First, let me preface by noting that due to the recent existence of April 15th and all the world-ending that comes with it in Meghan's office, she will not be posting in the immediate future. You'd be surprised (or likely not) at how borderline-retarded most Americans are when it comes to the tax code. She, understandably, is no longer surprised.
As the weather has taken an unexpected turn for the effing amazing, I've decided to log one of the few WINS I see in my near (and - let's not lie here - distant) future.
Everyone has a best friend. Wait, let me rephrase. Everyone should be mandated by law to have a best friend. At least one. They're great for a lot of things, including but not limited to: drunk dials, drunk texts, picking me up when I am drunk and unsure of my whereabouts and various sober activities too, so I've heard. But whether sloshy or sober, you can always count on them for one thing: new words.
It's come to my attention that Best Friend Lexicons are more common than I originally assumed. I can think of no better way to describe the unique set of words my bff Liz and I have cultivated than pure WINS. Let's take a deeper look.
It is slightly pertinent to mention at this time that I am a linguistics minor. I am only minoring because I cannot major at my university. Plus, you know, I want a job and such. Law school doesn't care about linguistics. I promise. I've looked. Anyway, I study the formation and evolution of language like erryday, so I'm kinda anal-retentive about keeping shit true to form. I digress.
SOME SWEET EXAMPLES:
Grawful (adj.) - A compound of "great" and "awful," grawful is an adjective used in specific instances of an event or comment that is arguably awful to anyone witnessing said event or comment but, to people such as Liz or myself, is also just totally great. This word is really only appropriate to use if you're one of those kinds of people who find a mutual friend's ex's porch being shat on one of the most hilariously appropriate events to happen in the early 21st century.
Shitrendous (adj.) - A compound of "shitty" and "horrendous," shitrendous is really pretty self-explanatory. Sure, things can be shitty or horrendous. But those times when all you can do is look at the people around you, shake your head and mutter? Shitrendous.
Ridiculawesome (adj.) - A compound of "ridiculous" and "awesome," ridiculawesome is an adjective not wholly unlike grawful. In most of our target audience's collective lives, it is rather likely that at least one ridiculawesome moment transpires daily, if not several more than that. Remember that time your cheating whore ex-girlfriend hooked up with your really unattractive ex-friend? Remember how you told said ex-girlfriend, when still dating, that said friend had a mad case of the herp? And she did it anyway, because she's a dumb whore? Ridiculawesome.
I have no doubt that lots of you have your own awesome fabricated words. The beauty of the blog is, I feel, that you can leave comments and discuss with one another. Oh, and also that I can use a fake name so none of my future employers can ever find me. Ever. So I can curse all I want. Because I'm a grown-ass woman, dammit.
Win Factor: 7.9
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
FAIL: Art School Kids/English Majors
[NB: To distinguish between Meghan fails and Julia fails, Meghan will be posting in navy blue and Julia will be posting in red.]
I was an English major once upon a time. For a semester. It was the worst decision of my life, and here's why. English majors are awful. I've tried to reason with them - to attempt to find reason for my own deep inner hatred of them. But to no avail. Why? Because they're awful.
What's worse than English majors? Art school kids. Like 90% of them. I go to a very large state school that contains a prestigious art school that apparently specializes in pumping out pretentious fucks. Pretentious fucks with serious personality flaws that even a pre-law student like myself cannot get past. Have you ever met a law student? We're usually pretty terrible. But not art-school-terrible. Oh hell to the naw.
Due to what I can only describe as straight-up mind trickery, I got conned into taking what I thought was a 300-level English literature class. Did I know it was cross-listed in the art school? No. Do I wish I knew that? Oh hell to the yes.
Here are some of the winners I have to deal with at least twice a week. I've given them nicknames descriptive of their various personality deficits for two reasons: 1) I don't care to know their real names, and 2) they're hilarious.
