In Which I Am Ignorant

As a guy, there are some things that I just don't care to know about. If your selective listening skills develop early enough (as mine did), you can go surprisingly far in life without learning certain things. You just sort of tune out whenever something sounds too complicated or too gross, and accept the fact that if it's important enough, you'll learn it later. Sometimes this is good approach, because we all reach an age where nothing seems to surprise you anymore, and it's nice to happen upon a little nugget of knowledge along the way. The other times, though, are another story. Sometimes it's good to not learn certain things.

In these cases, I firmly believe that I could have gone through the rest of my life without permanently committing to my brain the knowledge of a certain thing. Contrary to what Yoda has been quoted as saying, there are some things you just can't unlearn. Take, for example, some of the things a guy might learn as result of his wife being with child. 

This goes beyond the subjects of colostrum or placentas. I can handle that without feeling like the contents of my stomach are trying to jump ship. For me, specifically, I'm referring to the pregnancy term I learned this week:

The episiotomy.

Now, I guess I kind of assumed that the doctor or midwife delivering the child would have to do something to assist in a situation where you're basically trying to fit a cantaloupe through a garden hose (especially when the alternative is the "garden hose"... *shudder*... tearing), but for some reason, learning the medical term for it was absolutely awful. It put an image into my mind where there was previously (and intentionally) just blank space, and now I can't stop picturing it. 

Although learning this does give more understanding to the term "The Daddy Stitch", I still could have gone through the rest of my life ignorant of the back story and made it through just fine.

This is probably just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to learning things about pregnancy. In fact, I can pretty much resign myself to learn (and see) a lot more things that are sure to upset my stomach a bit, but that's all part of the deal, right?

Have a good weekend, everyone.

P.S. Don't forget about the Fall Season Give Away! The deadline is this coming Monday!

In Which I Don't Get It

"How are you tonight?" the CVS cashier asks me pleasantly. I set my 12-pack of Pepsi down on the counter for her to ring in. It's quarter-past five in the evening and it's pretty busy in the store. 

"I'm well, thanks, and you?" I reply, digging in my wallet for my CVS card. I hand it over so I can earn my menial reward points and further pledge my consumership to this particular drugstore chain. 

"Not bad, not bad," she says, bobbing her head a little. She's probably in her late teens/early twenties, and unlike most individuals I've encountered in her age group, she actually seems to be in possession of a personality. She hits a few keys on the register and gives me my total. "Is that all tonight?"

"Yeah, that'll do it. How much?"

"$5.37," she replies, and tucks her hair behind her ears. I hand her a twenty dollar bill.

"Nice," she says in admiration. 

Not thinking that presenting a twenty is cause for admiration, I begin to get a little confused. "Thanks?" I offered, not really sure what the appropriate response should be.

"I've never seen one of those before." The drawer pops out and she starts counting out my change.

A cashier that has never seen a twenty dollar bill before? What, is it one of those new twenties? Or is she just jerking me around, trying to embarrass me in front of the other patrons?

"Oh?" 

She must have sensed my confusion, because she looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah..." she trails off. 

"You've... never seen a twenty before?" I ask slowly, unsure of what is happening.

"No, of course I've seen a twenty before," she says with exaggerated obviousness. "I was referring to the concert t-shirt you're wearing. Styx and Foreigner? Must have been a killer show."

"Oh." Of course she wasn't talking about the currency I was purchasing with. "Yeah. It was."

We stand there quietly for a moment, and then she hands me my change, suddenly in a hurry to be done with me (the weirdo) and be on to the next customer. "Have a good night. And by that, I mean enjoy the rest of the day," she said. 

My face flushed red as I grabbed my 12-pack and ducked out of the store. Sometimes I have no clue whatsoever where my mind goes with things. 

---

I'm need to do a little bit of housekeeping today. First off is mentioning something Scuba Nurse wrote about recently. She reviewed a book that is for parents who are grieving the loss of their child. No parent should have to go through that, but it's great that there are resources like the book she talks about on this post to help those suffering through the unspeakable. Check it out!

Also, I apparently goofed when I wrote the terms for my annual Fall Give Away last week. I edited the original post to mention the changes, but basically there is only going to be one Grand Prize winner this year. That person gets the $55 gift certificate to CSNStores. There will still be two runners-up, one in each category, but only one big winner. 

Sorry for the confusion, folks.

