confusing everyone with your idiotic words.

If no one understands you, then maybe you shouldn’t speak? What’cha think about that? I personally like that idea.

If you say this sentence, “I think we should meet on Friday to discuss the project,” like this, “I am in favor of uniting a quorum of individuals to address which artifacts should be discussed in our iterative meeting  based on the developmental progress of our deliverable on the last day of the work week,” I immediately want to kill you. And not just kill you, but KILL YOU kill you. Painfully. With malice. Some kind of medieval or Shakespearean kind of death.

Why oh why does anyone think they sound smart by speaking like that? Why? Help me understand. I don’t get it. It’s so annoying and frustrating and makes me feel sorry for you. I think to myself, “Awwww…that poor fucking idiot must feel so small and stupid that they think speaking like a research paper being graded on a per-word basis makes them sound smart.”

Sorry, I know that my filter removal is at an all-time high (especially the death threats) but I’m constantly surrounded by people who do that and it makes me want to jam pencils into my ears while screaming, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

ScreamingOtter

Communication, effective communication, is all about speaking or writing in a way in which people are able to, wait for it… understand what you are saying. If you aren’t effectively communicating, then why bother speaking?

My heart goes out to people who are so insecure. I want to both shake the shit out of them and pat their little insecure heads and tell them it’ll all be okay.

Alrighty, I’m done. All these words have worn me out. I’m going mono-syllabic for the rest of the day. (Right!!) ;)

Horrible, inexcuable language here. Don’t read this rant. It’ll shorten your life by at least a year. I greatly dislike fu*kheads.

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So, the other day I ran into the rudest fucker ever at the Starbucks. And I do mean EVER.

When they called his drink they should have called it like this: “Venti double mocha, salted caramel douche bag for Fuck Face. Fuck Face, your drink is ready. Fuck face?”

You guys know me pretty well, right? I take most things with a grain of salt. Not very much actually makes me mad (except road rage, horrible grammar, snatch monsters and sadistic pedicurists–but really, even those things don’t make me mad, they usually make me laugh). So, for me to be livid is, in all sincerity, pretty rare. But this guy…THIS guy…ugh. I wanted to set him on fire and toast marshmallows in the flame.

What, you may be wondering, has me so annoyed? Well, here it is.

I’m behind this guy in line at Starbucks and after he places his order the Starbucks chick (who is super sweet) looks over to me and asks, “Venti caramel frappuccino light with sugar free caramel, two Sweet&Lows, no whip, no drizzle?” I congratulated her on her awesome memory and told her how nice it was that she remembered (I get between 1-2 Starbucks a week, so it was especially nice that she remembered). The guy, who’s about 65, wearing a running suit, missing a fair amount of hair (though the rest was dyed) and not missing about 30 extra pounds, says to me while looking down his gin blossomed nose, “Wow, that sounds like an awful lot of calories for you to drink. And you probably have one a day, don’t you?”

OH. MY. GOD.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, YOU JUDGMENTAL, SHALLOW, STUPID, ASSHOLE MORON PRICK FUCK FACED ASS HAT!!???

DID YOU JUST REALLY SAY THAT AND ASK ME THAT????

DO YOU WANT TODAY TO BE YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH?

IF I LET YOU LIVE, DO YOU REALLY WANT TO HAVE TO DRINK THROUGH A STRAW FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE DAYS!?

Yeah, I was irate. But, instead of saying what I just so delicately wrote above in all caps, I said, “Actually no. It’s about 100 calories and no fat. The fat-free milk accounts for about 60 calories. The mix counts for about 40. Then the sugar-free caramel has 0 calories, as does the ice and Sweet&Low. It’s a great way to have a treat without ingesting 500 calories and 30 grams of fat, and it’s delicious.”