1. Condescension Girl - Okay, Condescension Girl (CG). I get it - you understand obscure art and the terms that come with it. That's great. Your tattoos are awful, and your haircut is even worse. I don't understand it, and that makes me mad. The bangs are short and curly, and I get that you're trying to do some strange 20s-pinup-girl thing, but it's not working because you're awkward and who is even attracted to that? I mean if you're going for 80-year-olds, then okay. That's your thang. But I don't support it or you. Or how you got your name, CG. You have the single most condescending voice I've ever heard. On the planet. I talk to a LOT of people, CG. Who do you think you are? Nothing you say makes any sense and usually I'm too busy focusing on the fact that you sound like you're explaining long division to an otherwise mentally sound 21-year-old. Well here's a shocker, CG. Your tattoos don't make sense - I'd know, I spend at least half of every session cocking my head trying to find where they start and end. Oh, and you're awful. Ahhhwwwful. How's that for condescension?
2. Can't Sit Still Boy (CSSB) - Alright, jackass. You're one of the ones I hate the most. I get it, you're a 'musician.' You're 'fucking special.' You're special ed, is more like it. Why can't you sit still? We're grown fucking adults. You have to tap your pen on your leg, drum your feet on the ground or fingers on your stupid fucking hipster water bottle (?!??!?!), or you'll actually combust or something. Here's the thing, CSSB. I've been drumming for 11 years. I'm pretty good, but I'm not even great. I'm not even great, and I can still tell that you're terrible. You have no rhythm. Listen up, CSSB. Nothing you say contributes anything to the class, you need to take a shower, and how have you not gotten kicked out of every classroom you're in? If you did any of that shit in any other class I took, I'm pretty positive the professor reserves the right to actually disembowel you where you sit. But you're still not the worst. Oh no.
3. Idiot Hobo-Rant Hipster Boy (IHRHB) - You are the bane of my fucking existence. I absolutely despise you with every fiber of my being. You cannot formulate ONE complete sentence, and you are under the illusion that they are going to give you an English degree. Pretty positive you have to be able to formulate and express thoughts in that language if you want an advanced degree in it, jackass. Additionally: no one wants to see your hairy teen wolf chest in your awkward, tight obviously-made-for-women swoop-neck t-shirt. You talk for about 35 of the 75 minutes of class, and about 20 of those minutes are "um" "like" "and so yeah" "uhhh" and a shit ton of mumbling so hobo-esque that the girl sitting next to you has to ask you to repeat it because no one understands what the fuck you're trying to say. It would also help if any of your ideas made any sense. Or, you know, you were marginally intelligent.
But as with any shit storm tornado, there is a clear, calm sky somewhere in the mix. And that is you, Super-Cute Fashion Design Girl. You are so fun to look at, being all cute and preppy and quietly thoughtful. It's a shame that we have to suffer this together, but at least I can look across the room and the practically-engraved scowl on my face relaxes, if only temporarily.
Oh, and Still a High School Goth Girl? You're okay, too. We smile at each other pretty much whenever we cross paths, and even though I think it's ridiculous that you're still wearing all black Victorian dresses and skull-stomping boots even though we're in our last years of undergrad, you're pretty adorable. You know, if you didn't think you were a vampire.
Fail Factor: 8.6
I was an English major once upon a time. For a semester. It was the worst decision of my life, and here's why. English majors are awful. I've tried to reason with them - to attempt to find reason for my own deep inner hatred of them. But to no avail. Why? Because they're awful.
What's worse than English majors? Art school kids. Like 90% of them. I go to a very large state school that contains a prestigious art school that apparently specializes in pumping out pretentious fucks. Pretentious fucks with serious personality flaws that even a pre-law student like myself cannot get past. Have you ever met a law student? We're usually pretty terrible. But not art-school-terrible. Oh hell to the naw.
Due to what I can only describe as straight-up mind trickery, I got conned into taking what I thought was a 300-level English literature class. Did I know it was cross-listed in the art school? No. Do I wish I knew that? Oh hell to the yes.
