One-Message-Wonder: a person who randomly contacts you out of no where and then never responds to the initiated contact. He or she might say something like, "hey lady what's up?" It is like the only thing that this person ever says to you. A one-message-wonder only "sings" the same tired tune, for which they become famous in your social circles, like the vocal stylings of Right Said Fred. (You probably don't even know that band by name because they are synonymous their only hit song "I'm Too Sexy.")
I have a girlfriend that I hardly ever see. She is notorious for randomly Facebooking me with the post, "Where have you been lady, let's hang out!" And when you think to yourself oh cool, we should catch up. So you message her back, "ya let's grab drinks, I'm free next week." And then nothing. Complete silence. It's like digital crickets are chirping around your lonely Facebook comment to reinforce your virtual diss. In reality, she doesn't miss me and we never actually hang out, she just writes to me every so often out of the blue. It seriously seems like she senses when she has completely fallen off my social radar, and then like clockwork, I get a notice that she has posted a message on my wall. And I, of course, respond.
The communication offender can also be someone that you dated briefly in the past. You two maybe hung out for a bit and then one of you decided that you were over it. Times goes by and you have forgotten about your brief rapport. Once the thought of him is erased, you get a text messages from him which says, "hey, how are you? I'm in town, let's catch up tonight." You, forgetting why things fizzled in the first place, shrug and say sure why not. So you text back, "Sure I've got early evening plans, but let's meet up afterward." Then you wait. And nothing! Later your phone signal light flashes and you think it's his text back, but it's actually your poorly timed LinkedIn updates email notification. Now someone you have completely forgotten about has reemerged and you actually care about seeing him! This is the problem with the one-message-wonder, they get into your head.
In both cases, you feel like a chump. Every time the one-message-wonder reaches out to you, you respond. You think it would nice to catch up, why not. However, that is not the one-message-wonder's intention. You actually don't know why they contacted you in the first place. They don't want to see you, because the one-message-wonder never replies—ever. So why do they contact you ask? Maybe your one-message-wonder doesn't have anything better going on, so they give you a shout out you until something better comes along. And something better did come along, and it came along before your text message.
The best part is, when you realize that your "friend" is in fact a one-message-wonder, you wish that you never wrote them back. But you did, against your better judgment. So you vow never to contact them again (signified by taking him or her out of your phone or deleting related emails). Then when you have made the mental shift to move past your flaky foe, they contact you again and pop back on your radar. But you can break the cycle, don't fall prey to the one-message-wonder.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Pratted Out
Pratted Out: is the way to describe someone that has too much or very obvious plastic surgery. Inspired by the infamous Heidi Pratt and her landmark ten surgeries in one day, this adjective characterizes those with a visible penchant for plastic surgery. Like Heidi, the cosmetic-enhancement victim probably looked better a few incisions before, with some of her original features in tact.
Wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, or Mill Valley for that matter, one would encounter many Pratted-out specimens, with a scary look surgically emblazoned on their face that says, "look at me, I am superficial enough to torture myself with multiple, unnecessary procedures." Her face looks like she rode a rollercoaster and it got stuck in that "wind-blown" look. Or maybe her lips are so full from collagen that she looks like she could not close her mouth properly, or her lips would burst.
Women are not the only ones who are Pratted out, I have also encountered men—straight men at that. A few years ago, I was chatting with a fairly attractive man in a low-lit, college bar in West LA. He seemed pretty cool, until he stops in mid-conversation and asks me what I thought of his new calf implants. Then he immediately turns around to model them for me, so that I would be impressed by his cool, sculpted stems. After I cringed in disgust, I realized his calves weren't the only things he enhanced. That was the end of that conversation.
Friday, May 14, 2010
FlingMaster
FlingMaster: someone who enjoys bringing people together for short periods of time. He or she is a temporary version of a match maker and is a proponent of people just generally having a good time. She is your woman, and he is your wing man, on weekend trips or vacations, taking an active role in making sure that your hotel bed does not go unoccupied.
A FlingMaster is very skillful at her craft using expert insight to make this happen. She can tell when two people are just made for each other, or just drunk enough to make it happen. She might use subtle tactics such as, this is my friend, he is your friend, they should be friends. Or other such gems as, hey you! Yes you! Make out with my friend, she's single!
