Sheesh or Yeesh?

I noticed that my blog tag widget displays both "sheesh" & "yeesh." I did not realize I was using them interchangeably, so I researched these interjections and discovered they are indeed related. 

Several sites declare they are both used to express "annoyance, disapproval, dismay, surprise, impatience or distress." The urban dictionary explained that yeesh is "yikes" and sheesh combined and etymologically they are variants of the exasperated expressions, geez/jeez (and their profane origin)...or, at least that's the hypothesheesh. ;)

Either way, I love them. 

I checked my tag stats and discovered I use "sheesh" far more often, and this made me wonder if this interjection is regional. Do you use sheesh or yeesh or both, or something a little more spicy to express your irritation? 

I'm not the only one?

Maybe there's a support group for people like us?

Things that are most likely the devil:

de-tangling headphones (and such).

#whatyoulikelydoinhell
#21stcenturyprobz

Let's be (too) honest.

Sometimes the people we're forced to live with family members can be a tad too candid can't they?

My teen son says that I'm getting so old that this is what I look like when I sleep. He says it also explains how I developed a nasty sty [see clip from Yes Man below].

I say I wouldn't sleep like I'm catatonic if I weren't so stressed from raising teenagers. I say I highly recommend marriage, but kids? Nope. I say other things too, but by then everyone has left the room. Bummer.

#aging

#norespect

#teenforsale

#ilaughedfortenminutesandthenicalledmylawyertochangethewill

#hopefullynotforeshadowing

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Yup. It's that time of year again.

#uglyChristmassweater
#justembraceyourinnercraftyperson
#mildlybetterthanthewolveshowlingatthemoonshirt
#mymomoncegavemethewolveshowlingatthemoonshirt
#seriously

Wordfuse (Itchin' Edition)

rant + antsy = rantsy (adjective): anxious, apprehensive, or jittery to a degree that one can barely repress the desire to criticize, disparage or down-right slam someone who so needs it (aka bite one's tongue while the asshole at the table blathers on ad nauseum).

Dumb-ats

Look! There's stuff underneath too.
Image from here.

"Half of being smart is knowing what you're dumb at." ~David Gerrold

I love it when people share with me what they can't do. Yup, it's probably some sort of unhealthy inferiority complex overindulgence kinda thing but I can't help it. Describe to me your ineptitude and I will love you forever.

With that in mind, I must confess just a few (12) of what I like to refer to as my dumb-ats:

-mechanical things aka why does my lawnmower have a dipstick?
-fashion.
-consistently recognizing when someone is toying with me.
-drive-thrus.
-losing weight aka shrinking.
-acting my age.
-shutting up.
-not thinking about peopleofwarlmart.com when I'm in Walmart aka obsessing.
-feeling empathy for hoarders.
-suppressing my movie snobbery aka making stink-eye "noises" during chick-flicks; aka asking seemingly obvious questions during movies that no one wants to think about but because I can't just shut-up I have ruined their suspension of disbelief and they want to stab me.
-listening to my teens without making the "judgmental face" or shaking my head in disbelief.
-phones (A few days ago, I accidentally pressed *89 instead of *98 to check our messages and according to the disembodied voice I am likely responsible for climate change.)

What are your dumb-ats?

Things that are most likely the devil:

This is the pail of slop that I dug out of my eaves-troughs (aka gutters) yesterday.

Yup. This is my life. Take that Ashton Kutcher.














#smellslikethawingcatpeecompost
#smellslikethedumpsterbehindaplaceofferingcheappedicures
#smellslikecabbageandredwinevinegarinaditch
#smellslikeasewerwaterpopscicle
#smellslikeabagofexpiredblood
#smellslikeadeaddeerwithgingivitis
#smellslikewhatiguesshyenabuttersmellslike
#smellslikethehairballwedugoutofthedrainwhenwemovedthebathtubearlierthisyear
#smellslikeishouldneverchewmynailsagain
#smellslikesomeonepayingAshtonKutcher$700000perepisode

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

They curl my toes (in a good way).

See these pyjama pants? $3! I don't wear them to bed. But I have now spent entire weekends in them. Mowed the lawn in them. Greeted people at the front door in them. Visited with friends in them. I would live in them if I could. I would wear them to the bank. I would wear them to work if I could. My wife made me go to a friend's house and pick raspberries but I insisted that the only way I would do so is if I could wear my happy pyjama pants. Her reply? No prob.

So I guess I would even renew my wedding vows in them.

