Wednesday, May 27, 2009




1. Marked by or suggestive of high spirits and lively mirthfulness


It's odd how your sour temperament can naturally turn to a joncund state of mind after three scotches, two xanax and a partial lobotomy.

People who are in a good mood always like to shove it in your face. Like people who just got laid for the first time in nine years who walk around town whistling and giving out unnecessary compliments, like they are in some 1950's musical and are just waiting for someone to hand them an umbrella so they can levitate into the fog and do some complicated dance number on top of the electrical lines.

"What a glorious day, the world is filled with possibilities. The sun is shining, here have five dollars, you're beautiful. La-la-la-la. "

The other day I was half asleep making my way out of the subway. I was late for work and had just been stuck in the tunnel for 10 minutes wedged next to a man eating McDonald's for breakfast and a mariachi band listening to the conductor say what amounted to, "Lageries and gentalzeen, we arrre fuccccckkeeeed, and I'm too tiaaared to expllllayn whyyy. BLAH!"

As I exited the train, a man rushing down the steps bumped into me and spilled coffee on my jeans and half my arm and in my effort to clean myself up I accidentally spilled the contents of half my bag onto the damp, filthy sidewalk. As I struggled to regain my composure, a look of completely merited irritation on my face; a man, wearing a purple Jansport backpack heavy with Green party political buttons, John Lennon sunglasses and what I'm pretty sure was a handmade hemp necklace passed me and said, "You should smile more, or your face will get stuck like that."

Call me crazy, but unless you are walking with someone who is goddamn hilarious, you are recently in love or you are listening to a witty podcast on your iPod, walking around the streets of New York smiling at strangers is creepy, desperate and just plain irritating. I always imagine that those weird people who walk around grinning like fools are either thrilled that their new anti-depressant seems to finally be working, or they have just killed someone and are overcompensating.

Granted I have those moments when I'm playing hooky from something and the sun is out and Maggie May just came on my iPod and I'm having a good hair day and my anti-depressants are finally working and I just killed someone and got away with it. And I feel happy, jocund even. And I want to tell everyone they are beautiful and give everyone five dollars. But I don't, because I have tact and self control and I don't feel the need to remind everyone that I am happy and they are miserable.

I'm pretty sure that's how you get punched in the face.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009



1. A large-scale slaughter

It is recommended to start out with a few small-scale slaughters before trying your hand and a hecatomb.

There's really nothing I love more than ritual animal sacrifice. Especially when it is done in the name of keeping the God's "happy".

There is an image in my head which I equate to figures like Santa Clause, The Lord and most Greek God's. The image is of a large obese man, balding slightly, a wife beater stained with barbecue sauce stretched over a large distended stomach. This man wears flip flops and unzipped cut off shorts. He sits in a reclining sofa chair and drinks beer all day, crushing each can against his forehead when finished and chucking the deflated cans at the feral cats which swarm about his house.

Occasionally a little winged servant will nervously knock on the screen door and ask the slurring belligerent God if there is anything that us mere morals could do to make his rage stop and bring peace to the earth. To this the nearly unconscious God would grunt, scratch his stomach and burp loudly before yelling,

"Shit man, I don't know. Make 'em kill a bunch of fucking cows or some shit."

The trembling winged servant will bow and politely ask how many cows or some shit had to be slaughtered to keep him happy.

And to that the gracious God would scratch his balls and say,

"You best kill a lot of mutherfucking bovine or I'm gonna be fucking pissssssssed, mutherfucker."

And thus a lot of motherfucking cows were hacked up and peace on earth was restored, chaos was kept at bay and there was much rejoicing.

“For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.”- John 3:17

Dear John Letter

Dear Merriam Webster,

Remember last week when I came home at 5 am smelling like sin, immediately took a shower and wouldn't look you in the eye? You asked me if there was someone else and I pretended to have a seizure so I didn't have to answer you? Remember when you came home early from work and caught me looking at a different word of the day website and my face turned red and I made up some excuse about it just being a pop up ad?

