Have We Hit the Digital Vocab Bubble?

I suppose there comes a point in everyone's life where they are forced to examine their speech.  Taking time to really look at the words they are using everyday and see if it's not possible to improve upon any of them.

Okay, perhaps this does not happen to everyone.  It happened to me though recently while casually ending an email with "Thanks!"  I tend to close many emails in this manner, whether I am intitiating a request or replying to one where something of value had been provided to me.  In this particular email though, of which I could not tell you what the subject matter was even about, something stopped me shortly after "-s!"  The word suddenly felt very impersonal.  Something you would say to a  clerk when they giving you change back, maybe.  As a digital signoff to someone you cowork with though?  It started to take on the same feel as a word you say over and over until it suddenly loses all meaning.  Maybe because it had.

The email was changed to a full "Thank you!" and I'm sure not a darn bit of notice was paid to it either way.  This is a good thing because it means people are possibly using their extra neuro energy on ways to make peace in the Middle East, rather than ponder the variation of vocabulary.  

Nevertheless, this small snapshot of time got me to thinking about the depreciation of value seen in other words due to this digital age.  The qualitative analysis was astounding.

"Ah": Formerly used as an intellectual placeholder, is now just confused for being an actual exclamation of enthusiasm or a bored response to your mundane text about the Polar Vortex.

"Ha" vs. "Haha" vs. "Hahaha" vs. "Hahaha!":  Is a rating system for how funny your comments are.

"Okay"-->"Ok"-->"K": The evolution of annoyance someone has with either you, the conversation, or the platform for which the conversation is taking place.

"Omg.": If said as its own sentence, is a good indication you should not have told that person whatever piece of information you leaked to them.  They are clearly not mature enough for the context of the situation on many levels.
"I Can't":  ...was there a subject to that predicate?

"Yikes": Is a tell-tale sign the dialogue is about silly drama.

"I'm confused...":  Often given as a response because no one knows what anyone else is talking about anymore.

{Image Credit: The Sartorialist}

Trust Does Breed Magic

Recently I listened to Tina Roth Eisenberg's Do lecture on "Trust Breeds Magic."  It was an inspiring talk for any creative or entrepreneur and provoked me to do some thinking.  In typical fashion my busy and wandering mind took me beyond the obvious of career objectives.  It took me to my habits.  You see I trust most of what I do on a day-to-day basis: my beauty & hygiene routine, the food I pick out for my meals and most importantly what I wear.  I trust my sense of style.  That's not to say that I never step out to places like Target in my house leggings, because I do.  However, I trust that 77% of the other customers walking through there are in theirs too, or worse off actual pajama pants.  Moreover, I spend a very small fraction of my life out in said house leggings and other homewear.  In fact they are only to be utilized off-premise when doing "home" related things.  The remaining time I spend outside of my house I am in formalized yoga and athletic wear for the gym, business casual for the workplace, and classic eccentric wear for where ever my social calendar takes me.  Now those are broad terms, and I am not so arrogant to assume that certain brands must pertain to any one category.  I am only arrogrant enough in this realm to say that a diversified portfolio of trusted colors, patterns and tailoring more often than not yield...well, magic.  Anna Wintour astutely observed in the documentary The September Issue that most people fear fashion.   Imagine if this type of fear did not exist in the world?  A-lines would be honored, florals would blossom and people would feel and thus be pretty in pink.  It sounds lovely, does it not?  It's all so easy too if we just trust.  Love can happen at first sight, and it can happen when you least expect it, in the simplest of settings at Banana Republic upon spotting a hot pink peplum skirt on sale.  When it hits you, it will be magical.

{Image via This Is Glamorous}

Let's Kick It

New Year's is the type of holiday that Type-A folks live for.  New Year's Eve, not so much.  Too much fretting over the next morning hangover preventing productivity on a holiday.  Not to mention the number crunching of figuring out the true value of packaged bar deals  It's all just such a nightmare.  Back to New Year's Day though.  That's a holiday neurotics such as myself can get on board with.  Making new to-do lists, consolidating Excel spreadsheets, and taking inventory of life's small details then turning them into actionable items.  This is what the holidays and good cheer are made of.  I've been making resolutions for years now and while many have worked out, of course others have not.  You can't let a few habits that fade away though discourage you from making new lists.   That would be quitting.  So here's to 2014, a year sure to hold a shoebox full of bullet points.

