Ever have words that just totally gross you out, even if they have no gross connotation? Then there are the words that DO have gross connotations that are even more disgusting. These words are uncomfortable to say, feel nasty to hear, look disgusting in print, and just leave a terrible, awful taste in your mouth and a clenching pit in your stomach. So here it is--my compilation of the top 35 grossest words in the English language. Brace yourself; this is not for the weak-stomached.
1. Moist
2. Crusty
3. Discharge
4. Bolus
5. Pus
6. Phlegm
7. Viral
8. Pubic, Pubertal, Puberty, Pube, etc.
9. Warts
10. Ballsack
11. Turgid
12. Rectum
13. Limpid
14. Pimple
15. Nipple
16. Panties
17. Lips
18. Testes
19. Flaccid
20. Feces
21. Lumps
22. Juices
23. Cleavage
24. Chaffing
25. Foreskin
26. Placenta
27. Ebola
28. Festering
29. Spermy
30. Boil
31. Tubules
32. Jiggle
33. Spew
34. Upchuck
35. Squirt
Monday, August 1, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Great Expectations
“I don’t expect much from people in general.”
My friend said this to me one night during a discussion on Facebook chat, and when I asked him why, he explained, “they will always just disappoint me.”
Wow. Really?
For some reason, that rubbed me entirely the wrong way. Sure, I guess some people can and will disappoint you, but should that put a blanket over your holistic view of people? Has my friend really been so terribly mistreated, so horribly let down by everyone that he has learned not to expect anything from anyone? I doubt it.
And even if he had been let down by everyone in his life, what makes it okay to lower your standards so people meet your expectations? It’s like erasing the chalky, etched foul line on the pavement and re-drawing it a few feet closer to the basketball hoop. Sure, it may not challenge you anymore, but at least the ball easily swishes through the net every time you shoot.
In elementary and middle school, I remember suffering the consequences of maintaining the scapegoat status in my group of friends. I never got to sit in the middle of the lunch table (everyone knows the people on the ends have it the worst; I had to strain my already sub-par ears just to catch the punch line of a funny story). My friends never invited me into their secret clubs (I distinctly remember them forming a “Bean Club” from which I was excluded, and then ridiculed for not belonging to it. Um, if you’re not going to invite me to your club, how do you justify making fun of me for not being part of it? In retrospect, I’m happy I never joined the Bean Club. My friends probably would’ve made sure I was the kidney bean or lima bean, or something else that’s totally low on the Bean Hierarchy.)
I never accepted those little jabs at my confidence level as okay; I realized that I deserved better friends and I slowly cut off ties with the group (they did finally invite me into the Bean Club; I politely declined).
Now, eight years later, I would definitely say I have good friends--and lots of them. Sure, some of them have disappointed me, and I’m sure I have disappointed some of them. I’m not perfect (by any means), and I don’t expect the important people in my life to be. In fact, I don’t expect anyone in my life to be. Perfection isn’t what I look for—I look for “good enough.”
But what is good enough? Clearly, my friend’s “good enough” does not match mine. His “good enough” is so low, that nobody can disappoint him. Of what use is that?
Is it snobby to hold high expectations of people?
More importantly, what expectations are considered too high?
Overall, I expect kindness. I expect generosity, conscientiousness, and genuine concern about other people. I don't think that's too much to ask.
Why isn't it too much to ask? Because the majority of people actually possess these traits. Enough of this crap about society being selfish, greedy and egotistical. I believe that people are inherently good, caring about others as much as (or more than) they care about themselves. Some will say that this optimism about people is naïve or ignorant—I think it’s ignorant to think otherwise. Call me easy to please, but I am ultimately satisfied with nearly everyone I meet.
And when I’m not satisfied, I move on. I don’t believe that you should lower your expectations to prevent disappointment. If someone disappoints you, it should only propel you to raise your standards for the next person you meet. Because unless you’re looking at someone like James Franco (sexy, talented and smart? Okay, he just might be perfect), there’s always going to be someone who surprisingly surpasses your expectations.
