GASH WEDNESDAY #48: A Review of Some Fine Words

If anyone knows me well, they know that I love to write (newsflash!) and that I love to play Scrabble, consuming 20 games at a time. I love words. Each new one you learn, you expand your ability to appreciate your world and to talk about it.

I’m the proudest woman in town to have expanded my vocabulary this year with some funky new words and phrases that have found me stunned. I am without a doubt a nerd, turned inside out for you so you can have a laugh or moment of pride at my expense. That’s what I’m here for. Here are some of the new terms I’ve learned this year and my either scathing or appreciative review of them. (Because I have talked about thongs and the past too much.)

“Business to Business, or B2B”
I’m bored. I work for a fancy little internet company that specializes in B2B marketing with its very own social networking platform with features not offered on Facebook or LinkedIn. That’s right… businesses doing business with other businesses, rather than focusing on business-to-consumer marketing. I had no idea this stuff existed a year ago, and somehow they trust me to bust my tookus daily on behalf of this URL which exists for and because of the B2B world.  So my hand has been forced, or rather my mind, to accept that this stuff exists and that it’s a concept that cannot be ignored in the business world.

Question: Do I care?
Answer: No, not when I’m running, not before 9am, sometimes in the shower (<— proof of reluctant dedication), and I really don’t care about B2B marketing for VOIP phones on Saturdays.  

Question: Can I live without it again?
Answer: I hope to one day.

Question: What if this were the first thing my first born child said?
Answer: I would get it an executive’s chair for its first birthday. Or an executive’s tiny shoe.

Question: Is it red?
Answer: No.

Question: Does it make a fine jam?
Answer: I would try it on a bagel. Yes.

“Interloper”
My best friend, who is becoming quite talented at making music titled one of his new albums “Interloper.” I had to look it up. It’s a great little word. It’s basically the idea of a person that does not belong crossing a line or boundary. It’s almost like an intruder, only less geographic. It’s like the post-sixty female you see once in five years in a strip club. Whaaaa? Fuckin’ interloper. Now I know what she is called. Or the five year old girl in the chain-saw factory. Lost? No. Interloper. It’s your mom prying into your sex life. You get the picture.

Question: Do I care?
Answer: Damn right. I like this word. I think interlopers should wear uniforms. Like a nice “I” letter sweater.

Question: Can I live without it again?
Answer: If I don’t get loped on, I won’t be accusing anyone in the interim.

Question: What if this were the first thing my first born child said?
Answer: I would hug this child. And I’d probably buy him that “I” sweater in his size.

Question: Is it red?
Answer: I can only imagine.

Question: Does it make a fine jam?
Answer: Interloper Jam! That ought to be imported. It would have to be, because it wouldn’t really belong.

“Plume”
This is sometimes called “bloom” and it’s the growth found on cigars when they have aged. Not all old cigars will have this. It looks like mold, but it’s not. It even looks a little bit like dust. If you don’t know any better, everything in you tells you the cigar must have gone bad or that you need to wipe the sacred smoking stick off on your interloper sweater when no one is looking. But it makes for a fine cigar. I love to peruse the selections in a humidor and come across one of my favorite labels with this. To this day, a St. Luis Rey Series G covered in plume has been one of the best smokes of my life.

Question: Do I care?
Answer: Yes I do. I can now refer to one of the greatest things about cigars without calling it “that moldy shit.”

Question: Can I live without it again?
Answer: I’d like to not.

Question: What if this were the first thing my first born child said?
Answer: I’d get out the cards and booze for a celebration.

Question: Is it red?
Answer: No.

Question: Does it make a fine jam?
Answer: That would baffle most.

“Spitting Game”
I’d never heard of this before until a male friend of mine matter-of-factly used this reference when we were talking. I didn’t know that the shit you say when you’re trying to pick up a girl was encompassed by that phrase. Not my favorite term, but we had a good laugh. Now I know.

Question: Do I care?
Answer: Not really. I am still baffled. I wish it were called something else. Suggestions?

Question: Can I live without it again?
Answer: I hope to forever.

Question: What if this were the first thing my first born child said?
Answer: I might have to do actual harm.

Question: Is it red?
Answer: No.

Question: Does it make a fine jam?
Answer: Douchepreserves. Mmmm.

“ENT”
I did not know what this acronym meant because I never went to one as a child. It refers to an Ear Nose and Throat doctor or specialist. I didn’t know people went to that kind of doctor for a sickness. I just thought you went to a general practitioner when you were generally sick with drippy shit coming out of your head because you’re gonna get one of the same 20 things they usually seem to prescribe.  So imagine my confusion when I am frantically texting a friend to tell him that the entire end of the q-tip stayed in my ear when I pulled it out. ENT? How the fuck does that help? So they exist. Now I know.

Question: Do I care?
Answer: I hope I will never have to.

Question: Can I live without it again?
Answer: I hope to. Doctors, although truly helpful at times, are something to be avoided.

Question: What if this were the first thing my first born child said?
Answer: We’d go tubing. The ear kind.*

Question: Is it red?
Answer: No.

Question: Does it make a fine jam?
Answer: Now that you asked. Why yes. Yes, it does.

*Any child I expel from my body will surely be acquired immediately by concerned officials.