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November 16, 2006

That's how I roll. Period.

As you may have read earlier this week, or perhaps it was last week, I don't know as all the days have run together and this morning I woke up and got into the shower with both socks on because that is how coherent and brainy my brain is these days, but! as you may know, my frontal and backal lobes are hurting with "work" and "Please dear Lord make this thing I am creating not suck, too much" and also, once when I was sort of desperate and only kind of meant it, "WHERE ARE THE REALLY GOOD EARTHQUAKES WHEN YOU NEED THEM?"

I know someone out there will blame me if we have an earthquake now, but I was deranged with lack of sleep. Also, I have had Visible Panty Lines all week because I haven't done laundry (SHOCKER!!!! ALERT THE MEDIA!!!!!) and the only butt-floss undies I have left are the lacy ones and ...heh. You know my Dad is somewhere in Florida reading this right now and saying, "For the love of GOD make the child STOP talking about her underwear to strangers!"

Suffice it to say the lacy ones are not so much comfy. So I'm rocking the Hanes Her Way or more accurately, Hanes, Her Way 15 Pounds Ago When These Fit Without Riding Up. Whatever.

I said all of that so I could convey with the utmost confidence and believability that I have an actual reason for this column to be both boring and ridiculous and also, Make Not Of Any Sense Much. And, in a twist of even crueler and boringer fate, there are vocabulary words needed for this episode. Today's Vocabulary:

pelon (peh-LON) - Spanglish for baldie, or someone with a shaved head; "He who owns the dome."

peloncito (peh-LON-see-toe) - Cutesy for pelon (see above.) While it can rhyme with the word CHEETO, has nothing to do with snack foods.

dork (dOrk) - Me. For picture, see "any photograph featuring me."


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Here is the scene. It is Tuesday. I am in my office, on the phone. El Peloncito is off work, so he is home illegally (NO, YOUR HONOR, THAT WAS A TYPO. I MEANT TO SAY 'LEGALLY') downloading a whole bunch of songs. We are having one of those conversations wherein I say "uh-huh" a lot, as I am at work trying to pull a brilliant Flash product demo out of my nether regions. I am simultaneously discovering that my butt does not, in fact, contain brilliance of the online animation variety. And I am sad.


Pelon: I'm getting that new 2pac, it's bad, (sings) "Get it on, mutha*** get it on!"

Me: Ooooh, will you download the new Beyonce for me?

Pelon: (sigh of exasperation as if I have just harshed his cool gangsta buzz with my girly song request) (then pause) (then he sings the first part of the aforementioned girly Beyonce song) "To the left, to the left..."

Me: Hee.

Pelon: And I'm downloading PitBull, he's bad. You'll see. I'm burning it for you, too. Gonna get you gangsta so you can roll.

Me: Hrmph. You say that as if I do not already roll. I roll perfectly fine as is thankyouverymuch.

Pelon: Mujer, please.


Later Tuesday night I get the CDs from el peloncito, and the next morning I listen to them during the three-million-hour car ride to my job, where still (surprise!) no brilliant Flash demos have sprung forth from my rump. There is a 9 a.m. staff meeting in which I am tempted to stand up and announce, "I like big butts and I cannot lie! You other brothers can't deny! But there's no Flash demo inside!"

Yet, surprisingly, I stay silent.

In the afternoon, I am in my office with the door mostly shut, listening to these CDs on random shuffle and frantically trying to get a button on my project to actually WORK when I realize I am thisclose to maybe runnin' up on you with a forty. Most interestingly of all, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT PHRASE EVEN MEANS. Yet it is what pops into my head, and also out of my mouth, when Coworker asks me how I am.


Coworker: How are you? You want a midday coffee run?
Me: I am thisclose to runnin up on some homey with a forty.
Coworker:
Coworker: They have peppermint flavored mocha now at Coffee Bean.
Me: I'm down for that.
Coworker: OK ... weirdo.


Then it dawns on me that through el peloncito and the power of music, I have turned fully gangsta.

I text him to let him know. Out of courtesy, you see.

Me:
Dear Peloncito,
Thank you so much for the CDs. I am now gangsta. Word up.
Yours, Laurie

Pelon: Yeah... you so gangsta that you punctuate.

Me: I roll with punctuation and grammar. We shall bust a comma up in your ass.

Pelon:

Pelon:

Pelon: You mean up in my semiCOLON?


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And that is all I have for you today, another day in which I work, mis-use slang from about ten years ago, wear unflattering underwear and manage to slip in a little reference to both traffic and Cheetos. I am unfailingly predictable. The only thing that could save face, aside from a fully-formed flash demo springing forth from my visble panty lines, would be a cat throwing gang signs.


bob-gangsta.jpg

Posted by laurie at November 16, 2006 9:57 AM