One FlingMaster reached such a high-level of artistry that she has even coordinated transportation for one lucky couple. She told one bright-eyed, cocky suitor to get in a cab with her and his object of temporary affection. And when the lady he had his eye on got out of the cab at her point of departure, this FlingMaster subtly prompted the gentleman that this was also his stop and he should get out of the cab.
One FlingMaster reached such a high-level of artistry that she has even coordinated transportation for one lucky couple. She told one bright-eyed, cocky suitor to get in a cab with her and his object of temporary affection. And when the lady he had his eye on got out of the cab at her point of departure, this FlingMaster subtly prompted the gentleman that this was also his stop and he should get out of the cab.
These maneuvers can only be properly executed by the Masters themselves. While their methods may seem unorthodox to the untrained ear, they always get results—whether or not these "results" were sought after. They are particularity helpful following a break-up, as they will see to it that you rebound first!
So three cheers to the FlingMaster, may they spread happiness for years to come.
So three cheers to the FlingMaster, may they spread happiness for years to come.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Perma-Powwow
Perma-Powwow: the conversation that never ends. You think it is over, so you walk away and the person you are talking to will not let it end. You can hear his/her voice trail behind you hoping to reignite the conversation flame with a fast flurry of words before it dies out.
This happens to me all the time when I am talking to someone in particular. I grudgingly approach this person out of obligation or an unfortunate, but chance encounter. We start talking and our dialogue goes through the normal ebbs and flows, and then comes to what I perceive as an end. So, I make a move to not only end the conversation verbally, but I take physical steps to signify its closure by leaving the room or "conversation zone." As I walk away, I can hear a voice hanging onto my footsteps, and it feels like this strained voice has roped me in and drug me back into the conversation by a mysterious force. The situation immediately becomes awkward and I think to myself, is she really still talking to me?! Should I go back and continue to save face or has it been long enough?
As fate would have it, these conversations usually occur with socially starved individuals or people that are nice to talk to for a few minutes, only. In any case, you politely endure their banter out almost out of pity. It seems to you that for each minute you listen to their monotonous and repetitive dialogue that somehow you are garnering "karmic" points by altruistically lending an ear to the poor soul. After the conservation is finally over, you give yourself a mental pat on the back for narrowly escaping that never-ending exchange so discretely.
In fact, I have realized that I have unconsciously come up with tactics for putting an end to perma-powows. Once I feel that I am verbally roped in, I quickly devise a cunning escape. But it is like warfare of the mind, you want to leave, but you don't want them to know you want to stop talking.
This happens to me all the time when I am talking to someone in particular. I grudgingly approach this person out of obligation or an unfortunate, but chance encounter. We start talking and our dialogue goes through the normal ebbs and flows, and then comes to what I perceive as an end. So, I make a move to not only end the conversation verbally, but I take physical steps to signify its closure by leaving the room or "conversation zone." As I walk away, I can hear a voice hanging onto my footsteps, and it feels like this strained voice has roped me in and drug me back into the conversation by a mysterious force. The situation immediately becomes awkward and I think to myself, is she really still talking to me?! Should I go back and continue to save face or has it been long enough?
As fate would have it, these conversations usually occur with socially starved individuals or people that are nice to talk to for a few minutes, only. In any case, you politely endure their banter out almost out of pity. It seems to you that for each minute you listen to their monotonous and repetitive dialogue that somehow you are garnering "karmic" points by altruistically lending an ear to the poor soul. After the conservation is finally over, you give yourself a mental pat on the back for narrowly escaping that never-ending exchange so discretely.
In fact, I have realized that I have unconsciously come up with tactics for putting an end to perma-powows. Once I feel that I am verbally roped in, I quickly devise a cunning escape. But it is like warfare of the mind, you want to leave, but you don't want them to know you want to stop talking.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Boom City
Boom City: of course, hell yes and any other enthusiastic affirmation. It is a way to express your excited confirmation and implies that you mean business. For example, if your friend asks you if want to go out tonight, your response to her would be "boom city," which means "hell ya, I'm dying for a drink!"
The word came about in a rather funny way. I was at a work event in Seattle and I was chatting with a group of attendees after the show. One of my new friends was telling this story about a rather unfit candidate who applied for a job a her resort. This young lady came to her job interview (at a hotel spa) wearing jeans and a rather revealing shirt (of the pasta-thin variety) that showed a little too much of her god given assets—and a pack of cigarettes visibly nestled between them. Obviously perturbed at the appearance of her interview, she mentioned something about her unprofessional attire, but decided to move forward with the interview.