In Which I Take A Second Look

In the kitchen at work, we have this ice machine. It's got a proximity sensor so it only dispenses ice when you've got your cup underneath the chute. Despite the fancy technology, it works only sporadically. You'll put your cup under the chute and wait for the ice, but nothing will come out. You move your cup closer and then farther away, still nothing. Just as you get fed up with the machine and take your cup away, it decides to dump the ice all over your hand and spill onto the floor. This happens a majority of the time, so you either have to prepare to get a little wet (that's what she said), or simply go without ice.

As result of this finicky machine's behavior, there often are bits of ice on the floor that melt and cause things to get a little slippery. Instead of putting down a mat to absorb the water, the cleaning crew in the building decided it would be better to place a Caution Wet Floor sign in front of the machine instead. They don't bother mopping up the water, but figure that if you see the bright orange sign and still slip and fall on your ass, well, they tried to warn you and it's your own damn fault.

I was on my way to the bathroom by way of the kitchen at work this past week, and I noticed that the Wet Floor sign had somehow migrated away from the ice machine and into the middle of the floor. I kicked it lightly with my foot on my way past, and something caught my eye.

I stopped and asked myself if I truly saw what I thought I saw:

I turned around to take a second look, and was proven wrong:

Truth be told, I was a little bummed out that someone hadn't swapped out the sign with the one I thought I saw. I mean, we are approaching Halloween, and the Thriller Dance hasn't really gone out of style yet. Oh, well.

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which It's That Time Of Year Again

I'm getting around to this a little bit later than I wanted to originally (I blame the cold that has been wreaking havoc on my immune system this week), but I'm all for tradition and strongly believe in "the better late than never" mindset. For those who haven't been following me for very long, I'm referring to my annual Fall Season Give Away. It's going to be much the same this year as the previous two, but with one major change. CSNStores.com has generously offered to the winner of this contest a $55.00 gift certificate to be used at any of their online stores. They sell a wide variety of items (from cookware or bedding, exercise equipment or lamps, a fancy necklace or a bar stool, you name it), so if you're the lucky winner, you'll have over 200 stores to browse through to your heart's content and pick what you want. 

Now that I've got you hooked, here are the all the details:

THE BADASS GEEK 3rd ANNUAL FALL SEASON GIVE AWAY

Fall is my favorite season, and while I'm trying to make an effort to enjoy this time of year, I want you to be able to take some time from your busy lives and enjoy it, too. To encourage that, I thought a contest with an incentive would help.

To participate, choose one of the following categories:

• Take a picture that you feel best describes the fall season, OR
• Prove your worth by carving the best Jack O'Lantern.

Participants in Category One will need to submit, in addition to their photo, a short paragraph detailing why they chose the subject of the photo, and how they feel it best describes the Fall season. Participants in Category Two will need to submit, in addition to a picture of the final product, photos of the "work in progress" (you don't need to show the faces of those involved, just prove that you actually did the work). One winner be selected from each category, with the entries being judged on originality, and in the case of pumpkin carving, skill and end result. To help keep things fair and unbiased, I'll have The Boss pick the winner.

Submissions should be e-mailed to me (badassgeek[at]gmail[dot]com) no later than midnight on Monday, November 1st. I will review the submissions, and The Boss will make her selection for the winner in each category. The winners will be announced on Friday, November 5th.

In the past there has been a winner in each category, but due to sponsorship limitations, there is only going to be one winner overall. The winner selected from either category will receive by e-mail a gift certificate code for any of the CSNStores websites for $55.00. There will be two runners-up (one in each category), and those people will receive a yet-to-be-decided Badass Geek branded item. It'll be cool, trust me.

For some inspiration and to see what you might be up against, check out the posts from the previous two years where the submissions were showcased (click here for the first contest held in 2008, and here for last year's contest). It's a lot of fun, so I hope all of you decide to participate, or at least get outside and enjoy Nature's best season.

How does all of that sound? Good? Great. Now get to it!

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which I Push The Envelope

"Teacher Got Me Falling In Love" - (sung to the melody of "DJ Got Us Falling In Love" by Usher)

Sit way back in the room,

see her body walkin' from side to side (side to side) (echo).

Thank God the week's begun,

I feel like a druggie without no life (out no life) (echo).

(Hands up) And suddenly I have got my hand up,

no control of my body.

I've pictured this before,

I think I remember those thighs (thighs, thighs) (echo).

