It’s Friday, we should break up – A breakdown of L. O. L.*
Mar 12th
Dear L. O. L.,
I’m so tired of you, I could cry. Does anyone even remember what you represent? LAUGHTER. And I have none when you’re around.
XOXO,
Shine
From Toothpaste For Dinner (Click picture to visit the site)
Is this really the only way we can express amusement these days?
People only use LOL, lol, or Lololol (I truly don’t get this…you’re laughing out loud out loud out loud? Is that LOUDER than normal?) in a few ways. I’m going to break them down for you.
Before the sentence: lol I really want to get some ice cream.
While this is cute, there’s nothing inherently funny about getting ice cream. Usually the “lol” in this case is in response to something that was said before this. So basically you’re saying, “Yeah, what you said was, um, funny, but seriously, let’s get back to me and my ice cream needs now kthx.”
The person who receives this message should understand that they’re really NOT funny and no one cares what they have to say. Unless they say it with ice cream. Everyone should just say everything with ice cream.
After the sentence: I just bought some leather crotchless panties lol. OR There’s a guy next to me wearing a clown suit lol.
I like this one even better. This generally says to me one of two things. Either, “I’m really embarrassed about what I did and I want to laugh at myself before you can laugh at me” OR “I’m really hoping what I said was funny, so I’m going to throw an ‘lol’ in there in the hopes that you’ll ‘lol’ me back.”
Usually I respond with, “You’re an idiot.” In all situations. Oh wait, no. I just think that in my head and say, “Um…great?”
The person who receives this message should know that if they want to continue the friendship, they better “lol” along. I mean, if you can’t lol with your friends, who can you lol with?
As a response to something you’ve said: lol or LOL
This is where things get tricky. You see, receiving an “lol” means nothing. It means, “You’ve just said something idiotic and I have no idea what to say, but I think I should say something so you don’t know that I think you’re an idiot, but I really think you’re an idiot. lol.”
It can also be dangerous because it can lead to the dreaded “lol infinity loop.” You say something, your friend has no idea what to say, so she throws you an “lol.” You think maybe you were actually funny, so you toss an “lol” of your own out there. She thinks you’re an even bigger idiot than you were before and is even more uncomfortable, so she’s gives you another “lol.” There is no end in sight. Since “lol” means nothing, it’s hard to know when to stop. If you find yourself in an “lol infinity loop,” cease all contact immediately and find a new friend.
On the other hand, an “LOL” might actually mean that you’ve said something that was mildly amusing. Maybe even all the way funny. Probably not, but there’s hope. You see, we have to capitalize it now to convey “Hey! You were actually just kind of clever there. I chuckled a little. You go girl!” because “lol” means nothing. BUT. You’re friend could just be trying to make you feel better about life because she’s given you so many lols in the past. It’s probably that you were funny, though. Really.
My favorite part of lol or LOL is that since it really means absolutely nothing any more, when someone ACTUALLY says something funny that ACTUALLY makes you “laugh out loud,” you have to ACTUALLY tell them, “Dude, that was so funny. I am literally laughing out loud right now.”
You can see how the abbreviation now serves no purpose and will stop all use of it immediately. Help me end the suffering of so many. In short, LEARN TO CONVEY AMUSEMENT WITH WORDS. There are tons of words for “funny.” Learn a new one today!
*Why yes, I did put those periods in there for emphasis. Thanks for noticing.
My argument FOR the Oxford comma.
Mar 10th
For those of you who don’t know what that is, well, you should probably just stop reading now because this is going to be boring for you. But it’s short!
If you want to know, Wikipedia can explain it to you here. They call it a “serial comma.” I don’t.
First of all, I have no idea why there’s even a debate. It’s a comma. USE IT.
Second of all, it’s just more consistent that way. If I’m making a list and I include a comma before each thing in the list after the first thing (my my, wasn’t THAT an awesome example of poor sentence construction?), why on earth would I break that pattern for the last thing?
And therein lies my argument. For consistency’s sake, just use the damn thing. I think it resolves more ambiguity than it creates. ESPECIALLY if we would all just agree to use it in all lists everywhere, all the time.
Of course, since I can’t even count on most people to type “to” instead of “2″ any more, I’m probably preaching to an empty church. Or a church of lazy assholes.
In other news, I’m starting my own religion. It’s called “Don’t be an asshole.” That’s the main rule and premise of the religion. The mission statement, if you will. The only catch? Since I’m like the Jesus of this little example, I (and only I) get to decide what constitutes “being an asshole.” I don’t promise to be fair or just. I don’t promise to be consistent. I do promise to count “stupidity” as “asshole.”
You’re all on notice. If you read this blog, you’re probably automatically in “Don’t be an asshole.” Don’t make me kick you out of the kick ass party at the end.
A Golden Statue to Remember
Mar 8th
I was sick all of last week. And I’m still sick. But Natalie, Sketch and I had purchased tickets to watch the Oscars (am I allowed to say Oscars or is it now like the Superbowl?) at this fancy fake red carpet event in town. Carissa was working the door, so she didn’t get to sit with us. SadFACE.
I hauled my lazy, overslept ass off the couch and away from House (Please sir, come heal what ails me. Delicious.) and put on some makeup and a pretty dress, so I wouldn’t scare the photographers. Or my friends. I even baked them some gooey butter cake to take home with them. Don’t worry, I’m no longer contagious.
If I’m to be perfectly honest (how could I lie to you guys?), I’ve never even watched the Oscars at home. It just doesn’t interest me that much. I’m not really a super avid movie watcher, so most of the time I don’t even know anything about the movies anyway. It’s three hours or more of my life I’ll never get back.