It wasn't a pop up ad my dear Webster, and there is someone else. I didn't mean for this to happen, I was perfectly happy with your words, I love your audio pronunciation and your Did You Know? section introduced me to more Latin word origins than I ever thought possible. But I need more. We started out so strong. We met, we hit it off, I gave you my e-mail address and you gave me words like Lickerish and Hachury. But it just seems like you don't care about me anymore, a few days ago you were so drunk you didn't even get out of bed all day and when I demanded you give me a word you mumbled the word posture and threw up. Posture? Then today I wake up determined to make it work with you and what word do you give me? Philadelphia Lawyer. I feel like you're not even trying to make this work.

I just want you to know that until this morning, nothing happened with me and Sure, I thought about it, but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But today something happened, I gave my e-mail address. He hasn't even written me a confirmation e-mail yet so who knows what will happen. But I did, and I want to be honest with you, it felt damn good pressing that subscribe button.

I don't want to end it with you, I just want to have choices ok? I still want to be friends and I occasionally still want to enjoy your words I just want the choice to have other words too. Does that make sense?

I'm sorry.

Xo, Eugenia

Sunday, May 24, 2009



1: lacking something needed or desirable
2: Lacking possessions and resources; especially : suffering extreme poverty

When you feel lost and destitute, just remember that one day you are going to die.

Occasionally I like to pretend I am in a soap opera. But one that is set in the 1910's and involves women sending telegrams to their thwarted lovers who may or may not be in a coma. Plus, diseases like cholera and scarlet fever are a much more romantic way of death than say....heroin overdose or terrorist attack.

And that fact that people in those days used to die of a broken heart makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Especially when that fact was stated in their obituary. "George Upskirt, after thirty years of marriage died of a broken heart when his beloved forgot he was allergic to peaches." Where as now a days nobody dies of broken heart, they die of stupidity or drug induced seizures after their heart is broken.

"Paul Smith died expectantly, after trying to prove that he was not gay to his girlfriend of six years, by having marathon sex with 34 strippers. He is survived by almost everyone."

So, occasionally when I've been watching too many poorly adapted Bronte movies, I like to pepper my phrases with a list of words which make me feel like a character in Jane Austin novel. Destitute is a word which is high on that list.

I don't understand people who don't love language and who choose to use words like, broke or upset when there are words like destitute. Why would you say, "I can't go to the beach today cause I lost my wallet last night and I have no credit cards or money till Monday."

When you could say,

"The waves must wait for me till the morrow due to a folly on the part of yours truly which left me in a dire state of utter destitution."

Right? Um, I mean, doth my vindication fall on deaf ears?

Wednesday, May 20, 2009



1. Clockwise

As in, "No you idiot, your other deasil."

According to ancient Scottish custom you can bring someone good luck by walking clockwise around them three times while carrying a torch or a candle. In a pinch a cigarette or a match will probably work, but try and use a glow stick and you will be in a world of pain. The direction one walks in, in this custom is called deasil.

Does it make we weird that I kind of want to go buy a tourch and make this my new "thing". To the point where when people associate me with it, as in, "Oh Eugenia? Is that the girl that's always walking around people with a touch?"

As I child I cultivated a completely forced form of OCD in order to get things I wanted.. I would tell myself that if I held my breath for a minute in a half and then doused my head in water while chewing a stick of peppermint gum, my mother would buy me an ice cream cone. Or that if I could succeed in not scratching the itch on the tip of my nose for five miuntes, then I wouldn't have to go to school the next day.

For a brief period of time I was obsessed with filliping my house over and walking on the celings. I would lie for hours with my head falling over the back of the couch imagining what a thrill it would be to sit next to my light fixtures and see my furniture and belongings secured to my celing. This became the fixation with my OCD. I would tell myself that if I said the alphebet backwards before I got on my school bus I would go home to find my house flipped over and I could finally be at peace. It may come as a surprise to you, that my spells never worked. But maybe i jusy never found the right spell. Or as it were, the right ancient custom made to bring good luck to some and flip over the houses of others.

Now, all I have to do is find a friend with too much time on their hands, figure out how to make and old fashioned torch and put the number to my local Fire Department in my speed dial.

Well, at least I know what my plans are for the next six to seven hours. God Speed.

Monday, May 18, 2009



1 : Inordinate desire for wealth : avarice, greed 2 : Strong desire : lust

At least I'm in good company when I am basking in the shallow pool of my own cupidity.

Ah, anything with a deadly sin in the definition is bound to be something we all can releate to. Merriam-Webster felt the need to inform me that the root of this word is Cupid, as if I didn't already make that conclusion.