Chorus: 

'Cause baby tonight,

my teacher's got me fallin' in love again.

Yeah, baby tonight,

my teacher's got me fallin' in love again.

It's just (just) like it's the last (last) dream of the night (night),

gonna treat you right. 'Cause baby tonight,

my teacher's got me fallin' in love again.

Verse 2:

Keep staring right at her,

she bends over, I can see down (down, down) (echo).

She sets my loins on fire,

friction burn an' pitching tents right now (now, now) (echo).

(Hold up) When her pencil drops

I can't keep my jaw up,

I need her hands on my body.
Swear I've done this before,

think I'm gonna lose it from those eyes (eyes, eyes) (echo).

Chorus 2: 

'Cause baby tonight,

my teacher's got me fallin' in love again.

Yeah, baby tonight,

my teacher's got me fallin' in love again.

It's just (just) like it's the best wet dream of my life (life),

gonna treat you right. 'Cause baby tonight,

my teacher's got me fallin' in love again.

Interlude

Repeat Chorus 2x.

---

I don't know about you, but this parody is pretty much autobiographical of my junior high public school years. I had some teachers that had top billing in a lot of my "special" dreams during that time. Perfectly harmless stuff, but when I heard this song on the radio for the first time and misheard the lyrics, I felt the urge to expand on it.

In Which I Whine

Editor's Note: Due to the fact that I thought tomorrow was the 11th and not the 18th (for some unknown reason) I published this post early, on Sunday night instead of Monday morning. Surprise, surprise!

I couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old when my dad made a mockery of me in public. Looking back on it now I absolutely deserved it, and I can't say that I would have done any different had I been in my father's shoes at that moment. Perhaps using the word "mockery" is a bit harsh, as what he did (or said, as it were) really wasn't that bad. Regardless, it definitely was a key moment in my growing up, and I remember it clearly. 

My dad, my two sisters, and I were returning to the lodge after spending a good part of the day skiing. My dad had had a rough day on the slopes, having problems with his skis to have to rent another pair. The last few threads of his patience was fraying badly, which is more than understandable after keeping track of three kids under eleven years old on skis all day, even if it is the Bunny slope. My sisters and I were tired and hungry, and we weren't shy of letting good ol' dad know it.

After returning his skis and reclaiming his deposit, my dad led the way back through the pro shop towards the parking lot to leave. There was a small cafe in the shop and the food smelled good. We begged our dad to get us something to eat, clearly forgetting that he had just paid for us to blaze up and down the mountain all day. He said no, that we'd get something to eat later. We resisted and pleaded some more, but we were turned down again. My sisters gave up, but I did not.

"But Daaa-addd!" I whined. "Where are we going to eeeeat?" I believe there was some dramatic arm flailing and feet stomping at this point.

"At the Whine Store!" my dad snapped back loudly. He's a clever guy, my dad.

His response was loud enough to be heard by everyone in our area of the store, as was my pathetic display of the gimmes. There was laughter all around, and I felt my face burning in embarrassment. I turned my eyes to the floor as I followed my dad out the door, defeated, but not before noticing the trio of cute girls my age that I had been trying to impress all day joining in on the laughter. I was mortified.

I didn't act up at all for the rest of the day. I learned my lesson, and I can't remember ever being whiny to that extent ever again. I'm reminded of it every time I see a young kid acting up in a store or restaurant, and I keep hoping I'll see the parent, on their last feeble legs of patience, come back with something that will shut their kid up and teach them the lesson that every kid needs to learn: Whining gets you nowhere.

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which I Grin and Bear It

No one said that pregancy is easy. 

Well, I'm sure someone said it, but that pour soul probably wound up with deflated testicles and a hand-shaped bruise on their face. I've been lucky so far with The Boss' pregnancy, managing to keep myself out of the doghouse for the most part. The understatement of the year is that things are changing, and I'm doing my best to keep up with it all.

Most of all, I'm trying to keep up with my wife. Here's a list of ten things I learned about her just this week.

