Category: Mom

Insults that aren’t really curse words

I was reading a bit of a gossip rag online this afternoon and stumbled upon an unknown (to me) insulting curse word. It’s one of those great borderline usages…not really a dirty word, but close enough to get the idea across.

And if said with vigor, makes all the impact you need.

The word that is now the newest addition to my personal lexicon is nobsack.

Used in context: “… she knows a thing or two about unbearably dirty-looking nobsacks.”

I don’t know *exactly* what the word means, but I bet I can hazard a pretty darn close guess.

It sounds British. The British really are wonderful for the insulting words that aren’t cursing…you know, prat and wanker and bollocks. All good ones to drop in casual conversation.

Nobsack has a new, fresh sound to it. I do get so weary of the time tested “douche bag” which has regained popularity recently. The cooler kids have reduced it to just “douche” and morphed it into an adverb…”Why do you have to be so douchey?”

It’s not one I use much, but it works. Insulting without cursing. This is good. At my last job, cursing was like water, flowing its way through every conversation. Heck, our CEO used the term “batsh*t” in reference to our competition. Cursing was expected and I gladly went along for the ride (much to my mother and brother’s dismay).

At my new gig, no one curses. It was even addressed as part of my new hire training. So I’m having to break a nearly ten year habit. As such, I’m collecting non-cursing insults. Like dillweed and dillhole. Time tested, mother approved.

I knew someone from Mexico who used the Spanish word for peanut, cacahuate, as a replacement for sh–. It does certainly *sound* bad when said strongly.

Well, I’ll keep collecting the “clean” dirty words. This is a tough transition.

And anyone who says differently is a nobsack.

Yeah, that flows pretty good off the tongue.

First Day at the new school

I remember, lo these many years ago, one year when it was time to return to school, my mom packed up all the supplies she’d bought from the teacher’s list of requirements into a brown paper grocery bag. Then she sat me, dressed in my new school clothes, next to the bag on the carved wooden bench near the front door and took a picture.

It was a “first day of school” photo.

I searched high and low in all my photo albums for this photo to scan and post today, but sadly I could not find it (it’s there, but just didn’t dig far enough). I did, however, find my first communion photo, taken seated on that same bench in a fluffy white dress and little veil, but figured the effect was just not the same.

The reason for me recalling both that day and that photograph, is that today, I started my new job at a brand new company. And I felt as nervous and jittery as I did in second grade wondering if I would like the place, if the other kids would like me back, and if I was doomed to eating lunch all by myself for the duration.

Day One of the new place was not so bad. My mind is a bit blown with all the information handed out during the day. I’m working for a company that is smaller, less high profile, but more important to the “greater good”. I work for a company filled with PhD scientist types. Brilliant folks, all sharp as a whip and it takes work for me to keep up.

It’s a lot like my old employer in a lot of ways (most of them good). It’s also very different in a lot of ways.

But none of that matters. What matters is I spent nine and a half years at my last job. I’d built up friends, confidants, and credibility. I knew where the bodies and the land mines were buried. People knew me, knew I would do a good job, and trusted me.

Today, people don’t know me from Adam and I have zero credibility. All that must be built, and it’s a long process.

I have to learn the names of new and strange (and let’s face it, rather geeky) executives. I have to learn a bit of biology and a skosh of chemistry to keep up with the conversations. I have to be able to speak clinically about some big hairy scary human diseases, which is going to be a tough change for my sensitive soul.

But mainly, I have to survive. I need this job. Mr. Jones keeps stealing my money and while I was feeling ok about things a few weeks back, I’ve finally succumbed to the fear and horror this economy has sent our way. I like feeling comfortable about my financial situation and loathe worrying over something as ridiculous as money.

And yes, I’m quite grateful to have a good job in these troubled times.

I did make a friend today. She was very nice and agreed to be my “new hire” pal. I have a new hire pal from the old place. He and I are still friends and celebrated every work anniversary by saying to each other, “god, you still work here?” I expect the same from my new friend.

Tomorrow I’m plunged into the icy waters of my new team. I met a couple ladies today who will by my direct reports and they eyed me suspiciously, but were friendly enough.

Hopefully no one will steal my lunch money and someone will let me sit at the table with them at noontime.

And hopefully someone will tell me how to find my way to the bathroom. That’s essential.

Tuesday is going to be a really long day.

Going to Carlsbad in my mind

Yeah, I just said that. Okay, maybe not actually Carlsbad, but near Carlsbad.

For a while back in the day (also called “the college years”) my folks lived in Carlsbad. Meaning I spent holidays and summers there.

Have ya’ll been to Carlsbad? No, not the caverns, those aren’t actually in town. Actual Carlsbad. Where are my southeastern New Mexico people? You know what I’m talkin’ about.

Yeah. Carlsbad.

So with those dull days in mind, while my mom resided in fabulous downtown Carlsbad, she sought to find ways to get OUT of Carlsbad.

One of the places she took me, one hot summer day, was a location called Sitting Bull Falls. Yes, in the middle of the desert, a glorious oasis with an 130 foot waterfall.

Gorgeous!

What got me waxing about such a wonderful (cooooool) place?

Well, first, it’s been a hard day. Bleary eyed I scanned the Las Cruces Sun News and followed *this* link.

To my surprise, I found a nice write up about Sitting Bull Falls! Nestled deep in the Lincoln National Forest, it’s a beautiful and surprising destination in the, uh, middle of no-frickin’-where.

(When you are a NM kinda person, the corner of no-frickin’-where and BFE is a party destination!).

So on this bleary, sad, hard day, I went to Sitting Bull Falls in my mind.

I remembered a really good day. A break from the oppressive heat. Natural beauty. And relaxing. It was a nice mental vacation.

I sort of doubt I’ll ever be back that way again in person…so the best I can do is go to Sitting Bull Falls in my mind.

Ahhhh.

Photo Source

Sigh

Another one bites the dust.

After nearly 40 years, Rolling Stone magazine is whittling down its trademark size. It will now look like every other magazine on the stands.

Ugh.

When I was 15, I had a subscription to Rolling Stone (thanks to the kindness of my mom, thanks mom!). I read it cover to cover every month, drinking in the journalism, the hot, hot interviews and the hip quality of it all.

I stopped subscribing when they went from newspaper print style to glossy pages. It wasn’t the paper, it was the quality of the product. Rotten.

So to be fair I haven’t read Rolling Stone in a good long while. But now, this nail in the coffin.

The magazine that was so subversive, so out there, so of-the-now is, at its heart, just another corporate owned mass-produced media product.

*sigh*

We’ve come a long way since RS 1:

Photo source.

Make up work

Karen has some make up work to do.

Karen has been delinquent in her duties.

Karen missed a day of blogging yesterday.

Karen has no good excuse other than she spent all day yesterday off-line, head down, writing performance reviews (they are DONE for another year, YES!).

Karen is terribly sorry.

I will not skip blogging days.

I will not skip blogging days.

I will not skip blogging days.

Only 97 more to go.

Please don’t tell my mom, ok? She’ll be awful mad……