Initially I thought it was mean spirited that this word had to come out of the wood works and tarnish the reputation of sweet, naked, good natured little Cupid. But the more I though about it, the more I've come to the conclusion that Cupid had it coming. He's kind of an asshole.

First of all he's a pervert, child or not, his mother should put some goddamn pants on that boy before he gets a ticket for indecent exposure. Secondly, he goes around shooting people. And I don't care if his arrows are made of sunshine and joy, I'm sure they still hurt, or at least startle you. I got hit in the head with a giant leaf the other day and I'll tell you, with the way I screamed, it might as well have been a brick. I thought I was being attacked by a bat. Thirdly, he basically goes around drugging people into thinking they are in love. Oh, I'm sorry he brings "soul mates" together. You know what else brings soul mates together? Booze, and drugs and general desperation or loneliness.

Ecstasy makes you feel the same way I hear, and after you're done telling the cab driver you are in love with him and grinding against a sign post for sexual gratification you wake up feeling dirty and bruised and wondering why you are wearing three wedding rings and have a leash around your neck. Which is probably similar to the way Cupid's poor victims feel after their roofies wear off and they wake up one day, fat and decrepit clinging to the hand of someone they have never had a real conversation with.

So, you creepy little lewd, naked, baby child druggie; call me crazy but I say you're lucky a word like cupidity came along and slapped you in the face with some honesty. I would much rather the God of Cupidity slipped something into my drink than you. And let me just say that it's really hard to have a conversation with you when you're pointing a bow and arrow at my face.

Sunday, May 17, 2009



1. Having moral integrity : acting in strict regard for what is considered right or proper
2. Punctiliously exact: painstaking

The scrupulous nature of my neighbors makes it difficult to run the brothel/crackhouse buisness I am starting, out of my apartment.

People with moral integrity are so rare I think creating various synonyms for the concept is a waste of time. We only have one word for unicorn right? With that said, if anyone is so argumentative that they are considering Googling synonyms for Unicorn right now, don't bother; I just did it and the only other option is Unicamel. If you try and use Unicamel as ammunition to debunk me, you clearly don't know the difference between horses and camels. Hint: one lets you ride it and the other one spits on you.

The main issue that I have with this word is that I feel it's a wolf in sheep's clothing. It's definition is one of righteousness, proper breeding and correct social conduct, but it's eventual intention is the boy who won't hop a fence with you into a no trespassing zone because he doesn't want to get caught, the guy at the liquor store who won't let the fact that you forgot your ID slide; the friend who won't go to the park with you and swing on the swings because they just turned 30.

A scrupulous teacher will give you an F when, instead of taking a test, you pass her a note that says, "It's too beautiful outside to be taking this exam, sitting in this room is dishonest.". A scrupulous lover will tell you that it's past midnight and you both should just go to bed. And a scrupulous dog will thank you for letting it off it's lease but insist you put it back on, lest it get too excited and run away from you.

Essentially the basic component of this word is moral obedience, which is something which I'm not sure exists. Even if we try to fit into a spot which encapsulates what we think is proper and good and moral; we will slip and draw out of the lines. Something shiny will catch our eye and we will falter and trip. And upon tripping we will start to make excuses and say it feels right. It's alright that I broke this rule because that rule never fit me anyway.

Your definitions will change. Definitions about yourself and those outside the lines. Things that are so easy to judge until you trip and fall right on top on them and realize that that undefinable space you fell into suddenly feels like home.

Thursday, May 14, 2009



1. Squid used as food

If you order the calamari I probably won't kiss you for a few hours.

This was the word of the day yesterday and I skipped it because this is not a food blog, everyone already knows what calamari is and frankly I think it's kind of gross.

However I re-read the origin of the word just now and found it too repulsive to not share with the masses (the masses being the five people who read my blog).

Granted I am a vegetarian, but I am a bad one. In a drunken stupor I have been known to pick pepperoni slices off of pizza and eat it. I like to pretend Top Ramen does not have chicken stock in it because I am poor and there are too many ingredients to read anyway and if you give me fifty dollars I will probably have a bite of whatever meat you're eating; unless it's steak, you'd have to pay me more. Make me an offer. Seriously, there's not much I wouldn't do for a hundred a hundred and fifty bucks.