1. It's time to stop poking fun at her about anything. She's going to take it personally, and no matter how much you apologize, she won't forget it.
2. I find it impossible to say "No" when she asks me to do something for her. There's just something inside me that wants to do everything for her.
3. Don't try to do everything for her. She won't take it as a nice gesture, but instead that you think she's an invalid and not capable of doing anything on her own.
4. Foods that used to be her favorite now cause nausea, and foods that used to be unappealing are suddenly her favorite.
5. Be careful with optimism. If she's having a rough day and you tell her that it's not so bad, she'll likely think you are trivializing her feelings. Which is bad.
6. Not wanting to talk about baby names for the sixth night in a row is not an option.
7. Commercials that show even the slightest amount of emotion will make her cry, even the ones about peanut butter.
8. Reading her emotions will never again be as easy as it was before the pregnancy, and it wasn't very easy at all before.
9. She will spend more time on baby websites than Facebook (which is saying something), and will know the difference between real and feigned interest when she reads you things from the site about the baby's current size and developmental stage.
10. There is a difference between being supportive and overbearing, but the line separating them will change without warning.

I'm not complaining, I'm simply observing... and it's exhausting. We're just turning the corner into the second trimester, too.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which I Am a Bit Twisted

My grandmother is moving out of the home that she has lived in for almost fifty years and into an apartment complex geared towards those of advanced age. This is the first time she has lived in an apartment since before my father was born, but it's the right time for her to do it. Not only does it reduce the financial strain on her and eliminate the stress of homeownership, it takes away all of the responsibility from my father (and more recently myself) from having to make sure her driveway is clear in the winter and that her lawn is kept up with in the summer. She's in her early seventies, and it was time for her to scale back.

We started at the first of the year with some serious renovations in her house to get it ready to be put up for sale. The family got together and put a few month's worth of weekends and a couple thousand dollars in paint, drywall, light fixtures, window treatments, you name it, and when all was said in done, the house looked good. Better than it looked in decades. All the hard work payed off, because the house sold after just seven weeks on the market. 

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, yesterday my dad and I finished moving her into her new apartment. As I said, it's a building for the older folks. It's not a retirement home as there aren't any nurses, but it's definitely a partially government-funded facility. It's about as drab as you would think, functional and far from aesthetically pleasing. It's right across the street from the elementary school that I went to as a kid, and taped to just about every door that I walked past while lugging boxes and lamps and chairs into her unit had something that the kids had made in school. You know, the construction paper/glue/glitter/sticker creations that often adorn refrigerators.

One of them caught my eye. I'm sure that the kid who made it was innocent and didn't have the slightest clue what he/she was doing, which makes the following all the more awesome:

Aww, how cute. A little kitten looking hungrily over a fishbowl, giving everyone the finger.

I'm probably more than just a little twisted to have noticed this and interpreted it in the way that I did, but that's who I am. After seeing this one, I scouted out the rest of the doors to the other apartments down the hall. None of the others had little kittens flipping the bird other than this one, which is why I think this might was A: obviously overlooked by the teacher, and B: intentional.

Here's what all of the others looked like:

Still not a natural position for the digits on a cat's paw, but who am I to judge? I suppose it's better than giving everyone who walks by a cheery "Fuck You!". 

While it's not likely, the twisted part of me hopes there's this little mastermind in kindergarten or first grade across the street who knew full well what they were doing when they arranged that kitten's fingers that way. It kind of makes me excited to see what kind of creations this kid will come up with for the upcoming holidays. A Jack-O-Lantern eating a trick-or-treater? A stabbed and bloody turkey on a platter for Thanksgiving? A picture of Mrs. Claus giving Santa a lap dance up at the North Pole? 

I can't wait to find out.

In Which It's Kind Of Even More Obvious

First, it was this less-than-brilliant cover of Cosmopolitan magazine that I caught sight of (and wrote about) at the supermarket earlier this year:

In case you're not seeing it, I'm referring to the absurdity that is what seems to be the flagship article of this particular issue, titled "How To Touch a Naked Man". I thought after seeing this that the writers currently employed by Cosmo had completely run out of ideas and were pulling whatever they could salvage into an article out of their asses. I mean, seriously. Among the clientèle that read Cosmo, do you really think any of them need to know how to touch a man when he's naked?

I though I had seen it all when I wrote about it back in February, and for a number of months, that statement held true. Then I saw the current issue at the supermarket this past weekend:

Okay, Cosmo. Enough is enough. Stop patronizing your readers. Yeah, there are a lot of stupid people out there today who probably need step by step instructions to do a lot of menial tasks, but I'm pretty sure that even the dumbest people out there can figure out the birds and the bees without needing a tutorial.

