Knockliment: a compliment that comes from someone of questionable judgment. Case-and-point, you are rocking a new scarf that you pretty psyched about. Your friend (who is completely devoid of fashion sense) comes up to you and says, "Wow! I love you scarf." You know she is trying to be nice, but how could she like something that you (a self-proclaimed fashionista) is wearing? Which raises the question: is compliment from someone tacky, a real compliment? She obviously doesn't have good taste judging by the floral ensemble that they paired with corduroys (who wears those now anyways). After the encounter you think, if she likes it maybe this scarf isn't cute? Next time you wear it the scarf feels tainted, you can't help thinking about the knockliment.
Outside of fashion faux pas, a knockliment can apply to any like situation from work to your choice of significant other. It's all about taste people, who has it and who doesn't.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Bag Watcher
Bag Watcher: someone who is basically useless. It’s the idea that they have nothing better to do with their time than watch your stuff (or that you think that they don’t have anything better to do and they don’t have enough gumption to tell you no). You have all done it: you have ran off to do something and said to a friend or colleague, “oh, can you watch my bag?” And before they can respond you are off having fun or doing something perceivably more important.
At a recent work event, my co-workers and I were all busy running around doing tasks, greeting people, setting things up—basically being functional human beings. One of my office mates seriously was standing around with a dumb-founded look on their face, doing absolutely nothing while we were being industries worker bees. Somehow it got decided that this person would stay at the registration desk (after everyone was checked in) with the sole purpose of watching peoples’ bags while everyone else participated in the event. My co-worker’s only purpose at our exclusive event was to watch bags, because our purses might run away from their secure hiding place—that is a bullshit job if I have ever heard of one. This menial task just highlights her tremendous utility to the company and the best part is, she gladly accepted the job and did not offer to help out in another capacity. She took pride in her task and fretted about when the bags where left alone.
To all the bag watchers out there (you probably don’t know who you are), I salute you in your ignorance, may your time spent watching bags be blissful.
At a recent work event, my co-workers and I were all busy running around doing tasks, greeting people, setting things up—basically being functional human beings. One of my office mates seriously was standing around with a dumb-founded look on their face, doing absolutely nothing while we were being industries worker bees. Somehow it got decided that this person would stay at the registration desk (after everyone was checked in) with the sole purpose of watching peoples’ bags while everyone else participated in the event. My co-worker’s only purpose at our exclusive event was to watch bags, because our purses might run away from their secure hiding place—that is a bullshit job if I have ever heard of one. This menial task just highlights her tremendous utility to the company and the best part is, she gladly accepted the job and did not offer to help out in another capacity. She took pride in her task and fretted about when the bags where left alone.
To all the bag watchers out there (you probably don’t know who you are), I salute you in your ignorance, may your time spent watching bags be blissful.
Friday, November 13, 2009
ATO
ATO: all talked out. This is the moment while you are engaged in conversation that it just hits you, you no longer wish to be talking to that person any more. It's not necessarily them (although it could be depending on the fellow conversationalist), but you have reached your human contact limit for the day and they just keep babbling. You are entirely saturated with the utterances of the English language—your verbal pot is full and you are reaching your boiling point. All you really want to say is "stop talking, I just can't listen anymore." You find yourself getting antsy and you have ceased listening to them altogether. Then, you just blurt out, "Great catching up with you. Talk to you soon." These words come out of your mouth subconsciously, interrupting them in the middle of their tale of woe, promptly ending the conversation before they could wipe the tears from their eyes.
ATO is worse over the phone then in person. Do your caller a favor when you are nearing ATO status, just don't answer. You will have a better conversation with them at a later time and, hey, they may actually enjoy talking to you when you don't prematurely end your gab sessions.
ATO is worse over the phone then in person. Do your caller a favor when you are nearing ATO status, just don't answer. You will have a better conversation with them at a later time and, hey, they may actually enjoy talking to you when you don't prematurely end your gab sessions.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Déjà cringe
Déjà cringe: the cringe you have when thinking about something stupid you have done. You most likely winced after it happen, but you just can't let it go. You will be going along your day and then you think about that bonehead thing you did last week and you cringe all over again. How could I be soo stupid!
Like any self-respecting writer, I have a healthy balance of narcissism and self-deprecation. I believe that my written word is exciting enough that other people will find it captivating and then I worry about what people will think of it. This carries through to my actions, though thankfully not all. I over-analyze my deeds and once I have deemed a particular move deficient, I over inflate the importance of it. The witness(es) of my alleged transgression will probably not remember it or think it was as humiliating as I do.
For my propensity to déjà cringe, I blame my sisters. My two sharp hermanas have never forget a stupid thing I have ever done. They even remember idiotic instances that I have managed to force from my memory. The most notorious of which was during high school and I had a ridiculous crush on a cashier at Safeway (yes, straight up Junior High style, I was a late bloomer). I would wait for his line to be free (even if it was longer) just so I could talk to him. (I have since seen him and let's just say, what was I thinking.) One day we were chatting and I was being my regular nervous (and hopelessly uncharming) self. My groceries were just about all rung up, signifying the end of our conversation, and I said "OK see when I buy my turkey at Thanksgiving." I am probably not capturing the essence of that awkward moment, but it was priceless. My sister and our friend burst into a laughing fit on the spot in the grocery aisle, they couldn't even make it outside the automatic glass doors. I déjà cringed for months after that.