The reason I didn’t let this complete asshat HAVE it was that he wasn’t worth it. Here’s what I saw when I looked at him (and it made me sad because he clearly wanted to be something other that what he was):

  1. His attire screamed: “I want to be 30 years old again!” Not that men over 30 can’t wear running suits, I think they should! :) You’d have to have seen him to understand. Think of older women who dress like 15 year old hoochies and you’ll understand how this guy looked.
  2. His hair screamed: “I want to be 30 years old again!” as it was clearly dyed. I’m all about dyeing hair–I dyed mine yesterday. But I think he needs to reevaluate his color choice.
  3. His attitude screamed: All women should be perfect looking all the time, be 5’8″ and weigh 120 pounds and anything less than that is unacceptable–so I should try and make this frappuccino-ordering woman feel bad for wanting a treat.
  4. His demeanor screamed: I wouldn’t date a woman over 22 because anyone over that age is ugly, fat and used up. I’m a man, spelled M. A. N., and I only date super models and porn stars because I’m THAT good.

Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have given any thought to how he looked. People have the right to look however they want to without being judged. But since he was the complete fucktard that he was and clearly casting aspersions at my not-rail-thin-self, I thought his “clamoring to look younger appearance” was relevant.

So, let me explain something to him and to anyone else that expects perfection.

  1. No one is perfect.
  2. No one should be perfect. It’s our imperfections that make us special and unique.
  3. 42 year old women are not supposed to look like they are 17. Everyone ages. Aging is okay. Aging is natural. Aging gracefully is a beautiful thing. Being happy with aging will help keep you sane as NO ONE can stop the aging process.
  4. Our bodies change as we age for a reason. From a strictly “keep the species from becoming extinct” point of view, women in their late teens through their mid-thirties look the way they do to attract the male of the species for the purpose of baby-making. That’s when we are typically the healthiest, our eggs are still young and plentiful, and childbearing should not kill us. As we get older our bodies start to change (so do male bodies, Mr. Starbucks Asshole). The shape of our bodies change due to the loss of estrogen after menopause and how the body reacts to that loss. Gravity starts to get the better of us. Our hair starts turning gray. These changes indicate to the male of the species (at the most primal level) that we are moving from child bearing age to another era of our lives. AND THAT IS OKAY!!! Why would a body that has been on the planet for 50 years be expected to look the same as a body that’s been on the planet for 20? Do most 30 year old cars look the same as they did the day they came off the showroom floor? Likely not. SO GET OVER THE DELUSION THAT WOMEN SHOULD LOOK YOUNG AND SLENDER FOREVER, EAT ONLY SALAD WITH JUST A SPRITZ OF LEMON AS DRESSING, AND AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH IF THEY DON’T!

We all have things about ourselves that we’d like to change. Everyone who reads my blog knows I gained about 10 pounds making (and EATING–yum!) all the food for the cookbook. And while I’m watching what I eat in order to lose those 10 pounds, I’m not sitting around measuring my ass and crying over it. I like how I look, curves and all. I’ve always had curves. Even when it wasn’t cool to have them (think the 80s), I still liked having curves. From any angle, I definitely look like a woman.

Here’s me at 16 and 17 going to my junior and senior proms (good grief–that make-up and hair!!!):

I've never been that tan again!

I’ve never been that tan again!

Yep, I gots me a tush!

Yep, I gots me a tush!

Curves everywhere in the mirror reflection

Curves everywhere in the mirror reflection

Here’s me now:

Baby still got back! ;)

Baby still got back! ;)

HA! Look at that furry cowie!!! I had no idea cowies could be that furry!!!

Anyway, my point by putting in cutie cowie is that I don’t have anything to prove to anyone, especially some ass face at the Starbucks. You guys all know what I look like–you can’t escape my silly self on the Internet. And even if I had rounded out to the point of becoming bovine, so what? Why should anyone care? As long as I like who I am and as long as you like who you are, who else should judge?