I think we should start coming up with ideas for articles and mail them in to the magazine, so they actually have something useful to write about.

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which I Categorize

I am the kind of guy who notices things without even meaning to. This blog, if nothing else in my life, is obvious evidence to support that statement. On the one hand, it's a good thing because it provides me with things to write about, but on the other hand, it's a bad thing because I often find myself thinking about things that I really don't want to think about. There are exceptions to this, of course, but unless it is truly repulsive and morally wrong (like wondering what it'd be like to make out with Sarah Jessica Parker) my mind generally won't drop something unless it's been thoroughly thought over, processed, and categorized.

The idea for today's blog post came from something my mind happened upon while standing at one of the urinals in the bathroom at work one day. For the normal person's mind, this thought wouldn't have made it very far at all. It would have been cast off, aborted, thrown from the mind because it really wasn't worth the brain power to mull over. You, my friends, know firsthand that my mind is not normal, at least not in the traditional sense, so you wouldn't be too surprised to find out that the thought that formulated that day was that there are predominantly three types of urinal usage styles.

Yes, you read that correctly. I actually put the time and consideration into thinking about how men take different approaches to taking a piss. Don't get the wrong idea, though. I don't spend lots of time in the men's room watching my co-workers relieve themselves. It's not like I stood there with a clipboard and took notes, as that would be both disturbing and disgusting. I simply arrived at this conclusion after making an observation, and if it wasn't so true I wouldn't have bothered with sharing my findings.

The first style of urinal use is what I call The Stand. Basically, the guy looks as if he is just standing there. He might be looking down and making sure he's not getting piss on his shoes, he might be looking at the graffiti on the wall that is five inches from his face, but otherwise it is a normal stance that you would expect to see anywhere. He is quiet and task-oriented, only there to do the job and then move on.

I call the second style At Ease. This kind of guy stands at the urinal with his feet set at a wide stance, and usually places one hand on his hip, leans back slightly, and then pees. He will often sigh or groan as he starts, which is awkward to say the least, especially if there are no partitions between the urinals. Count on seeing out of the corner of your eye more shakes than is truly necessary once all is said and done.

The third style is called Upheaval. This guy will approach the urinal and settle himself with a slightly wider than normal stance. He then will bend his legs at the knees a little bit, squatting down maybe four or five inches, and while on the way back up, he will pull out the ol' hogleg. As if it is so massive that he otherwise couldn't possibly pull it out of his tidy whities on his own strength, and requires the assistance of upward momentum. He will invariably choose the urinal next to yours and will likely initiate conversation, which will either be about sports or the weather.

For my male readers, you will probably see the truth in these statements and be able to place yourselves in one of those groups (personally, I fall into the first one). For the women, well, consider this as insight into a world that you probably could have done without (and you're welcome). I'm sure there are other styles that I've overlooked, but I honestly don't wish to think about men peeing any longer. People might get the wrong idea about me, no matter how much I protest. I'm probably going to have a hard time living this post down as it is. There is no golden shower fetish here whatsoever, I swear.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

P.S. This is my 500th post. Insanity!

In Which I Might Need Protection

When The Boss started showing an interest in crafting, I encouraged her. She didn't really have a hobby that was constructive before, and I wanted to be supportive of her new interests and allow her the space and freedom to pursue whatever direction she decided to go. Of course, by supporting her I was ultimately giving her permission to bring into our home whatever supplies she needs to make things with. Over the past two years her collection of crafting supplies has expanded at an almost constant rate, and I never had any problem with it. Not even when bags of Poly-Fil stuffing took over my easy chair. I've never complained a single time, even when I jabbed my toes on pins she accidentally dropped on the floor. I even laughed it off when I got a piece of thread wrapped around my balls because somehow it wound up in my laundry basket.

After a period of time and relocating her craft table to a bigger room, I realized that I would eventually have to draw the line somewhere. I never really knew when that line would be drawn, but I found myself drawing it this past weekend. Why, you ask?

I came home from helping my Grandmother move on Sunday and found this sitting on the coffee table:

Don't let that cherubic smile fool you. This is no ordinary plastic baby head. It's smile and pudgy cheeks are just a ruse to lure you in, as this hairless baby head is a minion of evil. Once, when I walked across the room, not only did the eyes follow me, but I swear to God it actually fucking turned to be able to continue watching me as I left it's field of vision.

I protested almost immediately to this unwelcome addition to our apartment.

