The Word According to Talia

One-Message-Wonder

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 26 May 2010 16:36:00 +0000

One-Message-Wonder: a person who randomly contacts you out of no where and then never responds to the initiated contact. He or she might say something like, "hey lady what's up?" It is like the only thing that this person ever says to you. A one-message-wonder only "sings" the same tired tune, for which they become famous in your social circles, like the vocal stylings of Right Said Fred. (You probably don't even know that band by name because they are synonymous their only hit song "I'm Too Sexy.")

I have a girlfriend that I hardly ever see. She is notorious for randomly Facebooking me with the post, "Where have you been lady, let's hang out!" And when you think to yourself oh cool, we should catch up. So you message her back, "ya let's grab drinks, I'm free next week." And then nothing. Complete silence. It's like digital crickets are chirping around your lonely Facebook comment to reinforce your virtual diss. In reality, she doesn't miss me and we never actually hang out, she just writes to me every so often out of the blue. It seriously seems like she senses when she has completely fallen off my social radar, and then like clockwork, I get a notice that she has posted a message on my wall. And I, of course, respond.

The communication offender can also be someone that you dated briefly in the past. You two maybe hung out for a bit and then one of you decided that you were over it. Times goes by and you have forgotten about your brief rapport. Once the thought of him is erased, you get a text messages from him which says, "hey, how are you? I'm in town, let's catch up tonight." You, forgetting why things fizzled in the first place, shrug and say sure why not. So you text back, "Sure I've got early evening plans, but let's meet up afterward." Then you wait. And nothing! Later your phone signal light flashes and you think it's his text back, but it's actually your poorly timed LinkedIn updates email notification. Now someone you have completely forgotten about has reemerged and you actually care about seeing him! This is the problem with the one-message-wonder, they get into your head.

In both cases, you feel like a chump. Every time the one-message-wonder reaches out to you, you respond. You think it would nice to catch up, why not. However, that is not the one-message-wonder's intention. You actually don't know why they contacted you in the first place. They don't want to see you, because the one-message-wonder never replies—ever. So why do they contact you ask? Maybe your one-message-wonder doesn't have anything better going on, so they give you a shout out you until something better comes along. And something better did come along, and it came along before your text message.

The best part is, when you realize that your "friend" is in fact a one-message-wonder, you wish that you never wrote them back. But you did, against your better judgment. So you vow never to contact them again (signified by taking him or her out of your phone or deleting related emails). Then when you have made the mental shift to move past your flaky foe, they contact you again and pop back on your radar. But you can break the cycle, don't fall prey to the one-message-wonder.

Pratted Out

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 18 May 2010 02:37:00 +0000

Pratted Out: is the way to describe someone that has too much or very obvious plastic surgery. Inspired by the infamous Heidi Pratt and her landmark ten surgeries in one day, this adjective characterizes those with a visible penchant for plastic surgery. Like Heidi, the cosmetic-enhancement victim probably looked better a few incisions before, with some of her original features in tact.

Wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, or Mill Valley for that matter, one would encounter many Pratted-out specimens, with a scary look surgically emblazoned on their face that says, "look at me, I am superficial enough to torture myself with multiple, unnecessary procedures." Her face looks like she rode a rollercoaster and it got stuck in that "wind-blown" look. Or maybe her lips are so full from collagen that she looks like she could not close her mouth properly, or her lips would burst.

Women are not the only ones who are Pratted out, I have also encountered men—straight men at that. A few years ago, I was chatting with a fairly attractive man in a low-lit, college bar in West LA. He seemed pretty cool, until he stops in mid-conversation and asks me what I thought of his new calf implants. Then he immediately turns around to model them for me, so that I would be impressed by his cool, sculpted stems. After I cringed in disgust, I realized his calves weren't the only things he enhanced. That was the end of that conversation.

FlingMaster

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 14 May 2010 15:41:00 +0000

FlingMaster: someone who enjoys bringing people together for short periods of time. He or she is a temporary version of a match maker and is a proponent of people just generally having a good time. She is your woman, and he is your wing man, on weekend trips or vacations, taking an active role in making sure that your hotel bed does not go unoccupied.

A FlingMaster is very skillful at her craft using expert insight to make this happen. She can tell when two people are just made for each other, or just drunk enough to make it happen. She might use subtle tactics such as, this is my friend, he is your friend, they should be friends. Or other such gems as, hey you! Yes you! Make out with my friend, she's single!

