I have a debilitating fear of somehow having to read aloud in public and coming across the word "infrared".
There really should be a hyphen in there. Infra-dash-red. Without a hyphen, I see a word that rhymes with "impaired".
The trouble is, most verbs are made past-tense by the suffix "d" or "ed". Therefore, when I see the word infrared, with its absence of dash, I see the past tense of the verb infrare. Of course I know there is no such word as infrare, but this merely adds to my momentary confusion as I try to discern how light becomes, in fact, frare'd or in-frare'd.
I learned I'm not the only person whose mind goes there when my good buddy Grammar Patrol read a newspaper article about underfed horses. He was trying to figure out how exactly one derfs or underfs a horse. Grammar Patrol's grandson quipped that in Washington State, all horses must be properly derfed. Now tell me, should there not be a dash? Under-dash-fed.
You're familiar with my image. Tough and cool. It would not look tough and cool to publicly mispronounce infrared. This is also why it would be completely detrimental for me to meet Jeremy Renner in for real life. I'd totally lose my tough and cool. I'd just look underf'd and infare'd.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Magic Beans
I always wondered how those Dr. Phil Show soccer moms turned addicts. Then I got a prescription for hydrocodone. That's the generic name for Vicodin, though I believe it's the fruit of Jack's beanstalk.
I only had two wisdom teeth. (So...I'm half as smart as everyone else?) One was on the top left, and was abscessed and infected and excruciating and inflammatory. The other was on the bottom right, and was silent and hidden and complacent and hibernating.
When I visited the dentist to beg for removal of my top left, he said that when one's wisdom teeth are mellow like my bottom right, they pull them if you're under age thirty and leave them if you're over age thirty. I was right at age thirty. This meant I got to choose whether, when I had the top left pulled, to have the bottom right pulled at the same time, or leave it and hope it would behave for the rest of its life. Or at least mine. After the misery my top left had wreaked in my head, I opted to lose the bottom right lest it later commit acts of terrorism within my skull as well.
I was also given the option of being awake or asleep for the surgery. Being tough and cool, I opted out of being put under. (What a fool.)
When the surgery was over, and I was done arguing with the receptionist through my cotton wads because she demanded the entire brizillion dollars immediately but I didn't have it, and mopped up Hunneypunkin off the parking lot after he'd melted down because I'd just written a check for half a brizillion dollars to the oral surgeon but we didn't have it, I got my magic bean prescription filled.
Angels sang.
I turned into June Cleaver and Mr. Clean all rolled into one. Pain did not exist, anywhere. Not in my face, my head, my back, my neck, the butt, or even my sore foot. My children smiled and their teeth sparkled like Crest toothpaste commercials. No one bickered. Nighttime insomnia vanished, and daytime fatigue did too. The house was clean. Dinner was served. Everyone on earth looked like Jeremy Renner. (And I didn't even know who he was, at the time. The whole thing makes so much more sense to me, since Bourne.)
I told Hunneypunkin I didn't need the one refill I was allowed but I was considering getting it just in case. Hunneypunkin said I was high. "I am not," I said, "I just finally feel like a regular healthy normal person should feel." Hunneypunkin patted my shoulder and said, "That's because you're stoned."
The Precious had his wisdom teeth removed last week. I dutifully went to the pharmacy to get him his own magic beans. Now, in my kitchen, stands a little green bottle that holds the answer to all my problems. But alas, they are there to solve The Precious' problems, and I must abstain.
I only had two wisdom teeth. (So...I'm half as smart as everyone else?) One was on the top left, and was abscessed and infected and excruciating and inflammatory. The other was on the bottom right, and was silent and hidden and complacent and hibernating.
When I visited the dentist to beg for removal of my top left, he said that when one's wisdom teeth are mellow like my bottom right, they pull them if you're under age thirty and leave them if you're over age thirty. I was right at age thirty. This meant I got to choose whether, when I had the top left pulled, to have the bottom right pulled at the same time, or leave it and hope it would behave for the rest of its life. Or at least mine. After the misery my top left had wreaked in my head, I opted to lose the bottom right lest it later commit acts of terrorism within my skull as well.