So please, let’s all let ourselves and others off the Perfection Hook a bit. Okay? When we die will people at our funeral say, “Wow, I would be sadder if only she’d been 10 pounds thinner…” NO! Ultimately what do we want said at our funeral. “She was so thin her whole life–she held up well, even if she was a bitch because she was hungry all the time.” Or, “I will miss her so much. She was sweet and funny and showed love to others every day of her life.” I don’t know about you, but I’d pick the second option any day. ;)

Unless your weight is making you unhealthy, don’t sweat the pounds so much. Who said everyone had to be skinny? And certainly don’t sweat the pounds of others. First off, it’s nun-ya as my hubby would say (as in none of your business). Second, who is anyone to judge anyone else’s weight? Third, you never know why a person is big (or thin). It could be a love of cupcakes or it could be emotional trauma or it could be a physical issue. But regardless of any of that, who cares? There are so many other things to consider about a person–their ass being one size larger than they may like shouldn’t be at the top of that list.

Good grief, I’m exhausted!!! So to end all of this let me throw some cliches at you, since I’m flat out of creative things to say.

  1. Shut your fucking piehole if ya ain’t got nothin’ nice to say.
  2. Those without sin, cast the first stone. Then choke to death on a pig’s foot, please.
  3. Quit being a fucking prick or Jodi will end you with a hammer and a potato peeler.

Okay, I’m done! :) Have a good night and love your muffin top! ;)

THESE ARE NOT WORDS, &*%*&#^!!!!!!

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First and foremost let me say that I make up words all the time and/or use words incorrectly (usually on purpose though). If the King’s English doesn’t give me the word I want then I’ll create my own.

For example: Flarmp. That’s not a word, but I bet it gets used in my house at least 10 times a week. To the hubby and me, the word Flarmp means the act of a kitty just dropping and rolling in a very deliberate way and usually next to our legs in order to smush against us to get love. There is also the Force Flarmp where WE Flarmp the kitty so that we can give it love. I don’t even know how we came up with the word–it just seemed to fit the act of kitty love dropping.

Also, I make up words in my blog sometimes. Yesterday, I used the word “smartassedness” in a comment. I even mentioned how it wasn’t a word, but it just fit perfectly in the sentence so I used it anyway.

But, there are certain words roaming around out there in the public that are either not words or are words being used incorrectly that make me wanna pull my hair out when I hear them.

Now, please believe me that I’m not trying to be a douche bag here. If any of you use these words, please know that I’m not trying to be a meanie. I’m just putting out there that maybe using words correctly and/or correctly pronouncing words may be beneficial. Especially if you are in a job interview or some other important situation–you want people to know how wonderful and smart you are without getting hung up on the little things that didn’t come out quite right (as people tend to do).

In order to let you know that I am sincerely not trying to be mean, let me share with you a few of my colossal word fuck ups. And just so you know, I’m well aware that I probably have a ton of grammatical errors, punctuation mishaps and stupid word choice issues in this very post, so know that I cast the first stone at myself! Lord knows I screw up all the time! :)

  1. Exorbitant: I always said it as “exorbiNant” and thank God someone finally corrected me.
  2. Veranda: Which is a font but not a font anyone knows because it’s actually “VerDaNa.” I’ve been weirdly dyslexic for oh about 20 years with the name of that damn font and NO ONE ever corrected me! I’ve just sounded like an idiot for 20 years. Ugh. I’m incredibly thankful a coworker corrected me the other day. I felt like such a doofus, but at least I’ll say the word correctly from now on.
  3. Purview: For some reason I got it stuck in my head that “purview” and “view” could be used interchangeably. Had you asked me if they meant the same thing I’d have said no and told you why. But for some reason the “come up with words quickly” part of my brain told my mouth to say “purview” before I had time to stop the “pur”. No clue why. I think I may have beaten that outta my head at this point–hopefully. (See, I’m pretty sure I used the word “hopefully” incorrectly.)
  4. Sammich: I know it’s sandwich, but my grandma used to say “sammich” when she was being playful and so when I say/write it that way it reminds me of her.
  5. Good vs. well: I intentionally use these incorrectly sometimes if I’m trying to put across a certain emotion. For example, if someone asks me how my day is going and it has been the day from hell, I’ll sometimes say in specific tone of voice, “Good, good…how’s yours?” If I said, “Well, well…how’s yours?” it would just sound weird.