The conversation that ensued was not a great one and her getup was probably the best thing about her. Finally, my new friend asked her if she had any retail experience and the young woman responded, "boom city!" At this point in the conversation I asked (in ignorance), "Is boom city some sort of new slang for 'of course' that I just don't know about?" And everyone around me gave me a funny look and laughed. Boom City is actually a place in Washington where they sell fireworks seasonally around the 4th of July. (This chick's idea of retail experience was selling fireworks a few weeks a year from a roadside stand.) Professional standards aside, I decided in my fatigued mind (ameliorated by a few glasses of vino that boom city was my new, favorite confirmation. Its like a whole city of awesome, the whole place is on board and pumped up—it's even more ironic and hilarious in light of my Middle Eastern background. In any case, Boom City was an instant hit and our Seattle whole crew started using it right away.
Sidenote: This blog post has finally happened after a few months hiatus. I am back in business! To which the only response is "Boom City." Stay tuned for more posts.
The word came about in a rather funny way. I was at a work event in Seattle and I was chatting with a group of attendees after the show. One of my new friends was telling this story about a rather unfit candidate who applied for a job a her resort. This young lady came to her job interview (at a hotel spa) wearing jeans and a rather revealing shirt (of the pasta-thin variety) that showed a little too much of her god given assets—and a pack of cigarettes visibly nestled between them. Obviously perturbed at the appearance of her interview, she mentioned something about her unprofessional attire, but decided to move forward with the interview.
The conversation that ensued was not a great one and her getup was probably the best thing about her. Finally, my new friend asked her if she had any retail experience and the young woman responded, "boom city!" At this point in the conversation I asked (in ignorance), "Is boom city some sort of new slang for 'of course' that I just don't know about?" And everyone around me gave me a funny look and laughed. Boom City is actually a place in Washington where they sell fireworks seasonally around the 4th of July. (This chick's idea of retail experience was selling fireworks a few weeks a year from a roadside stand.) Professional standards aside, I decided in my fatigued mind (ameliorated by a few glasses of vino that boom city was my new, favorite confirmation. Its like a whole city of awesome, the whole place is on board and pumped up—it's even more ironic and hilarious in light of my Middle Eastern background. In any case, Boom City was an instant hit and our Seattle whole crew started using it right away.
Sidenote: This blog post has finally happened after a few months hiatus. I am back in business! To which the only response is "Boom City." Stay tuned for more posts.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Claim de Shame
Claim de Shame: something that a person or place brags about or is known for that is scandalous or elicit. This person or place publicizes information about themselves that would make any lady blush. This entity then becomes known for this saucy piece of information and it turns into their claim de shame. You know that girl in school that is popular because she possesses “special” talents or the guy at your work who always has the hook-up. Practically every reality TV star has a claim de shame for their various erotic and indecent behaviors that make them so entertaining to the masses—can we say “Jersey Shore.”
This phrase came to me while I was on a recent hotel tour. The hotel sales person that was showing us around told my colleague and I that her hotel used to be Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Club. She explained the layout of this swinging club and pointed out Hef’s piano, but left out specific historic (and scandalous) details. Later that day, I was on another hotel tour and our tour guide was telling us how the historic hotel used to have a male entertainment center below. The underbelly of the hotel housed a brothel, which has since been converted into the spa. The rooms now offer a modern spin on relaxation. We even went through the secret passageway where guests seeking to unwind could access the brothel without even leaving the building—crazy!
This phrase came to me while I was on a recent hotel tour. The hotel sales person that was showing us around told my colleague and I that her hotel used to be Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Club. She explained the layout of this swinging club and pointed out Hef’s piano, but left out specific historic (and scandalous) details. Later that day, I was on another hotel tour and our tour guide was telling us how the historic hotel used to have a male entertainment center below. The underbelly of the hotel housed a brothel, which has since been converted into the spa. The rooms now offer a modern spin on relaxation. We even went through the secret passageway where guests seeking to unwind could access the brothel without even leaving the building—crazy!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Verbal Possession
Verbal Possession: when your mouth gets taken over by something ungodly. You don't know what has come over you. You are in a conversation and you say something that you don't even think. After it comes out of your mouth, you don't really know why you said it; it was an out-of-mouth experience. You don't even recall having that thought, it was like your mouth was possessed by another being causing you to spew out random thoughts.
