Godammit, I’m Mad!

Lake Superior State University has just released its “2011 List of Banished Words.” Check it out here. It’s pretty good. I’m especially pleased that they included “Man up.”

But they left out so many awful words and terms, including one of my personal annoyances, “reach out to” as a synonym for “contact.”  Or what about “no worries!” in place of “you’re welcome?” Didn’t that use to be Australian? Why do I need to have it in Los Angeles?

Here are some words I don’t want to see or hear in 2011:

Amazeballs

ridic

Margiela

Shearling

Kardashian

Iconic

Curated

Trending

In This Economy

Foursquare

Lanvin

Girl-Crush

Crazy – (anything)

Minaj

Which ones have I left out??

Refinery 29 is running a contest, and the prose roped me in:

“Simone is hooking up one lucky reader with an insanely rad, cropped, silk jacket. Just tell us how you’d wear a shrunken moto with your fave summer outfit, and the reader with the best styling skills will get this sweet giveaway.”

They’re announcing the winner tomorrow and I’m all excited.

Actually, no, not excited, more like pessimistic, I guess. I probably should have added one more “moto” to really nail it.

While searching for dreadlock remover (imagine a little sad-face thingy here) I came across this wonderful product for use Down There.

“Rid yourself of the unwanted grays and give hair down there a beautiful boost of color that’s destined to brighten up more than your smile.”

Now my only problem is deciding between Black Cherry or Midnight Blaque. I’m leaning toward the latter because of the spelling. The hair on my head, or Up There I should say, is really dark brown, not technically Blaque. I don’t want to give anyone a fright.

The Down There business is topical because I had coffee with my sister today and complained about the word “rump.” I read in The Cut that Kate Moss shows off “her rump” in a new video. I was so upset by this usage that I nearly fired off a letter to the editor. Why “rump” for godsake? Can’t they say “ass” or even “butt” or in the worst case scenario maybe “backside?”

Then we moved on to the word “tush” which also annoys me. When I discovered that there’s actually a song called Tush, I nearly had a stroke. Now there’s a magazine called Tush. It’s a word to use with a two year old, like pee pee, but then it should be dropped asap.

Anytime I hear the term Down There, I think it bespeaks a revulsion for sex and body parts. The GiGi color product manages to add an Australian slant by calling this crap “Color Down Under.” Here’s an idea! Next time you hear someone use the term Down There, scream: “Where, Australia?”

Why do people want to look at those photos of pretentious-looking girls wearing important shoes with fur coats and enormous handbags? Who gives a shit! I’ve only looked at The Satorialist once and that was enough. Forget about his images; his text is nauseating!

I don’t care about him or his French girlfriend or any of those blogs that feature smug anorexics wrapped in leather or whatever is supposed to be fierce and covetable. No matter how often they’re praised as “effortlessly chic,” they look like they’ve spent half of their lives in front of a mirror.

I can’t even understand what I’m supposed to feel when I look at those pictures. Am I supposed to feel inspired, like maybe I can appropriate the Look for myself? Am I supposed to be envious? I just feel vaguely soiled from looking at them.  It’s like porn for the post-sexual consumer.  And to me, they all look the same, they’re are the same cliche, all lauded  for being original and “getting it right.” Getting it Right is my new linguistic complaint.

Fashion is still an obsession for me, obviously, with a certain amount of love-hate conflict. Here are some looks from Secret Squirrel, a brand you can find at the Australian fashion wonderland The Grand Social.  This is what I would buy if I had some money and some common sense:

It’s casual but elegant, tomboyish but okay for an old bag, much better than leather shorts or another pair of jeans.

Here’s another look from Secret Squirrel. I would feel perfectly comfortable in this for an evening out, not that I’m ever going anywhere.

You’d think I would know who I was by now, when I buy clothes. Instead, I keep buying buying shit I can’t walk in, can’t style properly, or can’t even figure out what I was thinking when I bought it.  I think Secret Squirrel could help me to Get it Right.

It’s my birthday, hooray for me! I would like these 18K safety pin earrings, set with black diamonds.  And I feel that they are longing for me, all the way from Browns in London. Someone stupidly priced them at $3,000, so I’m going to be strong and live without them. For now.

Here’s what I want in lieu of the earrings. I’d like everyone to say stuff like “Happy birthday, you old bag!” and “Haha, you’re that much closer to being 60!”

I would also like someone to think of a new word I can use. I just got an email from Target, announcing a newsletter for “frugalistas.” God, no. Recessionista is bad enough.  What would be a good word for someone who complains about fashion? A Negativista?  I’m sure someone out there could do better.  I’m a little “on my meds” right now. Help a Sister out.

I used to think I had a fairly good command of the English language, but lately I am puzzled by words I thought I knew.

I don’t get the word “um” in its current usage.  Read the following sentence to see what I mean:

Um excuse me, are these not the most ridiculous sunglasses you’ve ever seen?

I am quoting a nice girl named Karla whose blog is very popular. Her readers seem to speak her language. I know she’s saying, “These sunglasses are awesome,” but what’s with the “um?”

Does “um” at the beginning of a sentence mean “wow?” This is a genuine question! Whatever it means in this context, I want it to stop.

If this were a movie instead of a blog, I’d cut to a fantasy sequence.

“Karla? It’s me, I’m at Bloomingdale’s trying on fur crap. Want to hang out?”

“Hi, honey. I’ll be home late tonight. Karla is taking me to this insane gym to help me build up my legs. Bye!”

While searching for images of midgets, I glanced at a Q & A thing about which word is correct to use for Little People. Someone complained that the very question implied an “othering” of the group under discussion.  Uh-oh!

Today, in an essay about the obvious racism behind the right-wing attacks on health care reform, I read that:

“This noise is about race. It is about “othering” a President who is seen as a symbol of white dispossession: dispossession of white hegemony, white entitlement, white expectation, and white power, unquestioned and unchallenged from the darker skinned other.”

Yeah, baby! I couldn’t agree more.  But “othering” is going to be hard to beat for the title of most awful new buzzword. Ugh!

Who would like to nominate another linguistic crime or misdemeanor?

Your rocker chic look will revolve around the leather dress. These two are at Intermix.  Haha, I already have mine.

I’ve got my over-the-knee leather boots and my six leather jackets. Now all I’m missing are the leather you-know-whats (I’ve decided never to use the word “leggings” again, after reading this account of an idiotic personal struggle over them.)

Is there another word I can use? “The L-word” is already taken.  I need suggestions.

As you all know, Rachel Zoe is claiming to have trademarked the words “I die” and “bananas,” in order to stop some t-shirt designer from making money off her. It’s okay with me, since I usually use the word banana as a singular noun. And I like to say “why can’t I just die?” rather than Rachel’s two word exclamation.

However, I’d like to announce that from now on, the expression What a Fucking Cunt™ is my trademark and may only be used accordingly. Just last night, I used the expression to describe Nick Harcourt, a guy who is probably not on your radar but is still a cunt nonetheless.

Did anyone get a little creeped out by my use of the word “radar” just now? I know it bothered me but I used it anyway. I am extremely sensitive to words and word usage, and luckily there is a German word for this trait, sprachgefühl. It’s one of my favorite words, like neurasthenia.

Lately, I’ve been annoyed by the word “epic” used to describe fashion, as in “Oh, that sweater is epic!” Ugh, is my first and second reaction. I want to hear “epic” in conjunction with “Gone with the Wind” or “Moby Dick,” not a fucking sweater. It’s making me sick just thinking about an epic sweater. Make it stop!

Recently, my articulate and argumentative Nephew Wolf agreed with me that the word “grow” is annoying in its current usage as a transitive verb to describe business or government, like “We need to grow this economy.” It just sounds fucked up, doesn’t it?  I was happy to find a usage guide that agreed with me.

Have any words been bothering you lately? How are you feeling about “recessionista” for example?

Today I stopped at a Starbucks on my way home from an exciting outing to a box store. I checked out the two girls in front of me, who were decked out in a weird combination of work-out attire and leather. They were both tall and somewhat lesbitious looking.

One of them addressed the barista as though speaking to a member of a lower caste. “We want the coffee that gives money to AIDS,” she explained. “We want to make sure we get that kind, okay? That’s why we came here.”

(Now, I’ve seen the new Starbucks commercial, announcing that 5 cents from each coffee will go to the Aids fund.)

The guy looked baffled but game. “Uh, okay,” he said. “I’m not sure what kind that is.” He conferred with another guy and took the girls’ orders. They spoke loudly, like the Martian family on Saturday Night Live pretending to be from Paris.

“How do we know that the money is going to the charity?” demanded the more lesbitious of the two. The guy fumbled his way through an answer, obviously unaware of how the Starbucks ‘Red’ enterprise was supposed to work.

Watching this interaction, I was absolutely flabbergasted. I wanted to scream, “I’ll give five dollars to AIDS if you’ll just shut the fuck up and let me get my coffee, you fucking morons! You’re talking about ten cents!”

After politely ordering a normal cup of coffee, I wandered outside, filled with rage and wonder. Are there really people walking around, expecting the Nobel prize for giving ten cents to charity? This is why I’m better off staying at home and sending the husband to go to the box store.

I’ve just read about the Starbucks Red deal at the Starbucks website, where I learned that:

“In honor of the 20th World AIDS Day on Dec. 1, Starbucks will contribute five cents from every hand-crafted beverage sold that day at participating stores in the U.S. and Canada to increase awareness of AIDS in Africa.”

Hand-crafted beverage?! God. Just yesterday, I realized how much I hate the word “artisan,” thanks to hearing it attached to things like bread. Now I’m ready to hate “hand-crafted” too.