So with that disclaimer intact I would like to inform you that the Latin origin for the word calamari is calamarium which is defined as, "Ink sack." or "Slippery sacks containing ink."




1. To avoid work or responsibility
2. To get something from or live on another by imposing on hospitality or good nature : sponge

Do you mind if I bludge off of you for the next seven to eight years and then end it in a messy and public divorce?

I'm beginning to think Merriam-Webster is spying on me. Much like the ads that scroll along the right hand side of my e-mail account which correlate creepily to whatever I am writing. I'll receive an e-mail about coming into work on my day off and the ad next to it will read; 100% remove evil spells! Expert Indian Vedic Rituals Remove All Sort of Curses & Black Magic! Hello? The universe is clearly telling me something.

I think my good friends at Webster are on that same path. The only difference is while the Goggle robots are reading my e-mails I'm pretty sure Merriam-Webster is reading my mind.

This morning I woke up at the ungodly hour of 9:00 (I know right?) and after kicking my alarm clock across the room and mumbling a stream of profanity that would make a truck driver blush, I lay in bed trying to think of life plan which would allow me to not have to get out of bed and go to work.

I considered a half assed suicide attempt, maybe swallowing 6 aspirin or something. I considered telling my boss that my favorite great, great, great, grandfathers dog had died. I considered marrying rich. Then I gave up, made coffee and checked my e-mail and lo and behold my word of the day is bludge.

I haven't tested this theory but I'm pretty sure that if I listened to the audio pronounciation (which I don't have to do for this word, thank you very much) the robotic voice would say something along the lines of, "Eugenia don't bludge your life away."

Yup, I just listening to it and that's exactly what it said, although he did say, "You fucking loser." at the end, which I found unnessicary.

I would write more but my favorite great, great, great grandfather's dog just died and I think I may kill myself.

Monday, May 11, 2009




: To complain fretfully; Whine

Those who whinge with persistence will either get what they want or get punched in the throat.

Sometimes I envy children. Unless they are the spawn of erratically angry and violent parents who beat them with switches and belts when they misbehave; they normally have a get out of jail free pass when it comes to throwing fits, crying in public and whinging. It is not until society hardens them that they realize such public fits of emotion are not socially acceptable. But before the age of say, six, they have no regard for how others view them, especially if they want candy.

Consistently, when I am having a really horrific day and just want to curl into a ball, stick my fingers in my ears and shriek, "LALALALALALALA", as loud as I can; I will see an apple cheeked five year old doing just that, and I will hate her for it. Kids get picked up and coddled, they get looks of sympathy from passerby's, they often even get a goddamn lollipop. Whereas if I sat down in the middle of a busy street, with my frilly polka dot skirt hiked above my head, stomping my feet and screaming, people would cross the street to avoid being struck by my flailing limbs, passerby's would shake their heads at my lack of decorum and I would probably get sent to Bellevue. I can say this from personal experience.

Granted we do not live in an entirely polite society, especially those of us who live in New York. I've seen more penises on the subway than I care to mention. I've been called a bitch when I accidentally (on purpose) bumped in someone on a crowded street and I've overheard X-rated phone conversations while in line at cafes.

But the best thing I've ever seen in New York, was four year old girl in line at the grocery store with her mother whinging incessantly about her need for candy,

"No, honey, it's to early for sugar."
"But I want it, please please please."
"I want it now, I'm gonna cry."
"Go ahead and cry, I'm not getting you candy right now."

To this the little angelic girl scrunched up her face in a look of irritation, closed her eyes and shouted,


Sunday, May 10, 2009



1. The quality or state of being faithful
2. accuracy

Example Sentence
Fidelity? Was that Fidel Castro's nickname?

I know that Vincent Gallo is arguably a cocky prick and a Republican and we all know the money shot in Brown Bunny was not real. If it was...well, uh, never mind. However, I will always have a soft spot for him for two reasons.

1. Buffalo 66 was brilliant. Say what you may about the man behind the curtain but anyone who can come up with a line like, "If you make a fool out of me, I swear to God I'll kill you. Boom! Right in front of Mommy and Daddy. And I'll tell you something else...If you make me look bad, I will never ever talk to you again."

2. He named his dog "The Only Girl who Never Lied to Me".

Which is why, for this word we all know and all have opinions about I choose to believe, not in the fidelity of people on occassion, but in the fidelity of animals. Not to each other, per say, with the exception of Swans but the fidelity of the human-animal friendship.

