Category Archives: dunders
i was going to do a different blog than this one; a zen-do-da blog (see link for more on zen-do-da if you don’t know what that is)
i was all set to be blissful and encouraging and uplifting. i’ve read The Secret, you know, and other books like that. i DO believe that we have the option and power to make our lives what we want. sort of. i mean, i believe that changing our thoughts for the better equals finding and receiving better things. but this blog went south on me…sort of literally.
so i’m in the bathroom (hey we all poop, there’s a book about it)
and i’m reading one of these happy books, telling me that i’m in control. usually in these situations (moments of … reclining in the restroom) i’m working a Sudoku puzzle. i know, i know, TMI. whatever. but i’m out of puzzles for this purpose, so i’m reading this feel good book and making notes with my little red pen. and i’m all “la la la, life is good” when i drop my pen down the toilet. for real??
and i’m wondering to myself: how does an artist or writer apply the ideas and beliefs of the Secret to his life? and i’m hoping any of you followers out there will join in on this as a discussion. because The Secret poses a dilemma for those of us in the art industry.
if i were a professional bowler, or a mail delivery agent, or a worker in any one of a million different fields, i could see how The Secret thinking could improve my life and my productivity. but for those of us who are writers and artists, how do we make this work?
if you haven’t read The Secret, i highly recommend you do. otherwise you will have no idea what i’m talking about here, and that’s no fun at all. basically the premise is that what you think is what you get. if you put out a bunch of negative thoughts and energy, that’s what you are bringing right back to you. if, on the other hand, you are putting out love, and happiness, and good thoughts, you will be getting back same.
ok, you may or may not agree with all that. that we will save for another blog.
this blog wants discussion.
if i’m a writer, i can’t just sit and write about a girl picking daisies all day. boring. then she goes and walks along the beach, and finds a million dollars in a packet of 10’s and 20’s, non sequentially numbered and wrapped in a pink bow, so she doesn’t even have to claim taxes if she doesn’t want. and along came mr. right, you get the picture. i can’t do this. as an artist, i CAN’T sit and look at the beautiful all day long, because that isn’t where all the heart tearing emotions lie.
the heart tearing emotions, the things that MOVE us are in the dark! they are lying in a gutter, homeless and underfed. they are sitting at the table with a morning cup of coffee, crying over their mashed up marriage or their dying soul. they are tying themselves up in sheets at night from tossing and turning over their nightmares. THIS is where the interest is for a writer, or painter, or a poet. the angst. the pain. the agonizing loneliness of life.
because we all feel it at times, and tapping into that commonality is magical, and links us all together till we are one spool of thread.
so all you blogging authors and feely artists out there, how do we make The Secret work for us, without losing the inspiration that grief and sorrow provide?
Where does Bullshit come from?
I mean, the obvious answer to that is “from Bulls”.
but where does the phrase/word “Bullshit” originate? Kind of a rancher swearword, you know?
If you are somewhere they don’t have bulls – like the underwater city of Atlantis for example – you wouldn’t get what I meant if I said that was bullshit. Would you?\
So do they say “GiraffeShit” in Africa; or “KangarooShit” in New Zealand?
on me and call the FBI to apprehend those in my household ~ this was a Polar Bear nose. Of the Stuffenad Animaleus genus. I made a display at work that was meant to encourage volunteerism; stuff like joining Habitat for Humanity, or World Wildlife Fund, or the Nature Conservancy. That kind of thing. We have all kinds of books on volunteer vacations and I thought it would make a good display, so up went all the endangered toys: leopards, wolves, and polar bears. I put up a few super heroes and tried to imply that you would gain massive mystical abilities by serving your community. I’m pretty sure no one was fooled by this chicanery. While preparing at home for the display, the nose popped off the polar bear, so I just had the mamma bear cleaning the baby bear at work, and no one was the wiser.
Except my sister, when she found what she thought was a random dog nose laying around the house. Now I know there are people in the world who would just say to themselves, “dang it, my kid broke another toy” or “ackk, the vacuum will NOT like THIS”. And yes, these things are logical responses.