One FlingMaster reached such a high-level of artistry that she has even coordinated transportation for one lucky couple. She told one bright-eyed, cocky suitor to get in a cab with her and his object of temporary affection. And when the lady he had his eye on got out of the cab at her point of departure, this FlingMaster subtly prompted the gentleman that this was also his stop and he should get out of the cab.

These maneuvers can only be properly executed by the Masters themselves. While their methods may seem unorthodox to the untrained ear, they always get results—whether or not these "results" were sought after. They are particularity helpful following a break-up, as they will see to it that you rebound first!

So three cheers to the FlingMaster, may they spread happiness for years to come.

Perma-Powwow

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 13 May 2010 22:59:00 +0000

Perma-Powwow: the conversation that never ends. You think it is over, so you walk away and the person you are talking to will not let it end. You can hear his/her voice trail behind you hoping to reignite the conversation flame with a fast flurry of words before it dies out.

This happens to me all the time when I am talking to someone in particular. I grudgingly approach this person out of obligation or an unfortunate, but chance encounter. We start talking and our dialogue goes through the normal ebbs and flows, and then comes to what I perceive as an end. So, I make a move to not only end the conversation verbally, but I take physical steps to signify its closure by leaving the room or "conversation zone." As I walk away, I can hear a voice hanging onto my footsteps, and it feels like this strained voice has roped me in and drug me back into the conversation by a mysterious force. The situation immediately becomes awkward and I think to myself, is she really still talking to me?! Should I go back and continue to save face or has it been long enough?

As fate would have it, these conversations usually occur with socially starved individuals or people that are nice to talk to for a few minutes, only. In any case, you politely endure their banter out almost out of pity. It seems to you that for each minute you listen to their monotonous and repetitive dialogue that somehow you are garnering "karmic" points by altruistically lending an ear to the poor soul. After the conservation is finally over, you give yourself a mental pat on the back for narrowly escaping that never-ending exchange so discretely.

In fact, I have realized that I have unconsciously come up with tactics for putting an end to perma-powows. Once I feel that I am verbally roped in, I quickly devise a cunning escape. But it is like warfare of the mind, you want to leave, but you don't want them to know you want to stop talking.

Boom City

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 10 May 2010 04:50:00 +0000

Boom City: of course, hell yes and any other enthusiastic affirmation. It is a way to express your excited confirmation and implies that you mean business. For example, if your friend asks you if want to go out tonight, your response to her would be "boom city," which means "hell ya, I'm dying for a drink!"

The word came about in a rather funny way. I was at a work event in Seattle and I was chatting with a group of attendees after the show. One of my new friends was telling this story about a rather unfit candidate who applied for a job a her resort. This young lady came to her job interview (at a hotel spa) wearing jeans and a rather revealing shirt (of the pasta-thin variety) that showed a little too much of her god given assets—and a pack of cigarettes visibly nestled between them. Obviously perturbed at the appearance of her interview, she mentioned something about her unprofessional attire, but decided to move forward with the interview.

The conversation that ensued was not a great one and her getup was probably the best thing about her. Finally, my new friend asked her if she had any retail experience and the young woman responded, "boom city!" At this point in the conversation I asked (in ignorance), "Is boom city some sort of new slang for 'of course' that I just don't know about?" And everyone around me gave me a funny look and laughed. Boom City is actually a place in Washington where they sell fireworks seasonally around the 4th of July. (This chick's idea of retail experience was selling fireworks a few weeks a year from a roadside stand.) Professional standards aside, I decided in my fatigued mind (ameliorated by a few glasses of vino that boom city was my new, favorite confirmation. Its like a whole city of awesome, the whole place is on board and pumped up—it's even more ironic and hilarious in light of my Middle Eastern background. In any case, Boom City was an instant hit and our Seattle whole crew started using it right away.

Sidenote: This blog post has finally happened after a few months hiatus. I am back in business! To which the only response is "Boom City." Stay tuned for more posts.

Claim de Shame

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 05:31:00 +0000

Claim de Shame: something that a person or place brags about or is known for that is scandalous or elicit. This person or place publicizes information about themselves that would make any lady blush. This entity then becomes known for this saucy piece of information and it turns into their claim de shame. You know that girl in school that is popular because she possesses “special” talents or the guy at your work who always has the hook-up. Practically every reality TV star has a claim de shame for their various erotic and indecent behaviors that make them so entertaining to the masses—can we say “Jersey Shore.”