So, while I’m waiting for that person, I will continue to maintain my high standards. And I can only hope that everyone else does, too. My expectations may not always be met, but at least I know that when they are, that person really does meet them. I won’t re-locate my foul line closer to the net—I’d rather wait longer for someone to make the shot from half court. And I know someone will.
My friend said this to me one night during a discussion on Facebook chat, and when I asked him why, he explained, “they will always just disappoint me.”
Wow. Really?
For some reason, that rubbed me entirely the wrong way. Sure, I guess some people can and will disappoint you, but should that put a blanket over your holistic view of people? Has my friend really been so terribly mistreated, so horribly let down by everyone that he has learned not to expect anything from anyone? I doubt it.
And even if he had been let down by everyone in his life, what makes it okay to lower your standards so people meet your expectations? It’s like erasing the chalky, etched foul line on the pavement and re-drawing it a few feet closer to the basketball hoop. Sure, it may not challenge you anymore, but at least the ball easily swishes through the net every time you shoot.
In elementary and middle school, I remember suffering the consequences of maintaining the scapegoat status in my group of friends. I never got to sit in the middle of the lunch table (everyone knows the people on the ends have it the worst; I had to strain my already sub-par ears just to catch the punch line of a funny story). My friends never invited me into their secret clubs (I distinctly remember them forming a “Bean Club” from which I was excluded, and then ridiculed for not belonging to it. Um, if you’re not going to invite me to your club, how do you justify making fun of me for not being part of it? In retrospect, I’m happy I never joined the Bean Club. My friends probably would’ve made sure I was the kidney bean or lima bean, or something else that’s totally low on the Bean Hierarchy.)
I never accepted those little jabs at my confidence level as okay; I realized that I deserved better friends and I slowly cut off ties with the group (they did finally invite me into the Bean Club; I politely declined).
Now, eight years later, I would definitely say I have good friends--and lots of them. Sure, some of them have disappointed me, and I’m sure I have disappointed some of them. I’m not perfect (by any means), and I don’t expect the important people in my life to be. In fact, I don’t expect anyone in my life to be. Perfection isn’t what I look for—I look for “good enough.”
But what is good enough? Clearly, my friend’s “good enough” does not match mine. His “good enough” is so low, that nobody can disappoint him. Of what use is that?
Is it snobby to hold high expectations of people?
More importantly, what expectations are considered too high?
Overall, I expect kindness. I expect generosity, conscientiousness, and genuine concern about other people. I don't think that's too much to ask.
Why isn't it too much to ask? Because the majority of people actually possess these traits. Enough of this crap about society being selfish, greedy and egotistical. I believe that people are inherently good, caring about others as much as (or more than) they care about themselves. Some will say that this optimism about people is naïve or ignorant—I think it’s ignorant to think otherwise. Call me easy to please, but I am ultimately satisfied with nearly everyone I meet.
And when I’m not satisfied, I move on. I don’t believe that you should lower your expectations to prevent disappointment. If someone disappoints you, it should only propel you to raise your standards for the next person you meet. Because unless you’re looking at someone like James Franco (sexy, talented and smart? Okay, he just might be perfect), there’s always going to be someone who surprisingly surpasses your expectations.
So, while I’m waiting for that person, I will continue to maintain my high standards. And I can only hope that everyone else does, too. My expectations may not always be met, but at least I know that when they are, that person really does meet them. I won’t re-locate my foul line closer to the net—I’d rather wait longer for someone to make the shot from half court. And I know someone will.
Friday, February 25, 2011
15 Things That Inexplicably Freak Me Out
1. The ball of dried up lotion that forms over the opening of the lotion bottle pump. Whenever I rub my hands together and feel it between my palms, a shiver travels from deep inside my gastrointestinal tract, up through my esophagus, and out my skin. I have to flick it away as quickly as possible, not caring where it lands, as long as it’s no longer on ME.
