The Lexiconographicus of You

I don't really know what to do with the fact that people blatantly make up words.

This has been an ongoing problem for me. I know my sister finds it hilarious when people say "supposably" and has turned it into a self-entertaining sport.

Me: So then I saw him and he said that *supposedly* they weren't going to go.

Her: Did you just say "supposably"?

Me: No, I said supposedly.

Her: No, um, I'm pretty sure you said "supposably".

Me: NO! Why would I say "supposably"?! It's not even a word.

Her: But you said it.

Me: (jumping off bridge) I would never!!!!!!

Her: Just kidding...

But it's not just supposably/supposedly. This goes on all day long, all around the country. People make words up and other people nod and smile and perhaps withhold a smirk but don't CORRECT them.

I just saw it today. I was at the gym (just establishing my alibi) and somehow Oprah had decided it was high time she invite Jenna Jameson, "The Most Famous Porn Star in the World" to be on her show. ("Supposably" I know better than to watch stuff like this...) Anyway, Jenna wanted everyone to know that there is a big misconception that she's "a slut" (her words, not mine) but that she actually did many of her films with her then-husband.

I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. I really was. I mean, she had had her repeatedly-done-implants reduced, she had good posture, and she had been "retired" for a year. I listened closely as she said that she just did porn because she could make a lot of money, but she wanted people to know she's a good business woman. The implication was that she was smart, and I *almost* believed her. Until she said that women loved her work with her husband because there was a "comfortability" between them.

Um, not a word Jenna. Thanks for playing.

What's worse is that Oprah didn't even wince. But she was probably wondering what was even happening to her career that she was sitting on stage next to Jenna Jameson instead of Dr. Oz. Earlier in the week she had interviewed the lady who was attacked by a chimp. So her mind might have been on ratings more than grammar, one presumes. She even made a pathetic plug for her own magazine. Oh, Oprah!

I couldn't believe my little ears! Comfortability?! I wanted to turn around to the septuagenarians around me at the YMCA, walking their 2mph on the treadmill, and ask them if they heard what I did. I thought about it, but that would have required showing them that I was intently watching a Jenna Jameson interview, so I voted against that move.

Now, being the nerd that I am, I came home and looked this up. The ONLY entry on the internet for "Comfortability" is on a wiki dictionary. In other words, the word doesn't actually exist except for in one place, by someone (possibly Jenna herself) who typed that entry.

I'm an advocate of letting the English language breathe, and adopting conversational English into the lexicon as needed. I admit I use emoticons more than necessary (although to my defense my big emoticon-faux-pas is using winks, something I use excessively in person as well). I'm not sure if I'm alone in this battle. Am I like author Lynne Truss, who was a one-woman picket line against the improperly punctuated title of the Hugh Grant/Sandra Bullock cinematic masterpiece (I say this without even the slightest note of irony) "Two Weeks Notice"? Is this a war that lone soldiers spread across the continent can successfully fight?

In the end I've decided that maybe starting a Facebook group called "Um, the word you just said isn't a word, but we'll pretend that it is" is all I can do for now.

Problem is, I don't know if that would make people uncomfortablistic.

Halloween is Stupid, and Related Thoughts

Halloween is dumb. I mean, I live in California. As if the girls really need a formally-sanctioned holiday as a reason to dress sluttily? (new word, you heard it here first)

I have never once in my life caved to this trend. Looking back, I can tell you that on my years of Halloweenieness I have paraded as a variety of things, each year slightly more repulsive than the last. This may go back to my childhood in unique Halloween costumes, such as the famed year of Marie Antoinette in junior high. As an adult, I have made delightful costume choices (when/if I chose to dress up):
-a gaudy 80s girl
-an ugly gypsy
-a two-headed (I can't speak for my friend, but I certainly pulled my share of ugly) alien in platform sneakers and a green face mask talking on a rutabaga "telephone" with my hair in curlers
-a white trash wife with mullet, etc.

And this year I believe may have been my crowning achievement in the creativity category- my friend and I went as Jose Cuervo and Jack Daniels.

Now, I know what you're thinking- you are thinking that these costume choices have probably negatively affected my game on these nights. The irony is that I want them to. I really do want to stand in a corner and watch guys hit on the slutty zombie nurse and feel self-righteous and justified.

But the craziest thing happens. The uglier I am, the more attention I am showered with. It's incredible but true.

I first noticed this a few years back, when a friend and I went as a white trash couple. She completed her look with a black eye, an appearance of stubble, and so on. And I did obnoxious bright makeup, horrendous fake tattoos (rose, heart-and-dagger, anyone?), and a two-tone mullet. We went out expecting to just have a fun night of dancing together. We completed our looks with black tooth wax, just to make sure we took it to the hilt.

It was as if a spell was cast upon me. For the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I was being hit on left and right. I couldn't understand it. A guy I'd noticed before but who never gave me the time of day was giving me the time of day-- when I was dressed LIKE THIS? Incredible. My friend experienced the same. She looked like a busted *guy* and she was getting love. Eventually I had to ask a male friend what the hell was going on. And he simply explained that "no girls who were actually ugly would ever dare to pull this off, so it's a safe bet." Fascinating!

Well this year I thought we'd be safe. I had wanted to go as Octomom, but a trial run (after a day of wine tasting -- I don't do that stuff unprovoked) demonstrated that if I braid my hair and put gobs of lip gloss and huge sunglasses on, I have an uncanny resemblance to her. So nix that.