This phrase came to me while I was on a recent hotel tour. The hotel sales person that was showing us around told my colleague and I that her hotel used to be Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Club. She explained the layout of this swinging club and pointed out Hef’s piano, but left out specific historic (and scandalous) details. Later that day, I was on another hotel tour and our tour guide was telling us how the historic hotel used to have a male entertainment center below. The underbelly of the hotel housed a brothel, which has since been converted into the spa. The rooms now offer a modern spin on relaxation. We even went through the secret passageway where guests seeking to unwind could access the brothel without even leaving the building—crazy!

Verbal Possession

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 04:52:00 +0000

Verbal Possession: when your mouth gets taken over by something ungodly. You don't know what has come over you. You are in a conversation and you say something that you don't even think. After it comes out of your mouth, you don't really know why you said it; it was an out-of-mouth experience. You don't even recall having that thought, it was like your mouth was possessed by another being causing you to spew out random thoughts.

You try to recant what you have just said or talk yourself around it. If not, you have to back up your statement or move on after a healthy awkward silence. Verbal possession seems to happen in nervous or new situations, especially on dates or when meeting new people when the social lubricant is absent (or just hasn't kicked in yet). You are trying to carry out a conversation and then all of a sudden you start telling a stupid, babbling story, that is not really even a story, doesn't really have a point or didn't even happen.

I have been known to make strong statements that I don't even really think. At a recent work event, a few writers and I were having a conversation about singers. The convo shifted to the subject of Beyonce and I blurt out, "I hate Beyonce." Just like that. As soon as I said it, I thought, I don't hate Beyonce. It was such an abrupt, blunt statement that everyone stopped talking. I, of course, tried to recover and said "I actually do like her music and I listen to it all the time." I don't, in fact, listen all the time, just when it comes on Pandora or at a bar or something. In any case that statement totally contradicted the previous one—just keep digging that hole. So now, instead of carrying on an intelligent conversation with new contacts, the only thing I have done was establish that I am a bitter, pop-music addict who hates the performers that she listens to. I seriously don't know what came over me, I don't feel strongly about the pop diva either way. These people must think I am pretty weird and later that night I totally had a déjà cringe over it.

O-mance

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 06:12:00 +0000

O-mance: an office romance. It's that flirtation that you know you shouldn't have with the coworker as he or she passes by your desk. The frequent, casual (yet sexually charged) banter one night turns into something more after a tipsy company happy hour. It starts out as such a good idea, it's so forbidden and sexy all at the same time—the flame is lit and you can't seem to put out the fire. Then they do something at work to piss you off. Your o-mance is talking with someone else, and you ask yourself, are they leaning just a little to close?

When you let it get to your head, it's all downhill from there. Should the o-mance go south, you have to see them everyday at work. You have try to pull yourself together and act normal at the office like the o-mance never occurred. Although, some o-mancers can make it work. The synergy and the common interest at the workplace creates a fertile breeding ground for an o-mance to blossom, and for some I know, it grew into a marriage.

But for me, the thought of such a tawdry affair going on at a work place, makes me think of the Lady Gaga Song, "Bad Romance." Upon hearing of a friend's new o-mance, the song started playing in my head and I immediately began conjuring up a parody song (it's a work in progress):

Oooo Ooooo Ooooo
Caught in a Bad O-mance
Oooo Ooooo Ooooo
Caught in a Bad O-mance

Ooo Ooo Noo Noo
No more office PDA please
HR will find out, so just leave your keys

Caught in a bad o-mance

I want your lunch break
I want your afternoon tea
I want all your breaks at the copy machine please

I want your love
So change your Outlook Calendar to busy please

Caught in a bad o-mance

Button your shirt and the boss won't suspect
Act cool or this job you will wreck
You will not get your pay advance

ooohoooooo oooooo
Me and you can write a bad o-mance

Frex

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 06:12:00 +0000

Frex: a good friend or best friend that you are no longer friends with. Some kind of disagreement or falling out have caused you to drift apart or abruptly discontinue your relationship. Now all you have left is the ashes of your scorched of union. You think about the time that you spent together, the times you laughed and all of those intimate details of your day-to-day life that you shared (and that you now wish you hadn't).

Much like the fallout of a divorce or a bad break-up, a frex can wreak havoc on your life to varying degrees depending on the terms of dissolution of your bond. Did your frex dump you, did you dump them, did they steal your boyfriend, hook-up with your brother or did you just have nothing in common anymore?