• Keep up on my correspondance.  The written kind that is.  Like snail mail.
• Watch the entire existing Downton Abbey series.  Because I'm sick of people telling me they know me better than me.
• Only use vocabulary I really really like in my everyday rhetoric.
• Take more pictures, and get better angles.  Perhaps obtuse ones.
• Get in a water drinking routine.  [One can make a routine out of anything.]
• Have more dance parties.
• Always make sure to say "hello."  Because it's hella obnoxious when others' don't.
• Send the email today, not tomorrow afternoon.
• Make just as many plans, if not more while being the most flexible of the bunch.  After all, life was meant to be at least somewhat ironic.

{Image Credit: Helmut Newton via This Is Glamorous}

Puppy Love

 

I wasn't planning on becoming a mom.  One day it just sort of happened.  When you see the pup that's meant to be yours, it's all very sudden.

As it turns out, becoming a mother (be it to dog or human) is exactly how they say it is: challenging.  Rosie though isn't a difficult puppy; it's just difficult to raise a puppy.  Especially whilst juggling a full-time job.  I worry about her...a lot.  So my daily agenda has experienced some changes as a result.  Lunches have turned into short strolls up and down my block, which has resulted in being on a first-name basis with the septagenarions of the neighborhood.  I timed to the minute the two routes leading back home to see which one would get me to "Rosie's house" (her crate) the quickest.  Not to mention the numerous last glasses of wine I've sacrificed in order to ensure getting home in a timely manner so I didn't have to return to whimpers.

One day when I was feeling an inadequate parent for not being able to spend enough time at home to master "sit," I subsequently thought "Thank God."  I am getting this 9-5 working mother guilt behavior, coupled with first-child over-bearing parental guidance over with now.  It's not that I wish Rosie a burdensome adolescence  (over-bearing parental guidance tendency).  I just feel it's less stressful to deal with the other dog-walking moms at the park talking behind my back than it is the carpool moms of human beings (9-5 working mother guilt tendency).

Beyond just maturing past playground gossip though I am learning to give my undivided attention to playtime with squeaky toys.  To not sweat the small things like chewed up leggings.  And maybe most importantly to let someone go ahead of me for the bathroom.  At the end of the day all any of us parents are really looking for are those special moments when they curl up on your lap on a cold winter night.  Right before they abruptly jump up and start splashing around their water bowl all over the kitchen.  How long until they graduate from obedience school?

DMILF doesn't have the same ring to it

A friend (it was Suzanne) recently chided (congratulated?) me on my new status as a "stay at home dog mom." A little more than a month after adopting our puppy and about three weeks since I quit my part-time gig, it's both ridiculous and accurate.

With ample free time on my hands and an adorable new fixation to fill it, things have gotten a little weird. I would, and have, referred to my dog and I as being "close."

 In no particular order, here are some of the stranger things I've done for/to my pup in the name of good parenting:

• Felt a totally strange sense of swelling pride when anyone refers to my dog as "handsome," "good-looking" or "studly," as if my own genetic material is to thank. (This happens all the time, by the way. He's a canine Ryan Gosling.) *BEAMS*
• As a person who despises baby talk of any kind, whether between parent and child, couples, or ESPECIALLY when perpetrated by those people who inexplicably believe others find it attractive when they speak like they're only partially developed . . . I hate that I talk to my dog in a mixture of gibberish and high-pitched coos of admiration. I make myself cringe. I cannot stop.
• Once, at a park, Gibbs got one of his raging boners of excitement and in the course of running around covered his red rocket with grass and other debris. Not understanding (and I still do NOT get this) what would happen to the muck once it receded back into his body — like, where does it go? That cannot be good for him — I looked around and furtively wiped his doggie dick off with my sleeve. I am confident that no one saw me only because I have yet to be reported for bestiality.
• We have a series of inside jokes and it is definitely possible that only I find them funny. For example, I often speak to my dog in private in an Irish accent (he has almost certainly never been to Ireland) and have given him several additional nicknames — Mr. Wiggles, Little Man, Boobie (???) — that probably only confuse him but which I consider to be special terms of endearment. 

But although I am self-aware enough to see and acknowledge the crazy, if this is wrong, I don't want to be right: