hand writing

Epic--one of those words that creeps into my vocabulary and insinuates itself slyly into conversation until I find it slipping out every other sentence and I can’t stop it, no matter how hard I try. The closest I can get to suppressing the word is a strangled “gngapck”, the exact sound of a duck being hit by a champagne cork.

Gent-lemons--this is all PT’s, people, but in my opinion the immortal misreading of “gentlemen” should go down in history, or at least typed up in a blog.

Emo flirting--the title somebody (ahem) gave to the Geist-Usagi poetry-story-conversation of the early summer. This made me laugh. The librarians shot me a synchronized evil glare (a new Olympic sport, available 2012).

Sporks--my new obsession and weapon of choice.

*Twitches*

Melting brain--a physical sensation I experienced after five minutes in my new advisory, which is made up almost entirely of wannabe cheerleaders and football players with about eight brain cells between them. The feeling was akin to having my optic nerve dissolve and drip out my ears. NOT PLEASANT.

Lovetrees--one of those maple trees with two trunks coming from one base, only further up these ones grew back into each other into a single tree, like they couldn’t bear to be apart. Then I looked up further still and found out the tree was dead.

I don’t wanna know the moral of that one.

Beware the Wrath of Zues (pronounced Zoo-EES)--from a misspelling of Zeus on my brother’s friend’s shirt. It was decided that the Wrath of Zues was deadly hunks of swiss cheese falling from the sky.

Facial--a very female thing to do. Specifically, my mother. She brought me along and I lay on a short bed with lumps in it and got lotion’d and mint’d and rose-water’d to within an inch of my life, which is a silly expression. After an hour we wobbled out, glowing slightly and smelling like an explosion in an aromatherapy shop.

You’re too young to know you’re a lemon--there’s a few moments right after I wake up when the most random, nonsensical phrases flash through my mind, and I never remember them because in that half-awake state “idiots incarnate” doesn’t make any less sense than “pick up the milk on the way out, will you, dear?” This was the only one I could recall to write down.

SNAFU--Small Ninjas Always Fuck Utensils, of course. This is one of the few things I can remember from my TDI Quotes Wall, which has sadly gone AWOL.

Park your camel--from a phone conversation with Greenie. She was both dreadfully bored and lacking any sort of transportation, so I suggested she acquire a camel, drive it up here, park it in the garage, and go jump on my trampoline. Oddly enough, she didn't take me up on it. Really, with gas prices so high these days, a camel is a quite efficient alternative.

Decapitate a beeswax candle--from that same conversation. It was an accident, okay? And one-handed to boot, 'cause I've never quite mastered that hold-the-phone-with-your-shoulder trick. I tend to hang up on people with my chin.

Nuclear toast--from a complicated conversation with my brother from across the kitchen. Neither of us could quite hear what the other was saying, which resulted in such memorable phrases as "butter roses," "exploding jackpot," and "candybun."

Borii--plural of Boris. See, we’re gonna start a cult, one that basically focuses on scamming people. We convince them of something-or-other (hasn’t been decided yet. Probably involves aliens), get them into the cult, and have them pay money for the process that erases sins/protects them from aliens/automatically mutes commercials on TV. We’ll have a police force of twelve big Russian guys all named Boris. They’ll, ah, “take care of” anyone who starts to doubt the validity of the cult.

Drugged cat--also from the cult idea. It’s practically required that the leader be constantly stroking a long-haired white cat. But what cat will put up with that for long? After two minutes it’ll be off scratching the evil furniture or something. So you tranquilize it. (This resulted in me pawing the air and meowing for several minutes, my eyes tracing random paths in thin air.)

Boat gun--a gun that shoots out boats. It would have to be very large, likely vehicle-mounted, and the airborne boats in question would probably be kayaks or at most canoes. This was discovered while misreading the Free Press’s classified section a few days ago. Also, Williston is available free to anyone with a truck big enough to cart it away.

Colonel Mustard--Only one of a long string of puns resulting from a Sweeney Todd conversation. This one in particular made me sink slowly to the floor, head in arms, murmuring “no, no, no more. I’ll do anything.”

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds--The song I stuck into a movie about ecstasy I had to make for one of my classes. It wasn’t nearly as fun as it could’ve been, though it did feature my little brother staring straight-faced at the camera and uttering the immortal words, “My liver hurts.”

The Anti-Blimp--an ordinary blimp, but made out of lead. What more can I say?

I honestly hadn't expected to write another one so soon, but my hand's covered with black letters. I figured I'd better get them down before they fade into a messy mass that always looks like the word "particular" badly spelled.

I taste a liquor never brewed--the first line of an Emily Dickinson poem about the intoxicating power of nature. Of course, I in my four-hours-of-sleep-last-night state of mind choose to take it more literally, and had an extended conversation with myself about future alcohol, alcohol that never will exist, and if you can taste or, indeed, consume liquor that hasn't actually been made yet. I finally concluded that it would all make sense if you drank enough.

You killed my monkey!--I kept fighting the urge to say that all day.

Vilesome--another Greenie quote. It was uttered during Geometry, about quadratic equations. Apparently she did not have a pleasant experience with them last year. She still flinches at the word "parabola."

I’d rather eat shorts--an NPR series I’ve been instructed to look up. This was one result of a long walk with Eliza after the poetry slam on Saturday, when I was shivering from the adrenaline letdown and just needed to walk it off. Eliza is a very good person for that. We had a rhythmic, slam-like conversation that was mostly in iambic pentameter.

Seventeenth-century swear words--someone in my workshop group used a modern swear in her poem that was set in the sixteen-hundreds. She was told to search for era-appropriate profanity.

Tertacular--A word that Greenie made up at approximately midnight yesterday. Or, actually, probably today. It means, “amazing in an unsatisfying way.”

Response poem--never got that.

Goose--what I sounded like all today whenever I tried to talk. I finally decided just to stay quiet through all of the morning. Besides, my throat hurt when I said anything containing an “h.”

As inspired by Zoom and suggested by Imagine, I’m doing a series of posts explaining the various random phrases I find written on the back of my hand. This will be sporadic at best and may possibly die after the first post. Don’t hold your breath. People who do so tend to turn blue and fall over.

Hand Writing—the idea for this. See above.

Double parody—a phrase used by my English teacher. I can choose to write an essay parodying a piece that’s already a parody itself. Double parody. Of course, this logically progresses to triple parody, quadruple parody—an infinite loop of sarcasm that keeps spiraling higher and higher, incessantly, eternally. RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN.