Category Archives: Word Up

Word-Up: Show Me Your Weenus

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My summer has been as crazier than a redneck at an opera (my husband should know).   And while I continue to chuck back lemons at life , the little suckers appear to be getting smaller and easier to manage.  Anyway, all that means is that I have had less time to hang here on Sweet Spot.  So, I thought I would share one of my favorite moments from last spring.  Some things just never get old…especially boy humor, at least in my world.

I knew it!  I feared the day would come – the moment when I would finally be presented with undeniable proof I was failing as a parent.  I wanted to deny it, but the evidence was right there staring me in the face.  Clearly, I was raising a depraved sociopath.

You know the age old story, in the aftermath of a sociopath’s identification, when the neighbors wax poetic for the press?  Statements of disbelief such as:  “But, they were such a nice family”…  “Never heard a peep out of them”…”mostly kept to themselves”…”They had a lot of garden gnomes.”

Right, well, I could just see the entire future unfolding. How had it come to this?

You see, last weekend as we drove endlessly in the car from one activity to another, the irrefutable proof of my impending catastrophe occurred. I don’t know, maybe my kids were bored.  And what is it ‘they’ say?  Boredom is the devil’s playground?  Boredom is the Mother of Invention?  Either way, from the depths of the backseat, my son called out,

“Mom, I scraped my weenus, could you put a band aide on it?”

What?!

Before I could even process his statement, the situation deteriorated further. Apparently, my parental fiasco was farther reaching than just one dissolute sociopath as both boys continued in a flourish of depravity.

“Mom, my weenus is exposed”.

“I need some sunscreen for my weenus”.

“Hey, get your weenus out of my face”.

“Look, my weenus is all wrinkled”.

“I am going to touch you with my weenus”.

“I have the weirdest weenus, want to see?”.

The situation seemed dire at best.

But then, just as I was getting ready to take preventative action (you can google for a psychotherapist, right?), I was saved.  In the nick of time, I was informed by my little backseat degenerates their particular word “weenus” came with its own specific definition. However, just to be sure (and to have proof for possible future penal encounters – ha, get it?), I googled it myself- lo and behold:

According to Urban Dictionary:Weenus is the flap of skin on your elbow”.

Sigh of relief.  Apparently I am not raising a couple of depraved sociopaths, just a couple of depraved smart alecks.

But that I can live with, proudly.

For more word abuse, check out these earlier posts!

Word-Up:  Poop

Word-Up: We’ve Got Big Balls

Word-Up: Opus Anyone?

Word-Up: Get a Yob!

Resolutions for 2013 – Sweet Spot Style

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Yes, it is that time again – Resolution time.  Truthfully, I hold with the Non-Resolution style of ringing in the New Year.  That being said, there is always something of value to be learned from history – ones own adventures and, well, misadventures.

Thus this year, I decided to scour the Sweet Spot Archives of 2012 in search of some well earned Resolutions for 2013.
I think I found some pretty powerful nuggets of advice for the New Year…

1.  I will be sure to check my pants zipper (Life, the Ego-Sucking Siege) before entering any and all public establishments.

2. I will struggle on in my war against electronics (I Am Woman – Ode to Chris the Caveman) in the never ending battle for influence over my kids’ brain.

3.  I will try to have a kindler, gentler approach to my vacuum (The Day I Killed the Vacuum) and well, for that matter all machines in general (Woman vs. Machine).

4.  I will try to take Teens advice to drink water and recycle – preferably at the same time – (Teen Talk: Episode #3) and, of course, Pre-Teens advice to Never Sit on a Couch at a Nudest Colony.

5.  I swear never to utter the chant “Party at home plate” at my kids’ baseball games (Take Us To Warp Speed, Scotty), or do any of those other things that would qualify me for “bulldog” status as a  Sports Mom (Bulldogs Don’t Wear Lipstick).

6.  I promise, for Teen and Pre-Teen’s sake, to work in the words “Balls”  (Word-Up: We’ve Got Big Balls) and “Weenus” (Word-Up: Show Me Your Weenus) into every conversation where possible but not necessarily appropriate.

7.  In true Mid-West fashion, I promise to generously give the “no problem” wave, the “thanks for not honking at me even though I deserve it” wave, and possibly throw in the “I’m cool” head wave.  (You Deserve the Wave Today).

8.  I will seek out adventure every chance I get (Sweet Spot Travels), even the scary kind (Today’s Best Moment Thursday April 5.)

9.  I will try to make someones day as often as possible  simply by donning a pen and piece of rainbow stationary. (Go Ahead, Make My Day).

10.  I will be sure to have plenty of stockings/pantyhose and pet hair removal devices on hand for whatever occasion may arise. (Bag Lady Goes a Job Hunting).

11.  I will try to never, ever forget how good it feels to laugh (Destroy This Note After Reading).

And lastly, two lessons –  clearly resolution worthy – from some recent experiences:

I will try to not take as a personal commentary the worker-monogrammed cups received at Starbucks:

Starbucks cup

And, I will remember to pee prior to attending a D-Box movie.

Happy New Year from Looking for the Sweet Spot.

Go get ’em!

Word-Up: We’ve Got Big Balls

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Cat

As a Mom I am ready to embrace the teen years, more to the point, the boy-teen years.  Heck, I was born ready.  Well, not really.  Actually I was born pink & squishy…and bald.  Be that as it may,  growing up with three teenage brothers must have had some lasting effect – or damage.

So, here is what I have discovered recently.  Apparently, part of being baptized into male teen-dom involves the embracing and appreciation for all humor involving anatomical innuendo (honestly, for me this is not such a hardship).  At the current stage of development, we are heavily into Balls – sport balls, that is, and all implied.  Recently, I was schooled in the infinite innuendo possibilities for the word Balls.

I believe the introductory lesson went something like this:

Mom, you know, the word ball can be pretty funny.

Oh, really, how so?

Well, at baseball practice, say we are going out to warm up and one of the guys asks me “Do you have a ball?” and I will answer, “Yeah, I have two.”

And because the mind is a terrible thing to waste – well that and never being one to leave a good innuendo well enough alone -we brainstormed some more.

Try these on for size, no pun intended (ah, what the heck),  pun intended!.

Does anyone have a ballYeah, big ones

Does anyone have a ballWhat? You don’t?

Hey, grab a ball while you are over there. You’re sick!

Always keep your eye on the ball. aaawkwaaaabrd

Basketball players have big, orange balls.

Soccer players like to kick balls.

Football players have oddly shaped balls.

Baseball players have a lot of balls.

Golfers have little tiny balls.  (sorry golfers,  just  could not resist that one).

It is not a sport without any balls.

Can someone get me some balls, I don’t have any.

And lastly,

In sports, you have to get the balls a little sweaty.

Here I thought Poop would always be the funniest word in the English Language.  I guess I should have known the shift was coming, what with the whole Weenus debacle and all.

And, don’t even get us started on the word,  Nuts.

For more word abuse, check out these earlier posts!

Word-Up: Show Me Your Weenus

Word-Up:  Poop

Word-Up: Opus Anyone?

Word-Up: Get a Yob!

Word-Up: Show Me Your Weenus

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I knew it!  I feared the day would come – the moment when I would finally be presented with undeniable proof I was failing as a parent.  I wanted to deny it, but the evidence was right there staring me in the face.  Clearly, I was raising a depraved sociopath.

You know the age old story, in the aftermath of a sociopath’s identification, when the neighbors wax poetic for the press?  Statements of disbelief such as:  “But, they were such a nice family”…  “Never heard a peep out of them”…”mostly kept to themselves”…”They had a lot of garden gnomes.”

Right, well, I could just see the entire future unfolding. How had it come to this?

You see, last weekend as we drove endlessly in the car from one activity to another, the irrefutable proof of my impending catastrophe occurred. I don’t know, maybe my kids were bored.  And what is it ‘they’ say?  Boredom is the devil’s playground?  Boredom is the Mother of Invention?  Either way, from the depths of the backseat, my son called out,

“Mom, I scraped my weenus, could you put a band aide on it?”

What?!

Before I could even process his statement, the situation deteriorated further. Apparently, my parental fiasco was farther reaching than just one dissolute sociopath as both boys continued in a flourish of depravity.

“Mom, my weenus is exposed”.

“I need some sunscreen for my weenus”.

“Hey, get your weenus out of my face”.

“Look, my weenus is all wrinkled”.

“I am going to touch you with my weenus”.

“I have the weirdest weenus, want to see?”.

The situation seemed dire at best.

But then, just as I was getting ready to take preventative action (you can google for a psychotherapist, right?), I was saved.  In the nick of time, I was informed by my little backseat degenerates their particular word “weenus” came with its own specific definition. However, just to be sure (and to have proof for possible future penal encounters – ha, get it?), I googled it myself- lo and behold:

According to Urban Dictionary:Weenus is the flap of skin on your elbow”.

Sigh of relief.  Apparently I am not raising a couple of depraved sociopaths, just a couple of depraved smart alecks.

But that I can live with, proudly.

For more word abuse, check out these earlier posts!

Word-Up:  Poop

Word-Up: Opus Anyone?

Word-Up: Get a Yob!

Word-Up: Get a Yob!

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Yob: I did it!  I created a word.  At least I thought I had.  Until I discovered some slippery, sly English peops (I can say that because some of my best friends are English) had beat me to it.  However, when my son won at scrabble using “Yob”– which according to Merriam-Webster is b-o-y spelled backward (really?), and meaning: a young man who is rowdy, rude, noisy, and aggressive (I live with Yobs and didn’t even know it), and rhymes with Gob (Ha! Didn’t see that one coming did ya’) – I was forced to face the disappointment or lobby M-W for inclusion.

You see, for some time, Yob has been a Homonym of sorts in my household. Allow me to illustrate.

“Get a Yob”:  In this context, Yob is most effective in answer to the frequently asked question from minors in household: “Mom, can I have…(fill in blank with overpriced electronic of choice)”.  Used in this form, Yob means: If you want particular time sucking device, you will have to work, earn money, save, spend it all on desired item and realize you are flat broke…again.

Positive attributes of usage being, minors are proud purchasers of mind emptying electronics and my Botox emergency fund remains intact…oh, and they like, learned some kind of valuable life lesson or something.

“Not my Yob”: The usage of the word in this context is a clear indication that a “pass the buck” scenario from one adult to another is about to take place (from myself to hubs if you must know). At this crucial moment, husband is forced to revisit the possibility he failed to examine the fine print in the marriage contract explaining his Yob description included:  all things gross (puke clean up), all things that make you simultaneously sweaty & dirty (summer yard work), and all things smelly ( taking out all trash).

Sadly for him, the misplacement or loss of said document has relegated husband to taking wife’s word on the subject.

Do your Yob”:  The bellow of the word in this context is music to the ears of one occupant of the household…my dog. At moment of utterance, the word ringing in dog’s ears causes her thought process to go something like this…The Mom is cooking…dropping food on the floor…all over the floor…like always…I must away…to the kitchen…no time to waste…to clean the floor…I love my Yob,…no, I REALLY, REALLY love my Yob. (Which in this context means – That thing one does when not sleeping, eating or urinating on the tires of cars in the driveway…preferably you are a dog if you are using the word in this context).

Disclaimer:  For those of you getting the ole undies in a bundle over the use of this questionably politically correct pronunciation, please keep one thing in mind.  As a person from San Hose, who has endured a lifetime of “You really do know the way to San Hose, don’t you!” and “Are you from San HosA or San HosB?”– I think I have paid my dues and deserve to take a few liberties.  No Yoke.

Only a few words were maimed in the writing of this blog.

Word-Up: Poop

Word-Up: Opus Anyone?

Word-Up: Poop

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I love words.  I love to laugh. You can only imagine my glee when I discovered the funniest word in the English language is  Poop.  I know this to be true.  I know this because I have proved it: methodically, scientifically and sometimes ruthlessly.

I submit for your consideration the following data.

Hypothesis: Whether by delivery or receipt, when in audible range of the word Poop, laughter will ensue.

Observations: I was fortunate to be able to conduct environment controlled experiments in three locations: Home, Work, Mall.

  • Home: It was in the home environment where the Poop  phenomenon first presented itself.  Once I had an inkling of the possibilities, I had to probe further. I began to insert the word Poop into various conversational situations.  For example:

In answer to what’s for dinner – Poop,

in reply to  complaints about school/friends/brother – Poop,

in response to husband asking how much I paid for a pair of jeans – Poop,

 at random, unsuspecting moments when subjects were otherwise engaged – Poop.

The results were indisputable and consistent –giggles, laughter, guffaws. However, I fear future repercussions as a result of extended, somewhat addicting research on the subjects are imminent.

  • Work:  During the experiment phase, I was asked to Substitute in the third grade at a local school. On this given day, after clearly losing my audience during an apparently not so scintillating reading lesson, I suggested I knew the funniest word in the world and could prove it. Thus began our lesson in scientific exploration.  I presented the test subjects with the opportunity to see how many times the experimenter (me) could say the word Poop and still evoke laughter from subjects (them). We proceeded. Unfortunately laughter was so raucous and contagious, 9 year old lab assistant failed to keep accurate count but offered “It was a lot” as evidence. Experiment was concluded when no end could be reached – oh, and principal came by for a visit.
  • Mall: This experiment was born out of necessity to prove to home-test-subject (i.e. my son) the infallibility of the Poop phenomena. Thus, while walking past random teen in local mall, I casually vocalized the word Poop in passing.  Although accompanied by a strange “what’s wrong with you lady” look, the goal of laughter was nonetheless achieved.

Conclusion: Poop is, without a doubt, the funniest word in the English language.

Final Note: If you attempt these experiments on your own, please keep in mind, your overall appearance of normalcy and sanity may be permanently affected.  But, you can laugh all the way down that slippery slope.

Lastly: For enhanced laughter a few ‘o’s can be added for optimal effect as in: PoooooooP

Poop out.

Word Up – Opus Anyone?

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The Definition:  Addiction is the condition of being habitually or compulsively occupied with or involved in something.

The Warning: The following activity has proven to be addicting, please proceed with caution.

The Disclaimer: No word was harmed in the writing of this blog… just abused a little.

The Catalyst:

Son:  “Mom, we had to make up sentences for the word ‘opus’ this week.

Mom: “Really? What did you come up with?”

Son (slight smile at corner of mouth):  “Don’t make me kick you in the opus” and  “Who threw up opus all over the floor”.

 

The Addiction:

  • Oh, I think I swallowed my opus!
  • Look at that man’s opus gut.
  • Would you like to buy my opus?
  • I’m in opus without you.
  • I think I just broke my opus.
  • Sorry ma’am, I have to perform an emergency opus-ectomy
  • You know what I think?  I think you can kiss my opus!
  • I would bet my opus on it.
  • Shut your opus!
  • Honey, could you please pass the fried opus?
  • Get your head out of your opus and get in the game!
  • What’s in your opus?
  • What the opus are you doing?
  • Mind you own opus.
  • Look, a rare-winged opus!
  • Do you feel opus, punk? Well, do ya?

 The Thank you:  To all opus contributors (I think you know who you are). Please seek professional help.

The Moral: Never deny humor; even especially the addicting kind.

Please leave your opus in the comments below. Thank you.