Due to my recent unbreakup I made myself look as unattractive as possible by going male, mustachio'd, and toothless. I just wanted time with my girls being silly and entertaining myself with mustache changes on the hour ("always bring a spare!" I'd announce, going from a handlebar mustache to something shorter and spiffier, for example). The outfit took some commitment, as fake facial hair gets really hot and I began to react to the tape that held it on. (insert joke about Middle Eastern girls and mustaches)

It began quite successfully. On Friday night we went into a party where our own friends didn't recognize us and thought we were just two dudes who wandered into their party. Then I was intercepted by a recently-turned-21-year-old Beetlejuice who badgered me to see my ID, not believing my age (which granted, I loved). Once we reached agreement that I was just genetically lucky, he insisted that I was the hottest 31 year old he'd ever seen, "even with that thing on" (referring to my poncho, I suppose). He kindly (and persistently) offered to take me out for my birthday and "buy me some lingerie". Much as I could have used a rebound from the Great Dumping of 2009, we parted ways amicably and I wish him luck dating those born after 1980.

On Saturday night we hit a second party. And lo and behold, before I knew it, Jack Daniels and I were again chatting it up with men at a house party where we knew almost no one. I know, I know, at this point you're wondering if we just attract guys with bad taste, but that's another post for another day. These guys seemed nice, friendly, and were cute. Thus we spent lots of quality time with the likes of Black Jesus (a guy who came as black Jesus, but when you called him "Black Jesus" he called you racist, much to his merriment), Lady Gaga, and some guy in body paint and a loincloth whose costume we never quite figured out, but who pinned my friend against the wall in the most terrifying 20-second wall/lap dance I've ever seen.

I continue to strive to find ways to defy Halloween. Given the failure of the aforementioned heinous costumes, we have decided that next year we are going to take the slutty Halloween cliche to a new level...and go pregnant. Not *really* pregnant, but the kind of pregnant that involves costume padding and the ability to go forth and drink your weight in whatever's being served. In other words, the fun kind of pregnant.

Slutty pregnant french maid, anyone?

Microsoft Love.0

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, last week shot me a curveball. So here it is: I was dumped by a guy... who I wasn't dating.

I know, not quite what I expected either. Long story short, as soon as this guy and I were matched online, he gave me the full court press. His initial email was one line, which of course did nothing for this literary girl. But then I decided, hey, not everyone is a big writer, and maybe he'll be interesting on the phone. Judge not, etc etc. (we all know where this has gotten me before.)

So we emailed, then he added me on facebook, which I thought was weird (and did against my own good judgment, a mistake I won't be repeating).

Then he started with the calling/texting. I should mention here that somewhere in there he figured out my last name (which is how he added me on FB) which I found eerie but figured if you google "awesome persian girl san diego" I must come up.

Now, at the time this all felt very sweet. He wished me well with my sister's wedding, asked how it was after, and called when he said he would. He had a great phone voice. He had interesting things to say, and was interested in what *I* had to say. I tried to suppress the "too good to be true" feeling (also known as my "gut instinct").

We started talking on the phone and had things to talk about for hours. We had grown up more similarly than I could imagine, and we had relatively serious talks about growing up bicultural. Not the usual "get to know you" fare, but I was up for it.

Anyhow, this went on for about three weeks I'd guess. Because I was so busy with the wedding meeting up hadn't been set up yet. So one night we had one of our long conversations and then, for a few days- radio silence. And then I got the Dear John letter. It said that he had decided to see someone he met before me "exclusively" and that he thought I seemed like a really fun girl and hoped we could stay friends.

He obviously misread the dating cliche handbook. "Just friends" is for people who KNOW each other.

I want to say this is weird, but it's just another day in the life, people. The funniest part is that I was telling the story to a friend and said "I just got dumped by a guy I wasn't dating... for the second time..."

I know you want to hear about the first time.

So the first time was during law school. I had a friend in class and it evolved into dating. I don't really remember the details, the random details I do remember involve a sloppy law school night out, him using the word "esoteric" on his birthday gift to me (a book! the first guy who got it!!!) and me having to look it up, and him writing me an absurdly inappropriate (and completely uncharacteristic) email way after we broke up... that I unwittingly opened while sitting at the family computer with my sister and brother. Good times all around.

Anyhow, so this guy and I had dated but it just wasn't going anywhere. He was getting attention from a younger girl at school and came to me and said "My stock is going up!" and I said "Cool! I"m selling."

Apparently he didn't realize I was serious. I got over him via flirtations with an old friend and then later a hot LA musician. So I was happily moving forward when (isn't that always how it is) I heard from Mr X again when he asked me to dinner. Interesting move on his part; I was intrigued so I said yes. I mean, after all, we were now "just friends" (cliche is appropriate here, as we had actually, um, met in person). We went to a sleazy local Chinese restaurant and he ate while I drank tea and waited to hear what was going on.

Him (slurping soup): "I don't know how to (SLURP) say this (SLURP). I think you're great but (SHIT-EATING-GRIN)... I think we should see other people."

Me: (SILENCE)

Him: I feel REALLY bad about this! I mean, really bad. Look at you, you look so upset...

Me: (LAUGHING) Um. No, that's not it. I, um.... were we still dating?

CLOSE SCENE

I really like to think that some sort of phoenix might emerge from the ashes of these little episodes in my life. And I came up with it today.

I'm going to invent Microsoft Love-point-O.

When we send an email, you get a warning if what you're sending has no subject line, or if you've misspelled something. I think we need the emotional equivalent.

"Are you sure you want to send this message? It grossly misinterprets the relationship you have with this person. YES/NO"

"Are you sure you want to send this message? It is generally not socially appropriate to dump someone you aren't dating. YES/NO"


Bill Gates, you know what to Google if you want to find me.