Like any self-respecting writer, I have a healthy balance of narcissism and self-deprecation. I believe that my written word is exciting enough that other people will find it captivating and then I worry about what people will think of it. This carries through to my actions, though thankfully not all. I over-analyze my deeds and once I have deemed a particular move deficient, I over inflate the importance of it. The witness(es) of my alleged transgression will probably not remember it or think it was as humiliating as I do.
For my propensity to déjà cringe, I blame my sisters. My two sharp hermanas have never forget a stupid thing I have ever done. They even remember idiotic instances that I have managed to force from my memory. The most notorious of which was during high school and I had a ridiculous crush on a cashier at Safeway (yes, straight up Junior High style, I was a late bloomer). I would wait for his line to be free (even if it was longer) just so I could talk to him. (I have since seen him and let's just say, what was I thinking.) One day we were chatting and I was being my regular nervous (and hopelessly uncharming) self. My groceries were just about all rung up, signifying the end of our conversation, and I said "OK see when I buy my turkey at Thanksgiving." I am probably not capturing the essence of that awkward moment, but it was priceless. My sister and our friend burst into a laughing fit on the spot in the grocery aisle, they couldn't even make it outside the automatic glass doors. I déjà cringed for months after that.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Meenet
Meenet: it is when you think you look good and then take a closer look in the mirror later on and realize that you look toe-up. It's your own personal Monet, beautiful from afar and far from beautiful. Everyone has those days when you leave the house and you are like "I look good today, sweet." Then, at work you take a bathroom break and a second look in the mirror.
While you are checking yourself out, and procrastinating going back to your desk, you realize that your former assessment of your physical appearance was false. (Gasp!) You skin only looked clearer earlier because you caked on the concealer, which now makes you look like you have discolored blotches of flaky skin. (Damn that faulty lighting in your room.) The bold fashion statement you decided on in your haste to leave your cramped abode, now just looks tacky. And that form-fitting shirt that you thought brought out your curves, only looks good when you are standing perfectly still (and sucking in). All that taught top is accentuating is your love handles, and you better hang on tight because those things are in full force. The casually messy tresses you are rocking, looks like you have been head banging all night at an 80s rock show, and yes, it is passé.
At this stage of your realization you panic, you are already at work and you cannot change your outfit. What is a girl to do? So you do whatever primping you can in the bathroom, tweak your hair, throw on a little gloss and remove the colorful scarf you have on to "tone down" your outfit. You try to salvage what you have left of your shabby ensemble and you walk out of the bathroom, head held high with a tinge of insecurity. You swear to yourself, you won't let this happen again.
While you are checking yourself out, and procrastinating going back to your desk, you realize that your former assessment of your physical appearance was false. (Gasp!) You skin only looked clearer earlier because you caked on the concealer, which now makes you look like you have discolored blotches of flaky skin. (Damn that faulty lighting in your room.) The bold fashion statement you decided on in your haste to leave your cramped abode, now just looks tacky. And that form-fitting shirt that you thought brought out your curves, only looks good when you are standing perfectly still (and sucking in). All that taught top is accentuating is your love handles, and you better hang on tight because those things are in full force. The casually messy tresses you are rocking, looks like you have been head banging all night at an 80s rock show, and yes, it is passé.
At this stage of your realization you panic, you are already at work and you cannot change your outfit. What is a girl to do? So you do whatever primping you can in the bathroom, tweak your hair, throw on a little gloss and remove the colorful scarf you have on to "tone down" your outfit. You try to salvage what you have left of your shabby ensemble and you walk out of the bathroom, head held high with a tinge of insecurity. You swear to yourself, you won't let this happen again.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Nega-Booty
Nega-Booty: a butt that just butt curves inward, it just forgot to grow. It's like their backside falls off into nothingness, like a cliff. This is the polar opposite of a ghetto booty, a bum that just went concave.
Code Red
Code Red: the unexpected appearance of a hot individual. You turn around and all of a sudden bam, there is a beautiful specimen that flashes before your eyes. The Code Red instantly switches on in your mind and you attempt to take your awe-struck eyes from the Adonis in front of you. If you are lucky, and few of us are, an awkward encounter will take place. But, for most of us (aka the too chicken to do anything about it), this fleeting glance is all that we get of our Code Red and his appereance passes away like the flash of light he came in on.
This word came about the other day while my friend and I were vainly trying to park the car on Shattuck in Berkeley. After finding a spot on this random residential street, we were walking to the restaurant when all of sudden we realized we saw a flashing red light. We looked around and realized that we were at a fire station and there was a truck full of strapping firemen pulling into the driveway. Grinning at this unexpected turn of events, we were giggled like teen age girls and Code Red was born.
This word came about the other day while my friend and I were vainly trying to park the car on Shattuck in Berkeley. After finding a spot on this random residential street, we were walking to the restaurant when all of sudden we realized we saw a flashing red light. We looked around and realized that we were at a fire station and there was a truck full of strapping firemen pulling into the driveway. Grinning at this unexpected turn of events, we were giggled like teen age girls and Code Red was born.
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