You try to recant what you have just said or talk yourself around it. If not, you have to back up your statement or move on after a healthy awkward silence. Verbal possession seems to happen in nervous or new situations, especially on dates or when meeting new people when the social lubricant is absent (or just hasn't kicked in yet). You are trying to carry out a conversation and then all of a sudden you start telling a stupid, babbling story, that is not really even a story, doesn't really have a point or didn't even happen.
I have been known to make strong statements that I don't even really think. At a recent work event, a few writers and I were having a conversation about singers. The convo shifted to the subject of Beyonce and I blurt out, "I hate Beyonce." Just like that. As soon as I said it, I thought, I don't hate Beyonce. It was such an abrupt, blunt statement that everyone stopped talking. I, of course, tried to recover and said "I actually do like her music and I listen to it all the time." I don't, in fact, listen all the time, just when it comes on Pandora or at a bar or something. In any case that statement totally contradicted the previous one—just keep digging that hole. So now, instead of carrying on an intelligent conversation with new contacts, the only thing I have done was establish that I am a bitter, pop-music addict who hates the performers that she listens to. I seriously don't know what came over me, I don't feel strongly about the pop diva either way. These people must think I am pretty weird and later that night I totally had a déjà cringe over it.
You try to recant what you have just said or talk yourself around it. If not, you have to back up your statement or move on after a healthy awkward silence. Verbal possession seems to happen in nervous or new situations, especially on dates or when meeting new people when the social lubricant is absent (or just hasn't kicked in yet). You are trying to carry out a conversation and then all of a sudden you start telling a stupid, babbling story, that is not really even a story, doesn't really have a point or didn't even happen.
I have been known to make strong statements that I don't even really think. At a recent work event, a few writers and I were having a conversation about singers. The convo shifted to the subject of Beyonce and I blurt out, "I hate Beyonce." Just like that. As soon as I said it, I thought, I don't hate Beyonce. It was such an abrupt, blunt statement that everyone stopped talking. I, of course, tried to recover and said "I actually do like her music and I listen to it all the time." I don't, in fact, listen all the time, just when it comes on Pandora or at a bar or something. In any case that statement totally contradicted the previous one—just keep digging that hole. So now, instead of carrying on an intelligent conversation with new contacts, the only thing I have done was establish that I am a bitter, pop-music addict who hates the performers that she listens to. I seriously don't know what came over me, I don't feel strongly about the pop diva either way. These people must think I am pretty weird and later that night I totally had a déjà cringe over it.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
O-mance
O-mance: an office romance. It's that flirtation that you know you shouldn't have with the coworker as he or she passes by your desk. The frequent, casual (yet sexually charged) banter one night turns into something more after a tipsy company happy hour. It starts out as such a good idea, it's so forbidden and sexy all at the same time—the flame is lit and you can't seem to put out the fire. Then they do something at work to piss you off. Your o-mance is talking with someone else, and you ask yourself, are they leaning just a little to close?
When you let it get to your head, it's all downhill from there. Should the o-mance go south, you have to see them everyday at work. You have try to pull yourself together and act normal at the office like the o-mance never occurred. Although, some o-mancers can make it work. The synergy and the common interest at the workplace creates a fertile breeding ground for an o-mance to blossom, and for some I know, it grew into a marriage.
But for me, the thought of such a tawdry affair going on at a work place, makes me think of the Lady Gaga Song, "Bad Romance." Upon hearing of a friend's new o-mance, the song started playing in my head and I immediately began conjuring up a parody song (it's a work in progress):
Oooo Ooooo Ooooo
Caught in a Bad O-mance
Oooo Ooooo Ooooo
Caught in a Bad O-mance
Ooo Ooo Noo Noo
No more office PDA please
HR will find out, so just leave your keys
Caught in a bad o-mance
I want your lunch break
I want your afternoon tea
I want all your breaks at the copy machine please
I want your love
So change your Outlook Calendar to busy please
Caught in a bad o-mance
Button your shirt and the boss won't suspect
Act cool or this job you will wreck
You will not get your pay advance
ooohoooooo oooooo
Me and you can write a bad o-mance
When you let it get to your head, it's all downhill from there. Should the o-mance go south, you have to see them everyday at work. You have try to pull yourself together and act normal at the office like the o-mance never occurred. Although, some o-mancers can make it work. The synergy and the common interest at the workplace creates a fertile breeding ground for an o-mance to blossom, and for some I know, it grew into a marriage.