The Boss thought it was funny that I found it to be creepy. I don't think I'm the only one that finds dolls to be creepy, but maybe I've read too much Stephen King to just accept things for what they are. Even though it is void of arms and legs to move around with, all I can picture is this doll head skittering up to me while I sleep and staring at me, waiting for me to feel it watching me and wake up so it can kill me.

"Well, what do you want me to do with it?" she asked.

"I don't know, but I don't want it out in the open. Put it away. It's creepy as hell."

"Where should I put it, then?"

"Inside a lead bag and in the closet."

She laughed, but eventually relented and put it inside a plastic bag and tucked it away in the closet. I went into the closet later that evening and put the bag in a box, and then stacked heavier boxes on top of it. With the demon possessed, you can never be too safe. I mean, just look at those eyes:

Now that I think of it, I'm not sure even the barricade is enough to keep us safe. I'm worried that if I tried to throw it away that it'd ever truly be gone. Like a bad Ouija board, I'd throw it in the dumpster outside and it'd be waiting for me on the kitchen counter once I got back upstairs to my apartment. I think it's time that I invested in a crucifix and made some holy water*.

Dolls, even if they are just little plastic heads, are like clowns. They can't be trusted.

*How do you make holy water, you ask? Just take some regular tap water and boil the hell out of it.

In Which I Think They Should Make It

Have you ever been doing a menial chore around the house and been struck with the idea of something that would make the chore you are currently laboring away at easier? This invention wouldn't necessarily have to revolutionize the performance of this chore, but maybe improve it just enough to make creating this product enticing. You'll tell someone about it, and the conversation would likely go something like this:

You "Hey!"

Friend: "Hi, there. What have you been up to?"

Y: "Not too much. Just finished (fill in the blank)."

F: "Oh, yeah?"

Y: "Yeah. You know what they should make?"

F: "What?"

Y: "They should make (fill in newly thought product)..."

Ah, the elusive "they". What company are we referring to, exactly, when we say this? I know it's just a phrase we all say, but it's strange that so many of us say it and it's universally understood that we're referring to this magical company that apparently should be tasked with the engineering, development, and production of all our million-dollar ideas.... and the company doesn't even exist.

Or does it?

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which I Try To Ignore It

In my post on Wednesday I mentioned that I wouldn't be a good game show host because I'd likely blurt out the answers to the questions before the contestant had a chance to. I honestly don't have a "know-it-all" complex. I've never felt the need to be the first one to raise their hand in class when the teacher asks a question, and I've never been the one who thinks their life is over when they get a 99 on a test. 

I just have this bad habit where I feel the overwhelming urge to correct people when they are wrong. Because of this rogue personality streak, I often come off as a know-it-all, but it isn't like that, I swear.

Before I switched departments in early September, I had a cubicle neighbor at work who, upon getting a new call on their line, would ask the following question: "To whom am I speaking to?" She would say this on every single call she received. Despite the occasional mistake here or there in the posts I write, I take grammar very seriously. Even if I was on a call myself, her automatic greeting would sift through and feel like grains of sand in my mind. It wasn't as bad as the cubicle neighbor I had a few months ago, but it definitely set me on edge after a while. 

Despite how much this grated on my nerves, not once did I tell her that adding the word "to" at the end of the question was unnecessary, or that saying it at the beginning of the question was unneeded if you're going to be using at the end. Either way, there was one too many "to"'s in her statement, and it was fucking me up. I'd hear it and it'd distract me from whatever I was doing. I'm lucky that she only worked part time, otherwise I'd never get any shit done.

It's not just her syntax that bothered me. This damned personality flaw picks up on moments where words are pronounced incorrectly, and if this woman was given a penny for each time she pronounced a word wrong, well, she'd have some significant extra cash flow to explain on her taxes. If I started a list of words she pronounced incorrectly, we'd be here all night. Instead, I'll share with you her favorite mispronounced word. 

Penalizeration.

Not penalize. Not penalization. Penalizeration. Unfortunately for me, a good part of the job she has deals with explaining how fees were assessed (in other words, a penalty), so she said this word quite often. Combine the poor oral grammar with making up words for words that already exist with my need for order in the world, and you've got one volatile cubicle. The base to the acid of the situation was that I switched departments. My cubicle neighbor now only mispronounces the department name. 

I think I can deal with that.

Have a good weekend everyone.