Seeing your frex in the grocery store makes you panic and quickly dunk behind the nearest vegetable display at Safeway to avoid an awkward social encounter (effectively making you look like a crazy person when you rise from your hiding place to exclaim, "Oh, there's the piece of lint I've been looking for.") When a song comes on the radio that you both joked about, you start to laugh and think of your frex—but, with a heavy heart, you realize that they are the only person in the world that would think this song was funny and you aren't speaking anymore. Most of your friends have chosen sides in the "divorce" (as the two of you can't stand being around each other) or have decided to remain friends with you both discretely. Some of them wouldn't be "caught dead talking to that dumb ho anyways," and to the others, you are now that "dumb ho."

Not everyone of your ex-friends is now a frex. Just because you lost touch, it does not mean that you had a break-up like trauma at the quiet end to your relations. A frex is someone that has left a lasting impression on your life and that may cause you to recoil in disdain at the mere sound of their name or inspire you to change their name to something a bit more comical.

überbag

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 17:19:00 +0000

überbag: someone who is a super douchebag. They have surpassed the levels of simply douchey in their overall demeanor and general douchebaggery. This specimen is such a jerk, he (or she) is in his own class of douchebag. You can think of them as the Olympic athletes of assholes. Just when you thought that this person couldn't be more of an asshole, he surprises you with another low blow quickly elevating him to the status of überbag. Just like supreme, super-athletes, überbags are a rare occurrence and a combination of fortuitous genetic factors that meld to create an exceptional contender—the champion douchebag.

Premature Evacuation

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 23:31:00 +0000

Premature Evacuation: when someone leaves an event too early—leaving their guests or the person wanting more. Either their company wanted to spend more time with them or left for some reason or another and regret leaving the fun so soon. This can apply many situations from a birthday party to a business meeting and from a date to a sales call. The human interaction has to arrive at a natural ending place in order to avoid a premature evacuation. Have you ever met up with a friend for a cup of coffee and they drained their cup in five minutes and said good-bye following their last sip? Why did they leave so soon? Something you said might have made them feel uncomfortable or maybe they are having problems at home. This is drive-by interaction and does not lead to a fruitful or enjoyable encounter hence that person committed the social faux pas of a premature evacuation. Though sometimes a premature evacuation is necessary depending on the person you are spending time with. Sometimes you are hanging out with a doser or someone lame that you just can’t hang anymore—so without explanation you split!

This word came about when my sisters and I were all hanging out and just being our goofy selves. It was getting a bit late and my older sister decided to go back to her house. The two of us who remained continued to laugh and tell jokes. Not even five minutes after she took off, we got a phone call from her asking us what we were doing—begging us to put her on speaker phone so she could join in on the sister fun. We teased her for leaving and asked her why left so early if she still wanted to hang? She had no idea and then we decided that she had prematurely evacuated our hang session. She clearly still wanted to chill and we would have liked her share another laugh with us, but some emotional cue had prompted her to peace out.

2009

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 21:10:00 +0000

2009: something that is completely and utterly awful on many levels. Just like our tragic year of late, 2009 sucks. Once the clock strikes midnight on December 31, 2009—2009 will forever signify infinite crappiness. From housing market crashes to banking crises and budget cuts and furlough days—this siege of shit never ends. It’s a like modern day spin of the biblical plagues of yore. God thought to himself in 2008, I must do something to get through to these earthly creatures. The populace of today won’t care about locusts, animals dying or water turning into blood, humans have science to fix all of that. Why don’t I do something that is really traumatic—take their money away and turn their economy upside-down!

Something that is 2009 is as high on the lame list as the rising rate of unemployment. As soon as you think that things couldn’t get any worse, it can. Case in point: you loose your job, your boyfriend dumps you, you find out your apartment (that you rented post-break-up) has cockroaches, you car breaks down and you have a death in the family. Now that is soo 2009.

FKS

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 05:42:00 +0000

FKS: formerly known as sane. You have all had this happen to you, you meet someone who you think is super cool. You can't believe how well you guys are getting along. You start hanging out all the time. After a while you notice that there is something a bit off about her. First it manifests itself in an irrational outburst, she just snaps at you abruptly for nothing and she blames it on having a bad day. The next time, she doesn't like where you want to grab dinner and lucky for you she offered to pick you up and graciously leaves you out there on the side of the road. She calls later to apologize and come back to get you blaming it on her time of the month.