2. The hard, dried-up edge of a piece of cheese that’s been sitting in the fridge too long. I have to make a 2-inch diameter cut around the end of the dryness just to eat it—and by then, the provolone has completely lost all its integrity.
3. Eating a too-long piece of spaghetti, not being able to swallow it, and then feeling it sliding allllll the way up my throat as I’m pulling it out.
4. Crunchy peanut butter. In high school, I once traded my turkey sandwich for my friend’s peanut butter and Fluff. We have creamy peanut butter at home, so when I bit into the sandwich and instantly crunched on something that I irrationally thought was my tooth, I was traumatized by the crunchiness of the Jiff for life. (This is sad—I used to love crunchy peanut butter!)
5. Q-tips reaching too far into my ears and touching the back of my throat. I don’t know the exact physiology, and maybe it doesn’t ACTUALLY touch the back of my throat, but it sure as heck feels like it.
6. Orange circus peanuts. Hello, gag reflex.
7. The skin that forms on top of cooling hot chocolate. When I was younger, I used to go Christmas caroling with neighbors. When we got back, the hostess always made us hot chocolate—which should be in quotation marks, because there is NOTHING hot chocolatey about heating up Turkey Hill 2% lowfat chocolate milk in a saucepan over the stove. Not only is the flavor just off, but if you leave your cup alone for .02 seconds, this skin develops over the surface that you have to peel up and put on the edge of your cup. Ew.
8. The word “moist.”
9. Congealed oatmeal. Just today, I made myself oatmeal and got distracted and forgot to eat it. When I returned to the once-steaming, delicious bowl of Splenda-and-cinnamon hearty goodness, I saw that it became a cold, Splenda-and-cinnamon bowl of jellied oats and water. The surface of oatmeal shouldn’t bounce when you lightly touch it with your spoon, right? Growing up with the “don’t waste ANY food!” mentality, I braved one slithery, slippery bite of oatmeal (that had no business being called “oatmeal”)—and no more.
10. The water in the cottage cheese container before I stir it. Sure, it stirs up in 2 seconds so I don’t have too long of grossed out-ness, but that slightly-off color liquid in the middle of the container really just makes me wonder…what, exactly, am I eating?
11. The feeling of falling off the bed when I’m going to sleep. I realize it’s some kind of scientific, explainable thing, but I just hate it.
12. The rubbery yet hard cartilage nub that catches me completely off guard when eating chicken. It just bounces between one’s teeth in such an undesirable way. (Note: I don’t think this should be considered “inexplicable,” because I really don’t know if anyone would NOT be grossed out by that.)
13. The stringy things on the roof of my mouth when I burn it on a hot piece of pizza. (Yes, you all know what I’m talking about.)
14. Getting a paper cut on the tip of my finger. The paper cut itself isn’t what bothers me—it’s the process of actually feeling the edge of the paper slicing through the top layer of my skin that just sends chills through my body.
15. Accidentally swallowing my cough drop.
2. The hard, dried-up edge of a piece of cheese that’s been sitting in the fridge too long. I have to make a 2-inch diameter cut around the end of the dryness just to eat it—and by then, the provolone has completely lost all its integrity.
3. Eating a too-long piece of spaghetti, not being able to swallow it, and then feeling it sliding allllll the way up my throat as I’m pulling it out.
4. Crunchy peanut butter. In high school, I once traded my turkey sandwich for my friend’s peanut butter and Fluff. We have creamy peanut butter at home, so when I bit into the sandwich and instantly crunched on something that I irrationally thought was my tooth, I was traumatized by the crunchiness of the Jiff for life. (This is sad—I used to love crunchy peanut butter!)
5. Q-tips reaching too far into my ears and touching the back of my throat. I don’t know the exact physiology, and maybe it doesn’t ACTUALLY touch the back of my throat, but it sure as heck feels like it.
