Category: cursing

Literal girl takes things literally

Ok, so there we were on a day of running errands, The Good Man and me.

We pull into a crowded parking lot behind the store where we’ve taken our bicycles to get tuned up.

Fabulous. All good.

TGM parks the car and heads inside while I get out change to go see about the meter.

Muliti-tasking couple, that’s us. Efficiency!

Ok, so we parked in one of those lots where you have to “note your space number and pay at the machine.”

Sure. Ok. I’m in!

So I note “space number 6” and then I swivel my head around to find the pay’er machine.

I see a sign that says, “pay here” and I go toward it like a moth after a 60-watt bulb on a hot summer’s night.

I literally walk right to the “pay here” sign. Seeing ONLY the “pay here sign.”

I arrive at the “pay here” sign to find that there is ONLY a “pay here” sign and no sort of payin’ machine.

What. The. Heck?

Ok. A photo will probably explain this better.

It actually took me several moments to turn around and actually figure out how to get my parking fare paid.

The sign says, “pay here.” It DOES NOT say, “pay over there, like eight feet away.”

Pay here with an arrow means pay there! At the end of the arrow.

Very, very literal girl was really perturbed by this whole setup.

So perturbed I took a dang photo of it!

I totally need to take up yoga.

Or meditation.

Or something with plinky-plunky music that will help lower my blood pressure.

Literal girl is *tense* sometimes…..

Damnit! I’m a purist!

Hey! What in the seven kinds of sam hell is wrong with my goldfish crackers?!?!?!

What are those cracker lumps? Did my goldfish swim near a nuclear reactor? WTF?

Basketball shapes? BASKETBALL SHAPES!?!?!?!?

WTdoubleF?

Aw fer crissakes, Dwayne, keep your gear out of my snack food!

I don’t like nobody messing with my goldfish. I like ’em just like they is.

And also…

HEY YOU KIDS! GET OFF MY LAWN!!

Isn’t that just good manners?

Some days I think the world is a very strange place.

Ok, ok. Most days, I think the world is a very strange place.

And the world thinks I’m a very strange girl.

Oddly, I’m ok with that.

But I digress.

Yesterday, I went to my local Safeway to pick up a few items. As you know, I’m a total Trader Joe’s girl. Unfortunately, ol’ Joe doesn’t always have everything I need, so I have to supplement with Safeway (and I feel like I’m cheating).

Anyhow, I took my few purchases to the register, and as I stepped up to take my turn, the checkout guy said, “Hi! How are you doing?”

To which I replied, “I’m fine, thank you. How are you doing today?”

And he responded, “I’m good. Wow, thank you SO much for asking!”

Which brought me up short.

An exuberant “thank you for asking”?

Would imply that most people don’t even bother to ask?

Which really seems rather rude to me.

I mean, I’m no Miss Manners, but my parents did actually teach me my “please and thank you’s”.

I’m not saying we have to go back to old school overly mannered and behaved, but some simple courtesy is a nice thing. A good thing. A missing thing…what’s that old saying? Gone the way of the Dodo bird?

Sure, I may burp in unfortunate locations and situations, sometimes. And I might, though rarely, yell inappropriate things out the car window.

But damn it! I know how to say please and thank you, and I’m polite enough to inquire as to how a nice hardworking grocery store clerk’s day might be going.

I’m just like that.

Cuz I was raised that way.

Why again aren’t people raised that way anymore?

Oh fer the $#%@ing love of $%#!

You know, where I come from, folks don’t necessarily have the best opinion of California.

“Land of fruits and nuts,” the old saying goes.

California does tend to come off weird, aberrant, plastic surgeried and just plain wacky to the middle of the country.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, I can manage to fight off those accusations.

“I live in Northern California, it’s different,” I say.

Or, “you only know what you see on TV. That’s not real.”

Or, “I wouldn’t have lived here so long if it was really like that.”

And then every once in a while, this crazy state does something even I, a long time apologist, can’t manage to explain.

No, I’m not talking about the Guvernator, but yes, that’s one example I can’t rightly explain.

Today, the one that’s got me scratching my head is this recent bit of legislation:

A little thing called “Cuss-Free Week”.

What the &*$#!?!?!

No cussing?

This is California for &*$#’s sakes!

No cussing?

Ok, so the idea was brought on by a fourteen year old kid who I’m sure has the best of intentions.

And yes, it’s probably a good idea to clean up the ol’ language.

But for the love of %$#@, this is California. You know, the state where people like to bring wacky lawsuits?

Ten will get you twenty, SOMEONE is going to allege a first amendment rights violation. This thing will get hung up in court for YEARS costing the taxpayers of an already on the verge-of-bankrupt state millions of dollars to adjudicate the situation.

I might remind you that the whole “under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance kerfuffle began in, you guessed it, California.

Our residents seem to know how to tie things up in the courts.

Well %&@$.

P.S. As an aside, a friend of mine brought up the question of: does the curse ban only apply to English colloquialisms? Because she is fluent in another language. I find this to be a very good pinche point. Yeah, cabrons?

P.P.S. To my Spanish speaking readers…I Googled “pinche” to see if any of the letters needed accenting. I was amused to find that one user on Urban Dictionary seems to think pinche means : all the guys who work in the kitchen at a restaurant. If I had been drinking coffee, I would have spewed it all over my screen.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh

The Good Man giggled when he brought the mail in the house.

*hee hee hee* I heard him, sneaking up on me.

Why? Why would such a nice man be so cruel?

Wanna know why he was snickering?

Because I received THIS in the mail:

Oh fine. California has instituted the “one day or one trial” rule of jury service. Much better than the days when you were “on call” for a whole week.

The Good Man was giggling especially hard because just a couple weeks ago HE was on the hook for jury service. He called in and wasn’t needed, so he’s feeling pretty darn good about himself for the next 12 months.

Oh well. Just another of the joys of being a grown up.