You start to wonder why she is free all the time, then you it hits you like her sudden outbursts of anger—she is a complete and utter headcase! So you try and back off from your new found friendship, but now she calls you all the time. You make up excuses and try to avoid her calls, but in true crazy person form they won't give up! The last time you hung out, she threw an eight-year-old hissy fit in the middle of a crosswalk and refused to get up, you almost wanted to throw her a bottle. Finally, you can't take it anymore and you have it out, and predictably, she handles it really well. If by well you mean that she only break three vases and luckily you ducked out of the way.

Knockliment

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 18:16:00 +0000

Knockliment: a compliment that comes from someone of questionable judgment. Case-and-point, you are rocking a new scarf that you pretty psyched about. Your friend (who is completely devoid of fashion sense) comes up to you and says, "Wow! I love you scarf." You know she is trying to be nice, but how could she like something that you (a self-proclaimed fashionista) is wearing? Which raises the question: is compliment from someone tacky, a real compliment? She obviously doesn't have good taste judging by the floral ensemble that they paired with corduroys (who wears those now anyways). After the encounter you think, if she likes it maybe this scarf isn't cute? Next time you wear it the scarf feels tainted, you can't help thinking about the knockliment.

Outside of fashion faux pas, a knockliment can apply to any like situation from work to your choice of significant other. It's all about taste people, who has it and who doesn't.

Bag Watcher

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 00:19:00 +0000

Bag Watcher: someone who is basically useless. It’s the idea that they have nothing better to do with their time than watch your stuff (or that you think that they don’t have anything better to do and they don’t have enough gumption to tell you no). You have all done it: you have ran off to do something and said to a friend or colleague, “oh, can you watch my bag?” And before they can respond you are off having fun or doing something perceivably more important.

At a recent work event, my co-workers and I were all busy running around doing tasks, greeting people, setting things up—basically being functional human beings. One of my office mates seriously was standing around with a dumb-founded look on their face, doing absolutely nothing while we were being industries worker bees. Somehow it got decided that this person would stay at the registration desk (after everyone was checked in) with the sole purpose of watching peoples’ bags while everyone else participated in the event. My co-worker’s only purpose at our exclusive event was to watch bags, because our purses might run away from their secure hiding place—that is a bullshit job if I have ever heard of one. This menial task just highlights her tremendous utility to the company and the best part is, she gladly accepted the job and did not offer to help out in another capacity. She took pride in her task and fretted about when the bags where left alone.

To all the bag watchers out there (you probably don’t know who you are), I salute you in your ignorance, may your time spent watching bags be blissful.

ATO

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 19:30:00 +0000

ATO: all talked out. This is the moment while you are engaged in conversation that it just hits you, you no longer wish to be talking to that person any more. It's not necessarily them (although it could be depending on the fellow conversationalist), but you have reached your human contact limit for the day and they just keep babbling. You are entirely saturated with the utterances of the English language—your verbal pot is full and you are reaching your boiling point. All you really want to say is "stop talking, I just can't listen anymore." You find yourself getting antsy and you have ceased listening to them altogether. Then, you just blurt out, "Great catching up with you. Talk to you soon." These words come out of your mouth subconsciously, interrupting them in the middle of their tale of woe, promptly ending the conversation before they could wipe the tears from their eyes.

ATO is worse over the phone then in person. Do your caller a favor when you are nearing ATO status, just don't answer. You will have a better conversation with them at a later time and, hey, they may actually enjoy talking to you when you don't prematurely end your gab sessions.

Déjà cringe

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 23:05:00 +0000

Déjà cringe: the cringe you have when thinking about something stupid you have done. You most likely winced after it happen, but you just can't let it go. You will be going along your day and then you think about that bonehead thing you did last week and you cringe all over again. How could I be soo stupid!

Like any self-respecting writer, I have a healthy balance of narcissism and self-deprecation. I believe that my written word is exciting enough that other people will find it captivating and then I worry about what people will think of it. This carries through to my actions, though thankfully not all. I over-analyze my deeds and once I have deemed a particular move deficient, I over inflate the importance of it. The witness(es) of my alleged transgression will probably not remember it or think it was as humiliating as I do.

