Call a Spade a Spade.

                Okay, so here’s the thing. Why the fuck can’t people just say what they mean? It’s really simple actually. You mean one thing, you say that thing. NOT the opposite, NOT something completely different, and NOT something that may be closely related to something akin to something that almost resembles what you mean; just what you mean, In plain, ordinary, concise English. Why is this so fucking hard?! Why do these basic fundamentals of communication elude so many people? If it permeated through everything in their lives, maybe I could understand. Maybe it’s like some sort of bizarre psychological disorder where they can’t make the distinction between what they mean, and what they’re saying, but it’s not aphasia we’re talking about here, it’s just people being assholes. I’ve found recently, and much to my surprise that it isn’t just women who do this. I really thought it was, you know, that whole thing were they say “go ahead” when they mean “don’t,” or “maybe” when they mean “no,” or my favorite, “just go ahead and do what you want” when they mean “I fucking dare you to defy me and see what manner of hell I rain down upon your woeful head.” As it turns out, this trend is affecting both species of human.

                My wife will attest to the fact that I am not a standard issue husband… or even a standard issue guy, for that matter. I do, however, have some stereotypical guy traits. For instance, if I need to venture out and acquire an item from a store, I will locate the item I need to procure, go to the nearest establishment that offers that item at a reasonable price, seek out said item, procure said item, pay for said item, and LEAVE THE FUCKING STORE having done what I intended. It’s a very simple, logical process. I don’t mull over what item I really want once I get there, I don’t go through great pains deciding on a color, I don’t amble aimlessly up and down each and every aisle of the store in hopes that they’ve added a door to Narnia behind some end cap. I go in, I get what I came for, I get the fuck out. Period. Job done.  I apply this same principle to making verbal or documented requests. I ask for what I want, not what I don’t want. Not something else. If I desire a red T-shirt, I go and get a red T-shirt. If I can’t find, or don’t know where in the store to locate a red T-shirt, I ask someone who works there (which can be a taxing venture in and of itself) where in the facility I can locate a red T-shirt. I don’t want to know where I can find a teal one. I don’t ask for beige, or blue, or green. I want red. I say red. Not “reddish.” Not “crimson, or rust, or salmon, or maroon, or burgundy.” Not fucking “auburn.” Red.

                All I ask is for the same respect. If you want something from me, ask for what you want. Don’t ask for something you don’t want, then when you get the thing you don’t want, start fuming and carrying on because it’s not what you wanted. Regardless of whether it’s what you wanted or not, it IS, in fact, what you ASKED FOR! Ergo, you relinquish any and all justification for bitching, pissing, and moaning when said request is fulfilled.

                I’ll end this diatribe with a little cheat sheet for all you douchbags out there:

·         If you mean “respectively” don’t say “respectably, respectfully, or respectability.”

·         If you mean “regardless” don’t say “irregardless of…”

·         If you mean something has no equal, it is “unique,” not “very unique.”

·         If you mean “actually, really, truly, or in essence,” the phrase is “for all intents and purposes,” not “for all intensive purposes.”

·         Finally, “should’ve, could’ve and would’ve” are contractions for “should have, could have and would have,” Not “should of, could of and would of.”

And you people wonder why sometimes, I enjoy being deaf!

Es Lebe Das Word Reich!

 Okay, so my ears are hot. No, really, like red hot. If you cracked an egg and let it ooze into my ear, you would get a nice, waxy omelette. I may have mentioned, or you may have gleaned that I'm a writer (imagine that!) As such, I have been blessed be-knighted with an awesome job doing what I love to do...  writing.

 "What a fortuitous turn of events!" you might say; and you'd be right.
 "What an unholy pain in the ass!" you might say; and you'd also be right.

 Every professional scribe has to do one thing that is the bane of professional scribes:
submit their work for approval.

 Hey! Where are you going!? I know it's scary, but come back here! I didn't say you had to submit your work for approval! Relax, I know how frightening that phrase can be.

 So I do this. This whole "submission" thing (and I might add that it's an apt word for the action), and for the first time ever, a fistful of assignments comes back. I was floored. I know, I know, "first world problems" but hear me out. I wasn't floored because the assignments came back, I (as any wordsmith should) accept this as an occasional inevitability. I found myself prostrate and cooling my countenance on the oak slats in my living room because the "edits" and "changes" and "suggestions" were what I can only describe as rife with typographical, grammatical, and mechanical errors. There was a sea of what in earlier days would have been red ink. A cruel, wild, untamed sea full of retarded dolphins and three-legged sharks. It was awful. I fell apart like a leper with epilepsy.

 After a fair bit of stomping, swearing, and pulling my hair out, not to mention a shot of Jack Daniels walk around the block, I calmed down, and began examining the "changes" that the other "writer" recommended. Through tears, and bloodshot eyes, I accepted them, or at least their spirit. I know edits and changes will, on occasion, be necessary. It just comes with the territory. What I will not abide, is someone submitting changes that require me to put my name on a piece that appears to have been written by a four year old, or worse, that new cancer-causing agent, Newt Gingrich (I know he's irrelevant, but I can't pass up a cheap shot at someone who so concretely epitomizes failure and hypocrisy).

 The moral, if there is one, is this:

 There will be times when you have to bend and compromise what you do, especially if you're doing it for approval by a third party, but never, ever compromise who you are. There's always something in between, and part of who I am is a card carrying member of the Word Reich.