Monday, July 07, 2008

an examination of your toxic vocabulary.

"modern mystery"
someone still loves you boris yeltsin
pershing
[polyvinyl]

neoteric: why do you utter such nonsense? no one uses language from "the late latin" or "the late greek." maybe they do, i'm no etymology expert, but in addition to your ostentatious use of words i can only google to understand, you also give me the origin language of the word when upon my face arrives that risen eyebrow, that crinkled forehead, that certain je-ne-sais-quoi in my yellow mouth agape, slightly tilted to the left. you've said more than once that this expression i give you so gracefully infuriates you about as much as your "advanced vocabulary" (we're not in high school anymore! you don't do or have "advanced" anything!) exhausts and disgusts me. you comparing my level of offendedness to yours almost makes me rip my hair out my scalp as much as your carefully chosen lexicon does. almost. i began with this word because honestly, i don't even remember how you used it - it was one of the early ones, back when i didn't listen to you very closely. sorry! i had other things to do! i began with this word so that i could go on my introductory rant, such as you often do before you get to any discernible point, without breaking the pattern. also, neoteric? yuck. how could i not mention such a gross fake-sounding word? i know another "-teric" word that i just learned recently: esoteric. ha! how fitting! no, that is not an exclamation point that denotes playfulness. it denotes anger. furious hell-fueled anger. let's go on, shall we?

jacitation: this one i remember so clearly i almost feel my ears burning again from when it dribbled off your sly fingertips. jibberish was all i got from you, so i took the bait - i hated this juvenile trick you always pulled. "what's wrong?" i asked half-genuinely concerned (okay okay my mind was elsewhere this time too, what are you going to do about it now?). "i've been having these odd jacitations throughout the night." i rolled my eyes as hard as i could because i knew you wouldn't notice, looked at the tiny digital clock in the corner, and realized it was only 10 o'clock. i snickered as you went moaning on about back spasms this and can't get comfortable that. i didn't respond immediately, so you followed up your pretentious faux-diagonsis with a, "got any suggestions?" and i was mentally rolling on the floor laughing my brains out. i just imagined you, whiny and self-absorbed as always, "it's 10pm and i haven't the faintest idea if i will ever experience the appropriate number of REM cycles before my 5am wheat grass shot!" i almost said it, mockingly and 100% uncaring, but i decided to delete it. instead, without saying anything, i simply pointed you to a place where you could get some sleeping pills, even though i knew you'd rather just complain and then fall asleep with the bright glare in your stoic sleeping face. then you'll be idle, then you'll be gone. ok, so no conflict with this example, but so much of my hatred for you certainly stemmed from times one of us secretly laughed at the other.

gourmand: so none of these words are particularly long, which i'm sure just makes me look like the asshole, but c'mon. a word doesn't have to have seventeen syllables for it to make you sound like you slick your hair back and wear blue shirts with white collars. "that sounds like half of my co-workers," you obliviously commented when i brought this iconic asshole image up once before. again, here we go with the laughter that incites my completely antagonistic feelings toward you. i switched topics before i could adequately ignore for a sufficient amount of time (my usual defense mechanism). "i'm making homemade mac & cheese tonight. with goat cheese. bet you're jealous." really, the only reason i brought this up was because i couldn't wait to scarf my face full of the delicious baked dish so i would be able to more capably pretend you don't exist. "ooh sounds tasty. you are quite the gourmand, aren't you?" quite the what? i mean, i can figure it out - gourmet, change it into a person by replacing a suffix, bada-bing bada-boom, you get a gluttonous snob. but no one would ever call themselves a gourmand. no no no. why would anyone say, "ah yes, my homemade mac & cheese, i will be quite the gourmand this evening!"? they wouldn't. only snobs with ascots and make believe british accents call their girlfriends a "gourmand." a blind anger hit me harder than a thousand unabridged dictionaries - it rendered me speechless. as usual. luckily, you didn't care; you just kept going on about past evidences of my gourmandness. god that sounds so close to "ginormous." only you would let slip into a dialogue of ours a word that identifies me as food crazy and sounds like you're calling me fat at the same time. the buzzer on the oven went off. it felt like i couldn't get that mac & cheese on my plate fast enough. i wanted to throw some at you. "one for me," i'd plop some on my plate, table for one. "one for you," i'd throw it at whatever i could find that would work as a representation of you. i couldn't throw it at the computer screen after all. flushing 1200 of my own dollars down the toilet just so i could see penne slide across your screen name? sounds slightly cathartic, but no thanks. and this - these words, these anecdotes, carl of hartford, connecticut, is why i am officially done with online dating.

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