Today I was at Sports Authority, buying sweat socks and sunscreen for Pookie since tennis lessons resumed today, and one of the employees said to another employee that was heading out for the day: “have a good Humpday.”
I shuddered at having heard it – huummpppday.
My week has been full of these terms that either gross me out or make no sense, or in at least one case makes me go crazy because of the grammatical faux pas. Here they are, in no specific order:
Happy Humpday!
Why not start off with the obvious one, huummpppday. I get what it means: Wednesday is the middle of the week – the hump, you might say – and once Wednesday is over, the theory is that the week should be smooth sailing from there.
Okay, but I have never had normal work week-type schedules, at least since I graduated from high school. When I went to college, Wednesday was my Friday. When I worked in politics, there was no such thing as a day off. When I went to graduate school I never knew what day or time it was, I only knew grading and writing papers and drinking more and more Diet Coke. After graduate school … well, you know what I do now. Besides meandering around town finding bozos and weirdos to report to you fine, faithful blog followers, I homeschool and get a healthy dose of The Simpsons on DVD and red wine in my nightly binges of those, my two favorite things.
Since my husband works just about all the time, Wednesday has no significance on that front either, so I suppose the “hump” part of humpday just makes me think of people going home and doing it, actually dry humping (because that is when you actually use the term huummp). It also reminds me of the time my first California boyfriend’s dad referred to what he was going to do with his wife as “a’ humpin’ and a’ bumpin’.” He had no teeth and his wife smoked two packs of Marlboros a day. A horrifying thought, I know.
“…my lady parts…”
Yesterday, as my Trailer Trash Mom made her way out of our lives again, she sealed the deal that I will not be returning her phone calls anymore when she said the following to me, verbatim:
“Heather … I left the rags I used to watch my lady parts drying on the side of the bathtub. No time for showering, but my man likes it clean!”
I will pause for you all to get your buckets and vomit everything in your guts.
I’ve heard people say “…my lady parts…” before and, quite frankly, it grosses me out. First and foremost, who needs to talk about them? I can’t remember the last time I was at a party and thought about talking about what’s going on in my crotch. And even if I did, I wouldn’t call them “…my lady parts…” I would just call them like they are. “Yeah, I left my vaginal rags on your bathtub…” and “…I’m wearing my bra top again and have been snacking all day – who knows what treasures will spill out of my boob cracks when I get ready for bed!”
“I know, right?”
WHAT THE FUCK IS THE POINT OF THE ‘RIGHT?’!!! No seriously. Every person that says this has to know that they are not speaking in grammatically correct fashion. And I know how the Internet has made people grammar Nazis and all, with correcting people on ‘their’ versus ‘there’ versus ‘they’re’ like it even fucking matters; so why are so many people getting away with this stupidity?!
I know, right?
Today I heard a librarian – A LIBRARIAN!!!!! – say this four times in the same sentence. And the sentence was really long and all about how she just suddenly became lactose intolerant to milk and even ice cream! To THINK that you would have a problem with ice cream as a lactose intolerant individual when ice cream is made of milk!!
This brings up a little side thought: every time I think I have no shred of faith left in humanity, I witness something like this. The I know, right? does not help this at all.
Ladies Night!!
Maybe it is the term “lady” that I don’t like, because “Ladies Night!!” is weird to me too. This could be for two reasons:
(1) Every ladies night I’ve ever been on has involved all of us dressing up like glaringly obvious whores who have boyfriends or husbands, so are clearly “off the market” but still want to be ogled for our untouchables; followed by all of us parading our skanky asses around some bar trying to get people’s attention. I don’t mind going out with friends sometimes, but in all seriousness why can’t we just get all hot and shit but stay home and watch movies and get plowed on cheap wine?
or, the other possibility is that
(2) I can’t fucking stand this song:
EPIC
This one might be more of a pet peeve. Why is everything epic now? Why is it not worth doing if “epic” is not attached to it? Why must everything be so exciting and wonderful and over the top all the time?
What weirds me out about the word epic is that it seems to make it more socially acceptable to talk about things people wouldn’t normally talk about.
“Yeah, dude, I just ate an epic cheesy crunch gordita at Taco Bell and it was a real gut-buster.”
“Wow, man, that is so epic.”
“I’m going to have to go take an epic dump before my date tonight. I want to make sure it’s epic and I don’t need any gordita sliding out the ol’ a-hole while we’re a’ humpin’ and a’ bumpin’, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Oh brah, that would be so epic if your gordita flew out your ass while she was cleaning the rims!”
See what I think people who use the term “epic” so fluently are like? They also don’t really seem to actually know what the word means, since it is used in a variety of contexts.
I’m actually horrified with the crudity with which I have taken this one, so I think I will stop there. For now, that is. Comment terms that weird you out and they might be featured in Part 2 … once I’ve had time to clean up the EPIC trail of cheesy gordita crunch vomit I’ve spewed everywhere from the thought of my own words and ideas presented in this blog. I know, right?
Heather Christena Schmidt 
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