I was also given the option of being awake or asleep for the surgery. Being tough and cool, I opted out of being put under. (What a fool.)
When the surgery was over, and I was done arguing with the receptionist through my cotton wads because she demanded the entire brizillion dollars immediately but I didn't have it, and mopped up Hunneypunkin off the parking lot after he'd melted down because I'd just written a check for half a brizillion dollars to the oral surgeon but we didn't have it, I got my magic bean prescription filled.
Angels sang.
I turned into June Cleaver and Mr. Clean all rolled into one. Pain did not exist, anywhere. Not in my face, my head, my back, my neck, the butt, or even my sore foot. My children smiled and their teeth sparkled like Crest toothpaste commercials. No one bickered. Nighttime insomnia vanished, and daytime fatigue did too. The house was clean. Dinner was served. Everyone on earth looked like Jeremy Renner. (And I didn't even know who he was, at the time. The whole thing makes so much more sense to me, since Bourne.)
I told Hunneypunkin I didn't need the one refill I was allowed but I was considering getting it just in case. Hunneypunkin said I was high. "I am not," I said, "I just finally feel like a regular healthy normal person should feel." Hunneypunkin patted my shoulder and said, "That's because you're stoned."
The Precious had his wisdom teeth removed last week. I dutifully went to the pharmacy to get him his own magic beans. Now, in my kitchen, stands a little green bottle that holds the answer to all my problems. But alas, they are there to solve The Precious' problems, and I must abstain.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Only Gonna Paint
All I needed was a gallon of paint and maybe a roller cover, so this little bathroom improvement would be well under fifty bucks. (You're laughing at me right now, aren't you?)
I couldn't handle knowing that there was a "blank" spot behind the toilet, so Hunneypunkin took it out in order for me to paint behind it. Naturally, it broke.
I had this tall skinny shelf that would fit nicely between the cabinet and the toilet, if the cabinet were half as wide, so, why not take out the cabinet, cut it in half, paint its ugly self to match the walls, put it back in, and stuff that tall skinny shelf beside it? There was a filthy, ratty chunk of carpet underneath the cabinet, and if we had moved that chunk of carpet BEFORE we cut the cabinet in half, we'd have discovered that the linoleum had been installed around the cabinet. Oops. Shopping for floor tile... This wouldn't happen to me if I were awesome like Jeremy Renner.
Hunneypunkin decided that since the budget was already blown, and we'd just replaced that lovely gold-colored toilet (did he break it accidentally on purpose?), we may as well replace that lovely gold-colored sink as well. Close your eyes, bite your lip, swipe the card. We'll just wait another month to buy groceries.
A few short years later, the new water-saver toilet doesn't save much water when it requires three flushes per use. The new sink is sporting a little gouge from a slip of Hunneypunkin's tools. The walls are still much prettier than they had been to start with, but I'm not sure a paint job was worth that many Benjamins.
I couldn't handle knowing that there was a "blank" spot behind the toilet, so Hunneypunkin took it out in order for me to paint behind it. Naturally, it broke.
I had this tall skinny shelf that would fit nicely between the cabinet and the toilet, if the cabinet were half as wide, so, why not take out the cabinet, cut it in half, paint its ugly self to match the walls, put it back in, and stuff that tall skinny shelf beside it? There was a filthy, ratty chunk of carpet underneath the cabinet, and if we had moved that chunk of carpet BEFORE we cut the cabinet in half, we'd have discovered that the linoleum had been installed around the cabinet. Oops. Shopping for floor tile... This wouldn't happen to me if I were awesome like Jeremy Renner.
Hunneypunkin decided that since the budget was already blown, and we'd just replaced that lovely gold-colored toilet (did he break it accidentally on purpose?), we may as well replace that lovely gold-colored sink as well. Close your eyes, bite your lip, swipe the card. We'll just wait another month to buy groceries.
A few short years later, the new water-saver toilet doesn't save much water when it requires three flushes per use. The new sink is sporting a little gouge from a slip of Hunneypunkin's tools. The walls are still much prettier than they had been to start with, but I'm not sure a paint job was worth that many Benjamins.
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