Here are some of the winners I have to deal with at least twice a week. I've given them nicknames descriptive of their various personality deficits for two reasons: 1) I don't care to know their real names, and 2) they're hilarious.
1. Condescension Girl - Okay, Condescension Girl (CG). I get it - you understand obscure art and the terms that come with it. That's great. Your tattoos are awful, and your haircut is even worse. I don't understand it, and that makes me mad. The bangs are short and curly, and I get that you're trying to do some strange 20s-pinup-girl thing, but it's not working because you're awkward and who is even attracted to that? I mean if you're going for 80-year-olds, then okay. That's your thang. But I don't support it or you. Or how you got your name, CG. You have the single most condescending voice I've ever heard. On the planet. I talk to a LOT of people, CG. Who do you think you are? Nothing you say makes any sense and usually I'm too busy focusing on the fact that you sound like you're explaining long division to an otherwise mentally sound 21-year-old. Well here's a shocker, CG. Your tattoos don't make sense - I'd know, I spend at least half of every session cocking my head trying to find where they start and end. Oh, and you're awful. Ahhhwwwful. How's that for condescension?
2. Can't Sit Still Boy (CSSB) - Alright, jackass. You're one of the ones I hate the most. I get it, you're a 'musician.' You're 'fucking special.' You're special ed, is more like it. Why can't you sit still? We're grown fucking adults. You have to tap your pen on your leg, drum your feet on the ground or fingers on your stupid fucking hipster water bottle (?!??!?!), or you'll actually combust or something. Here's the thing, CSSB. I've been drumming for 11 years. I'm pretty good, but I'm not even great. I'm not even great, and I can still tell that you're terrible. You have no rhythm. Listen up, CSSB. Nothing you say contributes anything to the class, you need to take a shower, and how have you not gotten kicked out of every classroom you're in? If you did any of that shit in any other class I took, I'm pretty positive the professor reserves the right to actually disembowel you where you sit. But you're still not the worst. Oh no.
3. Idiot Hobo-Rant Hipster Boy (IHRHB) - You are the bane of my fucking existence. I absolutely despise you with every fiber of my being. You cannot formulate ONE complete sentence, and you are under the illusion that they are going to give you an English degree. Pretty positive you have to be able to formulate and express thoughts in that language if you want an advanced degree in it, jackass. Additionally: no one wants to see your hairy teen wolf chest in your awkward, tight obviously-made-for-women swoop-neck t-shirt. You talk for about 35 of the 75 minutes of class, and about 20 of those minutes are "um" "like" "and so yeah" "uhhh" and a shit ton of mumbling so hobo-esque that the girl sitting next to you has to ask you to repeat it because no one understands what the fuck you're trying to say. It would also help if any of your ideas made any sense. Or, you know, you were marginally intelligent.
But as with any shit storm tornado, there is a clear, calm sky somewhere in the mix. And that is you, Super-Cute Fashion Design Girl. You are so fun to look at, being all cute and preppy and quietly thoughtful. It's a shame that we have to suffer this together, but at least I can look across the room and the practically-engraved scowl on my face relaxes, if only temporarily.
Oh, and Still a High School Goth Girl? You're okay, too. We smile at each other pretty much whenever we cross paths, and even though I think it's ridiculous that you're still wearing all black Victorian dresses and skull-stomping boots even though we're in our last years of undergrad, you're pretty adorable. You know, if you didn't think you were a vampire.
Fail Factor: 8.6
Welcome Wagon
First post, first post. I could always sit here and write an introduction, but I think I'll let our epic tales of wins and fails do the talking for us.
Who are we? We're Meg and Julia, and we sometimes win - we often fail - but it's always a good story in the end.
So come join us, won't you?
Who are we? We're Meg and Julia, and we sometimes win - we often fail - but it's always a good story in the end.
So come join us, won't you?
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