For my propensity to déjà cringe, I blame my sisters. My two sharp hermanas have never forget a stupid thing I have ever done. They even remember idiotic instances that I have managed to force from my memory. The most notorious of which was during high school and I had a ridiculous crush on a cashier at Safeway (yes, straight up Junior High style, I was a late bloomer). I would wait for his line to be free (even if it was longer) just so I could talk to him. (I have since seen him and let's just say, what was I thinking.) One day we were chatting and I was being my regular nervous (and hopelessly uncharming) self. My groceries were just about all rung up, signifying the end of our conversation, and I said "OK see when I buy my turkey at Thanksgiving." I am probably not capturing the essence of that awkward moment, but it was priceless. My sister and our friend burst into a laughing fit on the spot in the grocery aisle, they couldn't even make it outside the automatic glass doors. I déjà cringed for months after that.

Meenet

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 04:34:00 +0000

Meenet: it is when you think you look good and then take a closer look in the mirror later on and realize that you look toe-up. It's your own personal Monet, beautiful from afar and far from beautiful. Everyone has those days when you leave the house and you are like "I look good today, sweet." Then, at work you take a bathroom break and a second look in the mirror.

While you are checking yourself out, and procrastinating going back to your desk, you realize that your former assessment of your physical appearance was false. (Gasp!) You skin only looked clearer earlier because you caked on the concealer, which now makes you look like you have discolored blotches of flaky skin. (Damn that faulty lighting in your room.) The bold fashion statement you decided on in your haste to leave your cramped abode, now just looks tacky. And that form-fitting shirt that you thought brought out your curves, only looks good when you are standing perfectly still (and sucking in). All that taught top is accentuating is your love handles, and you better hang on tight because those things are in full force. The casually messy tresses you are rocking, looks like you have been head banging all night at an 80s rock show, and yes, it is passé.

At this stage of your realization you panic, you are already at work and you cannot change your outfit. What is a girl to do? So you do whatever primping you can in the bathroom, tweak your hair, throw on a little gloss and remove the colorful scarf you have on to "tone down" your outfit. You try to salvage what you have left of your shabby ensemble and you walk out of the bathroom, head held high with a tinge of insecurity. You swear to yourself, you won't let this happen again.

Nega-Booty

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 05:40:00 +0000

Nega-Booty: a butt that just butt curves inward, it just forgot to grow. It's like their backside falls off into nothingness, like a cliff. This is the polar opposite of a ghetto booty, a bum that just went concave.

Code Red

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 05:04:00 +0000

Code Red: the unexpected appearance of a hot individual. You turn around and all of a sudden bam, there is a beautiful specimen that flashes before your eyes. The Code Red instantly switches on in your mind and you attempt to take your awe-struck eyes from the Adonis in front of you. If you are lucky, and few of us are, an awkward encounter will take place. But, for most of us (aka the too chicken to do anything about it), this fleeting glance is all that we get of our Code Red and his appereance passes away like the flash of light he came in on.

This word came about the other day while my friend and I were vainly trying to park the car on Shattuck in Berkeley. After finding a spot on this random residential street, we were walking to the restaurant when all of sudden we realized we saw a flashing red light. We looked around and realized that we were at a fire station and there was a truck full of strapping firemen pulling into the driveway. Grinning at this unexpected turn of events, we were giggled like teen age girls and Code Red was born.

AfterLaugh

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 18:45:00 +0000

AfterLaugh: the giggles you get went you think about something funny after it has happened. You might be driving in your car, just thinking to yourself and then all of a sudden you have a case of AfterLaugh and you burst into laughter.

This word came about when my sister was telling me a very, very funny story involving the misuse of the phrase scary hoe. I was laughing so hard I had an asthma attack, revenge of the nerds style (yes, I have an inhaler). Hours later in my car, I thought of the story and started cracking up all over again (minus the dorky respiratory failure), shortly thereafter "AfterLaugh" was coined.

I will give you a brief recap of it here because it is just that funny: my friends and I always use the word situation to describe the events or circumstances surronding something. My friend Nick decided that he would start using scenario instead of situation and later (inspired by Jay Z's song "Big Pimpin'") he swapped out scenario for scary hoe. So instead of saying the weekend scenario, he would say the weekend scary hoe.