#igetitnow
#completelygivenup

Wordfuse (Overeating Edition)

(noun): formerly referred to as my waistline; a side-effect of the immense number of snacks I've consumed on this little holiday. Bummer.

How To?

This is my nemesis new dishwasher.

I installed my new dishwasher by MYSELF. And in ten easy DIY steps I learned a &#%!ng important lesson.

How to Install a Dishwasher
1. Eat a bag of Aero Bubbles and wait until 8:00 in the evening to begin.
2. Read the handy instructions on how to remove the new dishwasher from the packing box. Wow. Thank goodness for those.
3. Simultaneously relieve and prolong the anxiety by blogging about the forthcoming project.
4. Tweet about it.
5. Watch how-to YouTube videos.
6. Read the actual instructions.
7. Spend two hours revising the instructions and troubleshooting. Sweat. Improvise. Turn off the wrong breaker. Zap yourself. Turn off all the power. Fight with a fading flashlight. Sweat. Test power. Check. Double check all the hoses.
8. Suddenly realize with complete clarity and confidence: I installed my new dishwasher and I am positive it is going to work!!! Seriously. Holy crap.
9. Open interior to remove the packing material to allow for a test run. Pull out the top rack and notice that it sticks. Look inside at the top of the new dishwasher and discover the interior is damaged beyond repair and it will have to be returned. Suddenly realize the entire two hours was an utter waste of time.
10. Go lie down and cry for a while.

Wordfuse (Fall Down Go Boom Edition)

bada bing bada booboo (interjection): that exclamatory drum roll moment after what should be an effortless task goes completely awry and well, there's a big bruise or worse yet, blood. See my thigh, which still hurts one week after falling off a chair while trying to install a light fixture.*

*I apologize. Who in their right mind needs to see my thigh? And I'm being sort of a cry-baby about this aren't I?  I guess one might refer to this post as a bit of a bada bing bada boohoo. Sorry. Couldn't resist. #cantstopwordfusing #puningitis

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

*putting on his patient face for the cameras*
Inside thoughts: I can't wait to get home
and use my *#&@! woodchipper.
Photo from here.

this extreme couponing reality TV star lady (hoarder-in-training) who just bought, among other useful (?) things, 49 mustard squeeze-bottles and 93 boxes of swiffers with some of her 782 coupons.

Just imagine being the seething-inside-with-anger-dude in the check-out line behind her. Almost as bad: being the cashier. Generally even worse: TLC.

Wordfuse (Unhealthy Addiction Edition)

Is this really educational?
Why did people buy tickets to this?

fiascodependent (adj): fiasco + codependent = our modern-day unhealthy (perhaps even addictive?) attachment to narcissistic screw-ups and farce paraded as reality. See Snooki, Charlie Sheen, Teen Moms, et al. 

April?



No joke. This is my front yard. *weeps a little*



How to Beat a Dead Horse

Image from here.

I don't know much about horses. Never owned a horse. Never broke a horse. Never trained a horse. Never even been on a horse's back by myself. I've certainly never beaten a horse, alive or dead. And yet I've been beating a few dead horses my entire life. And watching others beat their dead horses too.

1. Assume yours is a dark horse. (Delude yourself into believing this information came straight from the horse’s mouth.)

2. Lead your horse to water. Try to make it drink. Try again. Try x 12. Try twice more.

3. Finally get off your high horse.

4. Embittered, scream and shout. Screw you and the horse you rode in on! (Act like a horse's ass.)

5. Quit horsing around. Beat that dead horse. (Wild horses could not drag you away.)

6. Pause. (Hold your horses.)

7. Beat the horse some more. Ride the horse some more. (Ignore your horse sense.)

8. Finally, if the horse is dead (because truly, it always was) GET OFF! 

9. Rationalize that your horse was likely Trojan and you won't fall for that nonsense again. Silly.

10. Repeat all steps expecting different results. 

Luggage Doesn't Grow on Trees

Sometimes I want to sail away.
But oh yeah. My luggage disappeared. 

Packing for an overnight trip tomorrow, I needed a small piece of luggage. So I ventured into the downstairs closet and was surprised to discover the luggage I am familiar with (mostly because I paid for it) no longer exists AKA I suspect said luggage is at a sleep-over AKA one of my teens left it at his or her "peeps" and brought his or her stuff home in a plastic garbage bag along with a half-eaten bag of barbecue chips AKA we will likely never see said luggage again AKA it went the way of my mitts).