But for me, the thought of such a tawdry affair going on at a work place, makes me think of the Lady Gaga Song, "Bad Romance." Upon hearing of a friend's new o-mance, the song started playing in my head and I immediately began conjuring up a parody song (it's a work in progress):
Oooo Ooooo Ooooo
Caught in a Bad O-mance
Oooo Ooooo Ooooo
Caught in a Bad O-mance
Ooo Ooo Noo Noo
No more office PDA please
HR will find out, so just leave your keys
Caught in a bad o-mance
I want your lunch break
I want your afternoon tea
I want all your breaks at the copy machine please
I want your love
So change your Outlook Calendar to busy please
Caught in a bad o-mance
Button your shirt and the boss won't suspect
Act cool or this job you will wreck
You will not get your pay advance
ooohoooooo oooooo
Me and you can write a bad o-mance
Frex
Frex: a good friend or best friend that you are no longer friends with. Some kind of disagreement or falling out have caused you to drift apart or abruptly discontinue your relationship. Now all you have left is the ashes of your scorched of union. You think about the time that you spent together, the times you laughed and all of those intimate details of your day-to-day life that you shared (and that you now wish you hadn't).
Much like the fallout of a divorce or a bad break-up, a frex can wreak havoc on your life to varying degrees depending on the terms of dissolution of your bond. Did your frex dump you, did you dump them, did they steal your boyfriend, hook-up with your brother or did you just have nothing in common anymore?
Seeing your frex in the grocery store makes you panic and quickly dunk behind the nearest vegetable display at Safeway to avoid an awkward social encounter (effectively making you look like a crazy person when you rise from your hiding place to exclaim, "Oh, there's the piece of lint I've been looking for.") When a song comes on the radio that you both joked about, you start to laugh and think of your frex—but, with a heavy heart, you realize that they are the only person in the world that would think this song was funny and you aren't speaking anymore. Most of your friends have chosen sides in the "divorce" (as the two of you can't stand being around each other) or have decided to remain friends with you both discretely. Some of them wouldn't be "caught dead talking to that dumb ho anyways," and to the others, you are now that "dumb ho."
Not everyone of your ex-friends is now a frex. Just because you lost touch, it does not mean that you had a break-up like trauma at the quiet end to your relations. A frex is someone that has left a lasting impression on your life and that may cause you to recoil in disdain at the mere sound of their name or inspire you to change their name to something a bit more comical.
Much like the fallout of a divorce or a bad break-up, a frex can wreak havoc on your life to varying degrees depending on the terms of dissolution of your bond. Did your frex dump you, did you dump them, did they steal your boyfriend, hook-up with your brother or did you just have nothing in common anymore?
Seeing your frex in the grocery store makes you panic and quickly dunk behind the nearest vegetable display at Safeway to avoid an awkward social encounter (effectively making you look like a crazy person when you rise from your hiding place to exclaim, "Oh, there's the piece of lint I've been looking for.") When a song comes on the radio that you both joked about, you start to laugh and think of your frex—but, with a heavy heart, you realize that they are the only person in the world that would think this song was funny and you aren't speaking anymore. Most of your friends have chosen sides in the "divorce" (as the two of you can't stand being around each other) or have decided to remain friends with you both discretely. Some of them wouldn't be "caught dead talking to that dumb ho anyways," and to the others, you are now that "dumb ho."
Not everyone of your ex-friends is now a frex. Just because you lost touch, it does not mean that you had a break-up like trauma at the quiet end to your relations. A frex is someone that has left a lasting impression on your life and that may cause you to recoil in disdain at the mere sound of their name or inspire you to change their name to something a bit more comical.
Friday, January 8, 2010
überbag
überbag: someone who is a super douchebag. They have surpassed the levels of simply douchey in their overall demeanor and general douchebaggery. This specimen is such a jerk, he (or she) is in his own class of douchebag. You can think of them as the Olympic athletes of assholes. Just when you thought that this person couldn't be more of an asshole, he surprises you with another low blow quickly elevating him to the status of überbag. Just like supreme, super-athletes, überbags are a rare occurrence and a combination of fortuitous genetic factors that meld to create an exceptional contender—the champion douchebag.
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