I never understood the phrase, “Not my bag.” Oh, I know what it means, roughly, but what’s the origin of such a thing? How did field of interest become bag, somewhere along the line? It’s always been baffling to me.
I also get confused by the phrase “Top o’ the morning to ya!” But, at least that one’s friendly. Weird, but friendly.
And people up here in the Tray of Pizza Belt often replace the word “still” with “yet,” and put it at the end of sentences. So, instead of “We still have an hour to go,” they’ll say, “We have an hour yet.” WTF?
They’re also fond of using “and that” whenever they get tired of describing something. So, it’ll be “We had turkey and mashed potatoes and that.”
Whatever. It’s all mildly strange, but entertaining. What are some other turns of phrase that are confusing, when you stop to think about ’em?
Our lawnmower started working again, for no known reason. On the day I last bitched about it here, I went out to the garage, yanked the rope, and the thing fired up like a champion. I mowed the yard, weed-whacked, raked, and swept. It was a thing of beauty out there, and it felt like I’d dodged an expensive and irritating bullet.
But later the same day… the dishwasher died.
Our dishwasher is fairly new, we had it installed since we’ve lived here, and it’s never given us any trouble. But now it’s nothing but a prop, like those cardboard TVs in furniture stores. I checked the breaker box, but it’s rarely that easy of a fix. Right?
I have no idea… We’re washing dishes by hand now, and I’m hoping the thing fixes itself like the lawnmower. That’s my current plan of attack: hoping it mends itself while we sleep.
Sheesh. If it’s not one thing… it’s all fucked up.
Last night at work I needed to talk with someone whose desk is off to itself, and while I was making the approach I entered the world’s largest fart cloud. Apparently the guy was just sitting over there engaging his blowhole, and completely filling a 1500 square foot space with his ass-gas.
It’s disgusting. I hate walking into clouds of intestinal stench. Eddie Murphy used to say, in his stand-up show, that we all want to smell each others farts. And I can honestly tell you… that ain’t true. At least not with me. It makes me gag, and I always feel like microscopic poop particles have just been sucked into my lungs.
The amazing thing about last night’s cloud was that it was so powerful, way out on the edge. I was a good thirty feet from this dude, and the stink seemed to be completely undiluted.
Blecch. The guy looks like a frequent farter, so I’m not surprised. But it seemed like I could still smell it, an hour later. I think it attached to the tiny hairs inside my nose. And I was only inside the cloud for roughly one second — I’d quickly retreated and asked my question via email.
Do you have any stories to tell on this subject? Target seems to be an unusually farty place; I’m routinely stepping inside an invisible shit mist at that store. Home Depot too. If you have any tales to tell about people dropping silent fart bombs in public places, we’ll need to hear ’em. Use the comments link below.
And finally, did your parents name you after anyone? Or anything, I suppose? Mine didn’t, and our kids’ names don’t have any special meaning, either. Well, the older boy’s middle name is John, after my dad, but that’s not the name he uses.
What about you? Does your given name have an interesting origin? Please tell us about it.
And I’m gonna call it a day, my friends. I’ve got some dishes to wash… I hope everyone has a great weekend.
I’ll see ya next time!