Plan B: I pulled out a small crumpled duffel bag that belongs to my teen son. It was a freebie from a sports event he attended, and looked to be about the right size. The zipper worked so I opened it up and here's what I discovered inside:

• two dimes
• one dryer sheet
• one plastic coat-hanger, broken
• 4,973 gum wrappers
• one cheese string

Did I mention this sporting event occurred last summer? Anyway, I'm 20 cents richer! Well only if you ignore the whole cost of replacing said missing luggage. Whatever. At least that cheese string was decent. That'll teach him. 

*shoulders sag with sudden remembrance of former life before parenting reduced me to eating stale cheese strings and claiming it as a victory*

Things that are most likely the devil:

Wordfuse (Workplace Edition)

One seriously
old-ass photocopier.

Mayhemployee (noun): mayhem + employee = that blundering coworker we all know who commits any or all of the following on a fairly regular basis:

• seems to have left a fork sticking out of the staffroom toaster
  
• helps clean the workroom by throwing away all the recycling
• wears something, uh, remarkably eye-catching and causes casual Friday controversy
• accidentally shreds an important document but redeems self by taping it all back together but cannot find one important piece thus rendering the entire document (and attempt) void
• uses the bathroom during a fire drill and argues it was multi-tasking
• has not washed his or her coffee cup since before Jesus
• jabbers on incessantly during staff meetings or has extended pauses while sharing irrelevant anecdotes ad nauseum
eats coworkers' food (or leaves the bathroom uninhabitable)
drops a monitor in a crowded hallway (Oh yeah, that was me. *sheepish face*)
mangles the photocopier so irreparably an emergency service call is necessary and people have to be rerouted to the old photocopier which smells like Chernobyl (Oh yeah, that was me too. *darting eyes*)

Eep.

     I have a thing about shaking hands. Another pea-brain thing but nevertheless....
     I still recall the first time I shook someone's hand: Grade 2.
     I had just won a poster contest, sort of a big deal I guess because there was an assembly and a man in a suit presented me with a book and about $25, give or take $25 (that part is not so clear). I could not recall the drawing. I drew so frequently it could have been anything. Nor did I recall entering a contest. Yup peeps. More evidence that I have a history of being clueless.
     Anyway, the suit reached out to shake my hand. I had no idea what he was doing. None. Total discombobulation. It's that innocent kid stage, eh? Reminds me of my cousin Rory who, on the first day of school, knew enough to go stand at the urinals to pee but was still clueless enough to pull his pants down to his ankles before he did.
     Anyway...the suit nodded at me. I looked at the principal and his perplexed face combined with his furious pantomiming indicated I needed to lift the paralyzed stump that was once my arm and somehow interact with the stranger's extended hand. So I reached out with my left hand for his already extended right hand. And for a moment, we stood there, holding hands. FAIL! Despite my blunder, everyone clapped. And the applause felt great. Still though, I wondered, what the heck is going on? (Apparently my drawing skills were significantly more advanced than my social skills. Hmm. Has anything really changed?)
     This was not a negative experience. As an adult, I don't fear shaking people's hands. I did not become Howie Mandel. However, it might explain why I am sensitive to the whole shaking hands experience. To me, it's important. I want to show respect. But the margin for error makes me even more neurotic, if that's possible.
     Example. Think of the last time you shook someone's hand. Whether comfortable or awkward, how would you describe it?

1. The Dead Fish Shake
2. The Crusher
3. The Two-handed Shake
4. The Finger Shake
5. The Sweaty Slide-out
6. The Linger-too-long Shake
7. The Too Feminine or Too Masculine Shake
8. The No-eye-contact Shake
9. The Wipe-on-the-pants-before-I-shake Shake
10. The Dreaded There-is-something-about-this-person-that-makes-me-not-want-to-make-physical-contact-but-I'm-going-to-anyway-and-even-shake-hands-more-assuredly-now-to-overcompensate-for-that-thought Shake  

     Just this morning I had to shake a stranger's hand.  Here's the breakdown, in slo mo. I came around the corner and encountered a stranger at work. I smiled and said, "Good morning." A third party entered. Introductions ensued. No, no, no, I shouldn't shake this person's hand, not right now. Did she see me hesitate? Oh yeah, here comes the hand. What can I do? How can I refuse? I extended my hand. Further, further. Our hands met. It's a good shake, a firm shake, we make eye contact....
     Unfortunately this occured mere seconds after I came out of the bathroom at work. My hand? Still wet. Seriously wet. Just soap and water peeps. Honest. For some reason, I was on air dry. But she didn't know that!
     Eep.
     Now that is a lasting first impression. FAIL!