But having a life full of wonder involves re-thinking your typical responses. Yes I can just pick up the nose and throw it away, or put it and the broken bear in a bag to give to a charity, or set it aside to mend. But life is so much more magical when I take a moment to reflect, and look at the nose on the carpet and ask myself: what kind of boogers would come out of a carpet’s nose?
i mean, this whole configuration here of all the nicely even bricks lying out in the open, it’s very appealing to me aesthetically. but if i were an ant, look at all those places i could get into an accident! i’m going along, minding my own business, carrying home my bagel sanwich i stole from the picnic, and out of the blue this jerk carrying a pickle sliver comes out of nowhere and cuts me off! now i have to decide if i want to drop my bagel sandwich and chase him down with my road rage, or just take it on the chin like a good little soldier, all passive like, and head home to feed the little ones. or the queen bee. whoever.
anyway, just wondered…
so when do men start calling their friends “buddies”?
i’m pretty sure when we are all in kindergarten we are still calling each other “friend” and “playmate”, and then by junior high we learn great words like “my BFF” and the like. so when does this transition occur? it is a rare occassion when i talk to an adult male and he says “i’m going over to my friend’s house to play video games” or “i’m getting drunk this weekend with my friend”. does this transition to “buddy” happen in high school? college?
male readers: please respond!
eih thkdi fiol, dig r dithhfeic. eocni i wrlife dkith thkid, ccfght thker fkie rrll thioeij foikjd.
EITHH! fioej fliehsk thiekk vorlek goieks foek. wekdoker! dldlijrk feiid eoijdrlke foed r. om r soidt?
What does the sperm say to the egg?
Today my sister and I were making fun of me. It’s one of our favorite pastimes, and in case this sounds self deprecating (sometimes true) it wasn’t; I find it healthy to laugh at myself from time to time. And anyway, everyone else laughs at me so I might as well join the fun!
I’m getting older, and lately you would think I was trying to get pregnant; my hair is growing faster, my notoriously short fingernails are noticeably longer and now I find I actually have to file the buggers, and my girly cycle has changed; sped up. Bodhi joked that I’m reaching the last possible windows of opportunity for pregnancy, so my body is just shooting eggs out of me like a machine gun…pap pap pap. Come on, make a baby, pap pap pap.
It reminded us of an episode of the Bachelor, when the bachelor had just met all his possible future ex-wives, and one girl stood out among the rest. Professional. Dark hair. Short and tiny, like a cute little thing should be. Not that she was all that cute, but if a guy wants a pocket wife, she would do. They seemed a perfectly likely pair, in her eyes, because she worked in the medical field, and he was…I don’t know, handsome? She said something to him that went kind of like: “ok, so my eggs are going to waste and I’ve got to get started if I want to have a kid, so…what do you think?” Now of course, this is a paraphrase, but she really did talk about her eggs going to waste, or shriveling, or something horrendously awkward when you are talking to a man you are trying to convince into dating you. No hand holding; no snuggling; just gimme the sperm so I can be a mommy already.
This led us into wonderment over the female womb and internals. Perhaps if it’s been a long time since the last sexual partner the female doorway to heaven creaks open noisily, like a haunted house in a Vincent Price movie, begrudgingly letting someone through the threshold and into the dark wonders. Creak…creak…
Are there cobwebs? Do the little sperms have to fight their way around dust bunnies and spider webs, desperately looking for the little egg he is so eager to find?
Does it echo in there? “HELLO!” the sperm shouts into the vast, empty darkness. “HeLLo” “Hello” “hello”. *sigh* He should have brought a sack lunch and a bottle of water; this looks to be a long journey…
Do boogers have nutritional value?
Some time ago I was driving to work, or home from work, I can’t recall – and I saw an older gentleman walking along the street. A senior citizen. I don’t know his state of mind, or whether or not he was suffering from dementia, Alzheimer’s, or starvation, but he stuck his finger far up into the cavities of his nose hole, and proceeded to eat his findings.
I know that children do this, go digging for treasure in the nostrils, and then munch away. But I didn’t realize people do this when they get old as well.
So is it just a fun, weird thing, that your body produces these little bite-sized raisins that are obviously too tempting to resist (unless you are a functioning rational person in polite society who realizes there are cameras watching you on every street)? Or is there nutritional value in a nose chew? Not that I’m embarking on eating my body’s waste products, but hey, if I’m stuck in a cave in the dead of winter with no food, it’s probably better than chewing my arm off.
Because I am not a plot person. I am a scene person.
I remember pictures and moments and specific emotions.
Words color the ideas, like crayons filling in a coloring book. Sometimes people like to use words that cover a lot of ground. Like ‘Tired” for instance. If someone says to me they are tired, I can relate. But what do you mean, really? Are you tired as in sleepy? Are you physically worn down from doing too much? Are you bored, and therefore tired of your situation? Are you depressed and tired of your job, which is maybe leaning more toward despondency? I mean, sure you can get out a big blue crayon, and color the person in the coloring book blue, for “waaaahhh”. Or you could use Cerulean Blue, and Indigo, and Cornflower.
I know this makes me a difficult person (along with all the other issues I have that make me difficult. wait, i’m trying to convince myself i am challenging, interesting and colorful rather than difficult. so COLORFUL is what we’ll go with today) I know this means I’m annoying to people at times, asking them to specify the meaning of their phrase so I can more clearly place their emotional outburst in the right filing drawer.