One day he wrote his mom a shopping list of items to get for a particular recipe from the grocery store. He wrote down fried onions scary hoe, bread scary hoe and etc. His poor foreign mother goes to the grocery store scouring the aisles for fried onions made by "Scary Hoe" brand. Expasperated, she calls upon the help of a store clerk to find the unorthodox brand. I can just imagine her now asking the unassuming clerk (insert Egyptian accent here) can you help me, I cannot find the scary hoe onions. The pair of them were looking for an hour for the scary hoe brand in the store!!! She had no idea that this was not a brand and came home and scolded her son saying do you know what a scary hoe is, ufff!! (this is the frustrated Arabic sigh).

Doser

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 04:01:00 +0000

Doser: is someone you can take in only small doses. You still want to hang out with them, but they have an expiration time like a pint of milk. After kickin' it with a doser, you are mysteriously drained, like it took all of your efforts to put up with them. They are your cooky and crazy friends and they provide you with some amusement. A doser is the person you call when you are really, really bored and none of your normal friends are free.

Not only do you have to cut your doser sessions short you have to space them out. After a doser sesh, you need a detox period so that you can purge yourself of toxins and build up stregnth to handle the next time.

Nom de Zoom

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 04:10:00 +0000

Nom de Zoom: likened to nom de plume, this is your bar name. While you are not creating a literary work of art, you are creating a complex character of fictional proportions. Prior to an evening outing, your friends give you a believeble yet slightly more exotic name. I was dubbed Mercedes and given that everyone thinks I am Mexican, the name is believable (or so they tell me). When you encouter someone who you do not wish to talk to you or you are just not feeling it, you give them your nom de zoom. Then when your conversation is over you can split, leaving the interlocateur unaware of your real name and identity.

The persona you take on to embody your nom de zoom is completely different than your actual personality. For instance you could be a flight attendant, a bartender or a professor at the University of Pheonix online. To keep up appearences, you friends must refer to by your nom do zoom and play into your alter-ego. It is helpful to have a list of hobbies and a fake place of residence to keep the conversation going until your zooming point.

Digi-dust

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 17:42:00 +0000

Digi-dust: invisible dust that covers technology and the internet. Though you can't see it, digi-dust settles on something that has been replaced, improved upon, discarded or neglected. Just like the old and tired things collecting dust on your shelf at home (be it an old stuffed animal or earrings from last season), these digital entities are quickly covered in a film signaling that someone has moved on rendering them irrelevant. It refers to something that is passé like Friendster and MySpace, communicating with your friends exclusively via AIM and saving files on CDs.

Google often digs up digi-dust covered websites, blogs and articles via its search engine and it just fills your screen with dusty, old information. I wish that Google would develop a digi-dust filter with an added tab marked "Clicked here to rate this like as Tired" but maybe the search giant can't keep up with the rate of fallout.

PhOCD

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 04:29:00 +0000

PhOCD: obsessive compulsive checking of the cell phone. This is a disorder that particularly affects those people with iPhones, BlackBerrys, PDAs and Smart Phones. These super cell phones are basically an extension of their hand, a portal to the world—updating them on the status of everything. Without their phone, users can feel naked, disconnected and disoreinted.

Do you really need to know what everyone of your 600-plus Facebook friends are doing at 3 p.m.? Chances are if they are posting in the middle of the work day, it is probably to tell you what kind of latte they had on their coffee break (see Captain Status post), that's one caffeinated story that will make you yawn.

The constant need to stay in contact with whomever or whatever is "contacting" them is like an addiction. Everytime the little red light flashes on the top right corner of the cell phone it beams out check me, read me, respond to me. The warm glow of the electronic light signals that someone want to talk to you, connect with you. Maybe it's no coincidence that the cell phone manufactors selected red for the signal light, a color of urgency and love, something that your phone communicates to you. It's no wonder that these days people are soo "connected" with the world, but yet they feel so alone. If human relationships were all about being informed of what their freinds and families were doing, people would have just sent each other tearsheets from the day planner with notes like here is what I have been up to, say hi to the kids.

I have to admit I too have fallen victim to my BlackBerry's seductive ploys, constanting vibrating, rining and flashing, trying to get me to stay connected with the world at all hours of the day. Is this really making my life better? I doubt it, instead I am on my lunch break and I get a ridiculous email from my boss, which I don't want to read when I am out of the office. But, once again, I fall victim to the enticing red light, which gleams with the promise of offering me something new, exciting and different. It takes me all of one second to cave and I check it. I respond with the rapid whir of frantic thumbs to craft an appropriate response. However instead of really getting work done, I am really getting an advanced case of carpal tunnel thumb from the overuse of my opposable fingers.