Wordiation

I met 2 friends for lunch (that turned into dinner too) last week. We grew up together- I guess you could say we know each other pretty well. During lunch, friend A (I’ll call him “Beavis”) read my last post out loud.  The three of us laughed until we cried. Friend B (you guessed it, “Butthead”) had never read my blog, but remembered what a word-aholic I was growing up. He reminded me that he never won an argument with me because I could out talk him. Now that I think of it, seems I remember my ex-husband said the same thing…. Anyway....

After the official blog reading, each time Beavis or Butthead came up with something witty they’d point out “That’s a word for your blog.” The conversation disintegrated. Exponentially. Words were made up and these two vacillated between an Irish brogue, a southern twang, and some sort of jive-ish dialect. I was crowned bloody bloggerific! I’m definitely adding that to my resume.


When discussing a potential vacation get together, Butthead announced that someone should really organizate that. We decided my sister Sue should handle the minutae of the project, as she is detailerific.

I proceeded to tell a story about a first (and only) date I had with a guy, who wasn't the brightest candle on the cake. While he tried hard to move me with his talk of his country club membership, golf outings and vacations abroad, I was thoroughly unimpressed. As the night wrapped up, Mr. Dimwit leaned in and whispered, "I really like you, and I'd like to know how to, you know, copulate this relationship." He looked at me with pride in his eyes at the use of his ten dollar word. Poor guy's dictionary must have been hidden under his golf clubs somewhere. It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. I excused myself and thanked the Lord all the way home for caller ID. No need to chat with him again. This became known as the act of moronavoidification.


Butthead's wife is pregnant. Very pregnant. He wanted to wax on about the difficulty of his situation (victimpulate). He shared that pregnant women are just not nice, and that husbandry was a difficult role, especially in those very non-friendly last weeks of pregnancy. His willingness to bite his tongue and still go home every night to such a clearly unsolicited negative environment made him a spermosaint. Poor thing...

Though you probably had to be there, it was funny. Three times through the evening I had to cross my legs and pray that the other patrons couldn't see that I was going to need some Depends if these guys continued their vocabulary lessons. Clearly a case of peeoronia. 

I still love words. Sometimes I just want to learn them, and sometimes I want to use them. And sometimes, I just want to be with people who know me so well, that they can spend an evening making up words to make me laugh at myself for loving words so much. I think in my circle, that's called familyicious.