But words are important to me.
In fact, I create my own words because I often find my own language just slightly lacking in some expressions I need. Or maybe it isn’t the language, maybe I just don’t remember the words I’m looking for, so spontaneously make up something to act as pinch hitter for the missing word that won’t surface in my brain. In junior high I used “honkin’ ” a lot. Everything was honkin’ big. I used this expression especially when making fun of my drama teacher, Mr. Serafino. I actually adored the man, but he was an interesting character, and kids often picked on him for his strange, passionate, intense ways (Italian), his large nose and his need to wear disco pants. But he was my favorite teacher. Still, I had to chime in once in a while and pick on “Serafinose” for his “honkin’ big nose”. I swore I made that expression up. Obviously I didn’t make up the word, because people have been honking their horns for forever. But to describe a large object, I was sure it was a phrase I’d coined. Yet decades later I heard the expression in a movie.
“They stole my word!” was all I could think.
So this blog is for sharing my words. I tend to tag these entries under “denelleiopedia” but my sister doesn’t approve of this word. So “dunder dictionary” is what it’s becoming. I’ll likely amend the list later, or create another when I’ve amassed more. But in case these words ever become a part of culture, I’m claiming them as my own, so you heard it here first. (or read it. whatever)
1. To question or consider something or the meaning of something
(i/e: what do you think is behind the gate in the Lion’s Gate symbol at the beginning of the movie?)
2. A question or hypothetical situation proposing an idea or seeking further information.
(i/e: if you were trying to open that gate, would you use pliers, or a crowbar, or like one of those big hefting things they used to batter down doors in the old days?)
3. An annoyance.
(i/e: Denelle, can you just watch this movie and shut up?)
1. Something that creates or causes a sense of disgust.
2. Vomit inducing.
3. Utterly gross or disgusting.
(Her sweater is so vomitationous. I’m surprised he can even LOOK at her when she’s wearing that, let alone kiss her.)
(“Ewww, that chili cheese dog was too much.” “Dude, don’t get all vomitationous on me”)
1. To set a timer to record a television show. In most households this might commonly be called “programming”. Other adjectives include DVR, tape, record.
(“Hey will you timerize that show so we don’t forget to watch it?”)
1. A horrible commercial for a ridiculous product that is really a blanket with arms. (which we happen to own in Michigan State University theme)
2. A blanket for old people (and people who get funny gifts from their family).
3. Warm, safe and comfortable.
4. Yummy feeling.
5. Warmth inducing item.
1. An unpleasant texture.
2. Coarse, rough material.
(ewww, those socks are all scritchy)
3. Undesirable emotions.
4. Unstable and dangerous frame of mind or state of being. (“I’m feeling a little scritchy today”, she says as she drives the car into a tree)
1. A slovenly, bad postured person.
2. In disrepair.
4. A person with a distinctive “ick-factor”.
5. Kafuffled. (I think L.M. Montgomery coined this word in Anne of Green Gables. I could be wrong)
(I imagine this is what she meant by the word)
1. At a loss. (I’m all kafuffled, I don’t know what to say)
3. Taken off guard.
4. Emotionally ruffled.
1. A relaxed, gentle state of being.
2. Philosophies and belief systems that create a sense of Zen wisdom.
3. A phrase that reveals jealousy or disdain for those people who do not get “ruffled” by life’s antics.
4. Casual categorization of spiritual matters that seem too lofty or advanced for the speaker to reach, attain or achieve.
1. A remote control device that increases the volume of entertainment equipment and gadgets. Commonly referred to as “the clicker” by some, or “the remote” by others.
(Can you find the volumizer for me? I can’t hear the T.V.)
1. The most easiest thing.
(more to come sometime, stay tuned)
when describing the issues, feelings, and surrounding energies of having Dissociative Identity Disorder (also Multiple Personality Disorder) . pronounced like “giddiness”, the stranger “DIDieness” would be used like this: “I didn’t know anything about my DIDieness until I was in my late twenties. Well, officially anyway”.
DIDie, or perhaps DIDy:
one who has DID, i/e Multiple Personality Disorder
some things that fall into the Tick~Tockery category are as follows, but not limited to: gadgets, gears, clockwork, ornamentation, James Bond type toys and Mission Impossible style undercover work, pretty fastenings, old machinery, and Steampunk stylings, keys, fobs, chains and such goodies.
for more on Tick~Tockery see https://accidentalhappiness.wordpress.com/2011/06/14/denelleiopedia-tick-tockery/
1. To be knocked over or knocked down. To fall over on one’s own accord or volition.
“that fat boy with the big nose tumped me over on the playground” or “don’t make me tump you over”
the infinite degree of yumminess allowable known to man