Okay, now here’s the list of words/non-words that drives me insane:

  1. Boughten: No one has ever “boughten” anything. Ever. Period. You either buy something or you have bought something. You have never boughten anything in your life.
  2. Anyways: There is NO “s” on the end of that word. I used to say it with an “s” also and my mom harped on me EVERY DAMN TIME it came out of my mouth incorrectly. I am soooo (another incorrectly used word of mine as “so” only has one “o”) thankful she did. I want to do the same thing every time I hear someone else do it, but I don’t as I’m sure that is a justifiable cause for murdering me.
  3. ConversAted. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! You conversed with someone. You had a conversation with them. You are conversing with them. You have never conversAted anyone, anywhere.
  4. Medium: Wait, that is a word. But it is NOT a substitute for the word “median” and when I hear traffic people say that there is a car up on the medium so traffic on Scottsdale Road is slow I immediately want to find their helicopter and blow it up. It’s bad enough if we normal people use it incorrectly, but your JOB as a traffic person is to know words that relate to traffic and roads. Median is a pretty important part of road construction, so please use that word from now so that you don’t sound like a complete moron.
  5. HeightH: I understand that it’s “widtH”, breadtH” and “lenghtH” but it is not “heightH”. There is no H on the end of “height”, only a T. So quit it with the TH sound. Please?
  6. Supposebly: It’s “supposedly.” Just say it correctly from now on, please.
  7. Expresso: Is there an X in espresso? No. I didn’t think so.
  8. Probly: IT’S “PROBABLY” DAMMIT ALL TO HELL!!!!
  9. Axed, warshed, wrassaled, greazy and pissa: I totally understand that these word pronunciations are dialect-driven. My mom is southern and says things like “Geminee” for “Gemini” and though the “ee” pronunciation is the 2nd way to say it as listed in the dictionary, it still makes me go insane especially since I am a Gemini. My step-father of a few years came from somewhere where pizza was pronounced “pissa” and greasy was pronounced “greazy” and I’d want to scream every time I heard him say either word. So, in these cases I totally get that it’s dialect-driven and probably what someone grew up hearing so it seems completely normal to them…but can we please break the cycle of word-abuse? Please?
  10. Cra-cra: Okay, the word “crazy” has 2 syllables. So does the un-word “cra-cra.” So, can we please just go back to crazy? I’ll give you a dollar. ;)

Last year I did a post on words like: ginormous, trending, wheelhouse and other annoying as fuck words, so I won’t repeat them here, but please stop using those too. They are simply horrible.

I think from now on I’m going to make this face when I hear any of the above words being used. In an effort to NEVER see this disturbing face again, maybe people will stop using them? Maybe? Please God…

Jodi Crazyface

And, just so you know, I’m aware that a language needs to change or it will die–just like a shark needs to keep swimming or it will become fish food. We need to keep adding to our language or it will go the way of Latin. But can we at least use common sense and a wee bit of caution before we bastardize it to the point of being unrecognizable? I just cannot hear this anymore, “Me and him were conversating about trying a expresso and new that it would probly taste badly, but we boughten it anyways.” Pardon me for a moment, I’m going to go hang myself.

 

PS: for those of you in the United States–GO RAVENS!!! (I’m actually a Redskins chick, but if it can’t be them then I hope B’more kicks some ass! :)

Can a pedicure be a cluster f*ck? Worst fear realized!

The answer is YES. A pedicure can double as both a cluster fuck and a Guantanamo torture session. I learned this lesson just tonight and I promise to be a good girl from now on if the universe promises to never do that to me again.

First, let me set the stage. I’m not a candy ass. I’m a pretty tough chick with a fairly high threshold for pain. So, before you think, “What a baby!” know that I’m one hard bitch. ;)

Second, for those of you who’ve not had a pedicure, this is how it is described in the spa brochure: Relax your feet in a therapeutic, aromatic soak of warm, bubbling water before your nails and cuticles are gently and expertly groomed. The soles of your feet will be delicately buffed to silky softness and your lower legs and feet exfoliated during a relaxing and delightful massage. The finishing touch is your choice of polish color and a one-of-a-kind, artistic design to compliment your pretty feet. Wow! That sounds pretty damn good, right? WHO THE FUCK WOULD HAVE THOUGHT???!!!