But last night’s festivities were totally worth it. And they had me at Neil Patrick Harris. Good call having him do the opening number, folks. Good call.
I can’t really tell you much about the awards. There are people far more qualified to do so. So instead I’m going to tell you about the people around us at the theater. And mind you, I was sick. So I was slightly more than GRUMPTASTIC. But totally pretty. In the face.
First, and I think solely for my amusement, the people who run the theater thought it would be a genius call to tape off the edges of the stairs. You know, to make them more visible. The only problem? They only taped off every other one. Not all of them. So people were dropping like flies up in the VIP area. Especially given that for $10 they provided every VIP with special seating, a free drink coupon, and all the Lone Star beer he or she could drink. Some people took it as a challenge.
Apparently, the VIP section drank over 1000 beers. The falling started before the beers, so it only got worse as people got drunk.
To balance out my amusement, they universe sent two people to sit in front of us and MAKE OUT for the entire show. And I don’t mean a smooch here and there. I mean full on tongue face licking she was practically in his chair MAKING OUT. I was sickened. The best part? Every time she went to the bathroom, which was a lot (Ahem. Free beer.), he would turn around and hit on our lovely Sketch (Who totally won an Inglorious Basterds DVD for correctly predicting…something about sound and The Hurt Locker). We almost barfed on them.
In a cruel turn of events, the universe completely turned against me and made this a crowd participation event. And the drunker people got, the more they felt the need to yell, scream, and shout for the people on the big screen. Who couldn’t hear them. It was like yelling at a sporting event on TV, but worse.
One woman behind me was OUT. OF. CONTROL. However, she almost made up for it by falling down the stairs twice and just falling on her ass once. Almost.
The people sitting a little further in front of us weren’t really there to watch the show. The people around them were PISSED. We heard a LOT of shushing. I have to say, it just seemed a little ridiculous, considering the Oscar’s were playing at FULL THEATER volume and no one was really saying anything important anyway. But one obnoxious woman in the group kept STANDING UP to talk to the people behind her. Blocking the entire screen. And no amount of my loudly telling her to sit down helped. I was about to go all first-step-dad on her ass and tell her she made a better door than a window.
Somewhere around the halfway point, I turned to Natalie and said, “It’s a damn good thing Graygrrrl didn’t come with us. It would be a bloody mess up in here.” Natalie agreed. Carnage, it would have happened.
Afterward, the girls came back to my place for cake and girl talk.
It’s possible that I maybe should have just stayed on the couch, as today I feel like I got run over my a train. If a train could affect my breathing. You know what I mean. I don’t feel well. So I’m leaving work in an hour and a half and going home to go back to bed. After stopping for some chicken soup, on the orders of DJ. She even found me a deli where they make it. And she doesn’t, you know, LIVE HERE. So chicken soup it is.
On my way home yesterday…
Mar 3rd
Okay, so I’m a little under the weather.
Basically, as described to Travis, I feel like dog shit. Dog shit that got run over by a big truck and then burned in a trash can. Vaguely.
So I’ll make this short and sweet. Huh, that just got a country song stuck in my head. Weird.
Yesterday, while driving home from work, I encountered the following:
1. Three police cars (a total of six police officers) screeched up with flashing lights and sirens (one of them performed an illegal U-turn on red at an intersection) to…arrest a man who was calmly sitting on a concrete retaining wall with his lunch box. Not moving. Not waving a gun in the air. Just sitting. CALMLY.
2. A woman walked into the middle of the street, into oncoming traffic to stand in the middle lane and do some kind of jig. The police officers were only about a mile away harassing the man with the lunch box. This woman got to perform without their aid.
3. An SUV that had been driven INTO a home. Cause for several more police officers, a fire truck, and an ambulance. Oh, and a LOT of traffic.
4. A woman parked in the middle of the aisle in a parking lot, blocking at least five parking spaces. I honked to get her to move. She pulled out of the way, waited until I parked, and then got out of her car to yell at me for stealing her parking space.
5. A member of the Lost Boys. I’m sorry I couldn’t get a picture, but I was driving and I went by him too fast. Suffice to say there was much leather and ’80s hair and at least some makeup.
The country song is still stuck in my head.
It’s an EPIDEMIC. And I do NOT approve.
Mar 1st
Not that anyone really cares what I think. I do know this. But I’m going to talk about this anyway, m’kay?
This leggings as pants thing you’re doing? It has. Got. To. STOP.
Okay, now I know that some of you are about to tell me that tights are also not leggings. But let’s be honest with each other here, okay? This is a safe place. You know as well as I do that those things you’re calling leggings are (most of the time) just tights with no feet. Don’t you feel better now that we’ve cleared the air?
You don’t actually want to walk around looking like this, right?
I didn’t think so. (Okay, I realize this doesn’t really look half as bad in the picture, but I was walking, so it’s blurry. It wasn’t pretty.)
There’s a chick who works at Baker’s Shoes who is a constant offender. I know more about the lumps and bumps of her ass than I know about my own. Every time I see her, I just want to grab her shoulders, shake her, and scream, “WHY?” in her face. I haven’t done it yet, but it’s building up inside.
I’m on board with the skinny jeans (it took me a while). If you can’t cover your ass, please…please just wear skinny jeans. Leggings are to be worn UNDER things. UNDER things that are long enough to COVER YOUR ASS. Is that so hard?
Trust me. Your ass doesn’t look half as good as you think it does. I don’t care who you are.