6. Orange circus peanuts. Hello, gag reflex.
7. The skin that forms on top of cooling hot chocolate. When I was younger, I used to go Christmas caroling with neighbors. When we got back, the hostess always made us hot chocolate—which should be in quotation marks, because there is NOTHING hot chocolatey about heating up Turkey Hill 2% lowfat chocolate milk in a saucepan over the stove. Not only is the flavor just off, but if you leave your cup alone for .02 seconds, this skin develops over the surface that you have to peel up and put on the edge of your cup. Ew.
8. The word “moist.”
9. Congealed oatmeal. Just today, I made myself oatmeal and got distracted and forgot to eat it. When I returned to the once-steaming, delicious bowl of Splenda-and-cinnamon hearty goodness, I saw that it became a cold, Splenda-and-cinnamon bowl of jellied oats and water. The surface of oatmeal shouldn’t bounce when you lightly touch it with your spoon, right? Growing up with the “don’t waste ANY food!” mentality, I braved one slithery, slippery bite of oatmeal (that had no business being called “oatmeal”)—and no more.
10. The water in the cottage cheese container before I stir it. Sure, it stirs up in 2 seconds so I don’t have too long of grossed out-ness, but that slightly-off color liquid in the middle of the container really just makes me wonder…what, exactly, am I eating?
11. The feeling of falling off the bed when I’m going to sleep. I realize it’s some kind of scientific, explainable thing, but I just hate it.
12. The rubbery yet hard cartilage nub that catches me completely off guard when eating chicken. It just bounces between one’s teeth in such an undesirable way. (Note: I don’t think this should be considered “inexplicable,” because I really don’t know if anyone would NOT be grossed out by that.)
13. The stringy things on the roof of my mouth when I burn it on a hot piece of pizza. (Yes, you all know what I’m talking about.)
14. Getting a paper cut on the tip of my finger. The paper cut itself isn’t what bothers me—it’s the process of actually feeling the edge of the paper slicing through the top layer of my skin that just sends chills through my body.
15. Accidentally swallowing my cough drop.
Friday, January 7, 2011
"I was woken up this morning by the massive sound of everyone dropping their new year's resolutions" --David Spade
Every New Year, I make the same resolutions. Lose weight, bring up my GPA, and read more books. And every year, they're broken by Week 1. This year, I decided to go with resolutions that may be more easily feasible.
Ingrid's 2011 New Year's Resolutions
1. Don’t drop anything in the toilet.
2. Learn something other than a bad karaoke version of “I Will Always Love You” with which to serenade my roommates while in the shower.
3. Try to limit my shoe shopping to just one pair of hot pink heels.
4. Stop gorging on pokey sticks, pizza, Chinese takeout and Ben and Jerry’s every weekend with the justification that “calories don’t count on weekends.” My skinny jeans are now telling me “yeah, they do.”
5. Broaden my horizons in the kitchen—and stop considering “adding an egg to the Ramen Noodles” to be sophisticated cooking.
6. If I’m going to take the bus, it has to be for longer than just one stop. Unless it’s raining. Or snowing. Or exceptionally cold, windy, cloudy, or anything other than 70-degree sunny skies.
7. Stop using the excuse of “having a good hair day” for not going to the gym.
8. Change my sheets.
Ingrid's 2011 New Year's Resolutions
1. Don’t drop anything in the toilet.
2. Learn something other than a bad karaoke version of “I Will Always Love You” with which to serenade my roommates while in the shower.
3. Try to limit my shoe shopping to just one pair of hot pink heels.
4. Stop gorging on pokey sticks, pizza, Chinese takeout and Ben and Jerry’s every weekend with the justification that “calories don’t count on weekends.” My skinny jeans are now telling me “yeah, they do.”
5. Broaden my horizons in the kitchen—and stop considering “adding an egg to the Ramen Noodles” to be sophisticated cooking.
6. If I’m going to take the bus, it has to be for longer than just one stop. Unless it’s raining. Or snowing. Or exceptionally cold, windy, cloudy, or anything other than 70-degree sunny skies.
7. Stop using the excuse of “having a good hair day” for not going to the gym.
8. Change my sheets.
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