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!
Now playing in the bunker
Read Crossroads Road on your Kindle!
WB in OH says
I haven’t raptured yet I’m not sure if I’m scared or relieved?
No rapture? I feel kinda cheated, but at the same time I’m glad I didn’t give my car away.
I heard the Big R was supposed to be at 6:00pm, but the time zone was never specified.
The crock, she is overflowing as always.
I’m kinda bummed about the no rapture thing. I was going to go looting today. Guess I’ll just give the dog a bath instead.
WB in OH says
I feel your pain brother, I drank last night like the end of times was on hand. Woke this morning expecting to talk with Jesus (not Jeff’s yard guy) but alas only a vodka fueled hangover awaited me.
Shiny Rod says
Jeff, they do give out frequent farter miles don’t they yet? In Japan, they have a fart contest where contestants are graded not just on sound dissipation but also hang time.
Shiny, always nice to read your wisdom on here. You’ve had some wicked gems on fb lately too. Cheers!
I hoist a rye and ginger in honour of all Reporters tonight, smack dab in the middle of this Canadian holiday. p.s. Go Canucks Go!
Now, where is JTB hiding?
Chuck in Belpre says
i emailed him last night but got no reply.
Chuck in Belpre says
I just learned that some people put tomatoes in their mac and cheese. Tell me where those people live so I won’t go there.
What! That’s evil and wrong. Might as well put tomatoes in one’s clam chowder.
The same people probably put salt in their beer, and beans in their chili. Bastards.
Chuck in Belpre says
I knew a guy that put salt, lots of it, on his pancakes. Some people…sheesh.
Bizarre. I once knew an ass that put shredded cheddar cheese in his pancake mix. They’ll never find his body, I’m sure of it.
I’ve made “instant” pancakes using beer instead of water, they were good (from what I remember.)
It is next to impossible to find bean free chili here in Ontario. Those bastards have taken over and it just ain’t right.
All you have to do is make it yourself, and then don’t put beans in it.
My daughter has asked for ketchup for her mac and cheese, I said no. I don’t know where she got it from but not under my roof! Tough love.
Dishwashers only last 2-4 years, usually dying within days of the warranty expiration, in my case. The dishwasher dude (yeah, we’re friends now) was telling me that the most common reason is that the designers put the electronic touch pad at the top of the dishwasher, while although convenient, is where all the moisture and steam comes out, conveniently keeping the repairman in business.
I work alone in an office at night and fart at will. Inevitably after a particularly good one someone will come in with a question.