So, I stroll my tired feet and half-polished toes into the spa prepared for an hour of delightful relaxation. I have a Starbucks in one hand and the massage chair controller in the other and I’m ready to be pampered. Here’s how it goes from there.

  1. I prepare to put my feet into the pedicure basin, which is so pretty. It has a rotating LED light in it so it turns all these pretty colors and lights up the bubbles. Ahhhh… In they go. FUCK MOTHER FUCKER FUCK FUCK! I yank those suckers out as fast as I can because the water was not hot, it was just this side of boiling. Water droplets went flying everywhere and when a few landed on my pedicurist she hollered, “Ouch!” Yep, even after traveling through the cool evening air, the water was still hot enough to burn her when it landed on her arm. As I looked at my scalded feet there were red splotches all over them all the way up to just past my ankle. Yep, that shit hurt like a mo fo.
  2. After she drains the cauldron and adds normal-hot water to it, I stick my feet in (now, of course, they are tender and overly susceptible to sensation), lean back and relax. She takes my right foot from the water, sets it up on the foot perch, removes the mostly missing nail polish and then starts manicuring my cuticles. Sounds good, right? NO! She attacked my feet with those nippers like she was being paid for every drop of blood she leached out of my toes. With one deft move she dug under my big toenail, pulled the razor-sharp nipper across to the top edge of my nail and yanked it out of the cuticle. WHAT THE HELL!!! I can only assume it’s some trick to make sure you don’t get ingrown toenails, but with the onslaught of blood I’m guessing she did not do it correctly. (For those of you who previously read my post about my biggest fear on earth being kicking my pedicurist in the face, know that my knee-jerk reaction almost realized this fear. I’m going to call it the “twitchy foot” so that I can easily refer to it throughout this post as it happened quite a few times.)
  3. Now that I’m bleeding, she digs into her kit and pulls out what must be a bottle of salt mixed with acid and applies that to my bloodied toe. SON OF A BITCH! (Twitchy foot.)
  4. Once I stopped crying (on the inside) she continued torturing, I mean, cutting my cuticles until there was no skin left on my toes.
  5. Then comes time for the callous remover. Now, keep in mind you pay EXTRA for this. I paid her to do this to me. She put the callous removing lotion all over the bottom of my feet and then started shaving off my skin. Yes, shaving. SHAVING! Which is fine as long she pays attention to what she’s doing. Alas… at that very moment there infiltrates my nose a smell that is a combination of burning wood and rotten eggs. What in the unholy fuckin’ hell is that stench!!!!??? Then I see the woman in the seat next to me with a mortified look on her face. Yep, she dealt the lethal anal air blast and now realized that the smell was worse than burning flesh. Good gracious God. I thought I was going to choke to death. And lucky for me, the smell not only distracted me from my boiled and bleeding feet, but it distracted my darling pedicurist who got into a loud and raucous conversation (in another language) with the pedicurist doing the feet of Fart Woman and while not at all watching what she was doing sheared off a slice of my heel that had my twitchy foot jumping all over the place. Somehow I managed not to kick her in the fuckin’ head, but it was a struggle. I didn’t see any blood drip (yet) so I thought, “Eh, fuck it, I’ll stick it out. How much more damage can she do?” What a dumb ass I am.
  6. Finally, the skin shaving is over (it was like some scene out of Criminal Minds for God’s sake!) and she places my feet back in the water-filled basin. FUUUUUUUCK!!!! Where I was missing skin from the razor debacle the hot, soapy water burned like someone was branding me with a cattle branding thingy (I don’t know what the fuck those things are called…a branding iron maybe?). Again, I got me the twitchy foot.
  7. Okay, so now it’s time for the salt scrub (again, I pay extra for this) which I dearly love getting–any kind of rubby massage is my idea of heaven. But apparently, Mrs. Fart inspired my pedicurist and her neighboring pedicurist to engage in a fun and jovial conversation that was seemingly without end and again she is distracted and not even looking vaguely in my direction as she begins. So, as she applies the gritty, chunky salt to my right leg she’s so swept up in giggling that she forgets to add water to the mix and starts grinding the flesh off of my leg with what feels like the roughest sand paper ever. This SUCKED! It did not feel good, but to be quite honest, at this point the pain was actually starting to get funny. I just kept thinking that it couldn’t keep going on and on and getting worse and worse. Again, I’m a stupid fuck. After about 3 of the longest minutes of my life she realizes that she’s not added any water grim reaper(though she sure as shit added more salt) and adds a bit of water. Whew… that must be what it feels like when giving birth and the baby finally comes the fuck out. Such relief that the worst of the pain is over. Oh, how could I have neglected to mention that the water-free salt scrub probably wouldn’t have been SO damn agonizing if she didn’t have the bony fingers of Death itself. It was like being massaged by the Grim Reaper. Her fingers were small razors of pain.
  8. At last, we are coming towards the end of this and so far I have yet to kick her, call her a bad name or outwardly cry. Total miracle, my friends. Total miracle. As she starts wiping down my legs with a warm towel (mmm…something finally didn’t hurt like hell) I start to relax and then BAM! She does some kind of finger snapping thing on my toes and cracks my baby toe knuckle. Yep. That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I HATE HAVING MY KNUCKLES CRACKED! I lost all control over my foot and where it went and I snapped it away from her as fast as my lizard brain could and missed kicking her in the face by maybe a half a centimeter. Yep. Worst fear realized. She just missed a broken nose. I didn’t do it on purpose. It was like when the doctor taps your knee with the hammer to test your reactions. You can’t help but kick out your leg. That’s what happened to me. I’d been boiled, bled-out, and sliced with a razor. I’d had my leg skin removed with a salt/sand paper massage and suffered through the worst smelling butt assault in recorded history. And dammit, my survival instinct FINALLY kicked in and I kicked out. Good news is that I didn’t make contact–but just by the hair of my chinny chin chin. So, when she asked me moments later if I wanted her to paint a design on my toe I of course agreed out of horror for almost having broken her face. I paid $10 for this:

My poor, poor toes

Do you see a beautiful design? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Is there ten dollars worth of design on my big toe nails? NO! She covered up most of the design (6 stripes of black paint–yep, that is just so special and beautiful and custom and artistic) with the sparkly top coat I had requested and assumed like a fool would go under the design like it has 5,000,000 times before. And I’m not sure if you can tell, but the edges of my big toes are all red and inflamed where she, well, killed them. Ultimately, this pedicure ended up costing me a fortune and I left gimpy, bloody, smelling of chick farts and wanting to die.

Here’s what I think about their pedicure description: Relax your feet in a therapeutic, aromatic soak of warm, bubbling water (LIE! SCALDING IS NOT RELAXING!) before your nails and cuticles are gently and expertly groomed (LIE! BLOOD DOES NOT EQUAL GENTLY, NOR DOES IT EQUAL EXPERTLY). The soles of your feet will be delicately buffed (WITH A RAZOR AND ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE BONE) to silky softness (EXPOSED MUSCLE IS NOT SILKY SOFT) and your lower legs and feet exfoliated (SKIN REMOVAL TO THIS EXTENT IS NOT EXFOLIATION, IT’S WHAT ANCIENT TRIBES USED TO DO BEFORE EATING YOU) during a relaxing and delightful massage (THE CRYPT KEEPER DOES NOT GIVE RELAXING AND DELIGHTFUL MASSAGES). The finishing touch is your choice of polish color (THE ONLY TRUE PART OF THIS BLASPHEME) and a one-of-a-kind, artistic design (REALLY? REALLY? 6 BLACK STRIPES YOU CAN BARELY EVEN SEE QUALIFY AS THIS??) to compliment your pretty (BLOODY AND SORE) feet.

Good gracious Lord…I think I need a drink. :)

PS: Forgive any typos. My nails are way too long and I can’t type worth a shit, but I was not about to let her have at my hands after all of this!!! ;)