My animals, and there have been A LOT of them are often obtuse and needy. They may be flippant about your affection for them at times and they may consistently decide to sit directly on your paper when you are trying to read but they will never lie to you. And they will, as long as you keep them away from others AT ALL COSTS, be completely faithful.

Which really is something we should consider with our potential human mates. I'm pretty sure my significant others will always be faithful to me if they depended on me for food and water and if I never EVER let them leave the house (or meet any other humans).

Although, I suppose they may still lie to me on occasion. But that's what we have socks and duct tape for.

Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go buy a bolt lock, some hand cuffs and a roll of duct tape.

Saturday, May 9, 2009



1: producing no useful result: futile
2: being at leisure : idle
3: lacking use or effect: functionless

Defending myself against the accusation that my nature is otiose would take too much energy so I'll just go with it.

There is a comedian I like named Mike Birbiglia. I first heard him on NPR and instantly developed an unrequited crush on him, like I tend to do with anyone who is funny, sarcastic, self effacing, self deprecating, lazy and successful. I like people who fail and fail and fail and reach rock bottom and start sinking and are left for dead and suddenly revive themselves and become FAMOUS and RENOWNED. Am I revealing too much about my personality right now?

I especially enjoyed a quote of his regarding a medical sleep condition he has where, because of a dopamine deficiency he actually acted out the things he dreamt about in real life. After a few near death experiences he was told that he MUST go to a doctor for this disorder ASAP or he could seriously injure or even kill himself. To this he said something along the lines of,

"I should have gone to the doctor. And I thought yeah, I could go to the doctor, or I could just eat dinner. Cause that seems much easier. And I just went with dinner for years."

I love this because it mirrors my personality to a tee. Someone will tell me that if I get out of bed, spin in circled forty-two times, eat a sandwich and then go to my nearest post office and talk to a man named Phil, I will get 1,000 dollars. And I will think about it for a moment and decide it sounds too complicated and time consuming and decide to eat dinner instead. You could tell me I will be dead by Tuesday if I don't go to the dentist tonight and I'll think, I hate the dentist and I love dinner, so I think I'll have dinner instead.

Yes this unfortunate personality trait is otiose; it's irresponsible and will probably lead to my demise. However, according to the people I admire, it is my hope that eventually after never trying, and actively producing no useful results I will pick myself out of the gutter, wet and gleaming and join my fellow slackers at the top, famous, renowned and filthy rich.

A inspiration to those talented individuals around me who would save the world, if they could only get out of bed.

*For more information on my future fake husband visit
* I cheated again and did not use a Goggle image, but rules are made to be broken.

Friday, May 8, 2009


(the "ng" is never pronounced, but the vowels are nasalized)

Plumpness of person; stoutness

You can never been too poor or too embonpoint.

I had to listen to the audio pronunciation to learn how to correctly say this word. And then I found myself listening to it over and over again because the person's voice on the recording sounds REALLY familiar, but I just can't put my finger on it. It's what I imagine phone sex operators occasionally go through when they hear a voice on the other line and think, "Is that my cousin Danny? Is IS Danny! This is so awkward."

However, if he were saying the words lard ass or fatty to me, I would not have listened to him for a second. Not simply because I already know how to pronounce those words, but because they are ugly, not the context but the pronunciation. Whereas embonpoint is pretty and cheeky; even flirty because you have to purse your lips in a kissing motion to say it.

I suppose if I ever throw in the towel (any day now...) and allow myself to expand into a state of plump happiness I will have to move to France. That way when people called me fat, they would be forced to make kissing gestures in my direction while saying the word...which really negates the point and would just make me feel good about myself all day.



1. Of or related to dreams; Dreamy

It's not me it's you; I'm oneiric, high spirited and clever where as you are a drug addict who abuses animals.

According to my "research" the word oneiric is a dead word. And yes, my research consisted primarily of the picture you see above (or below if you are holding you're computer upside down, which for the record I am currently doing).

Maybe the word was driving drunk and drove into a lake while listening to Guns and Roses too loud. Maybe it fell asleep with a cigarette in it's hand, burning the house down and killing everyone but himself; then racked with guilt and ashamed of the scar tissue that covered 90% of it's body, it filled it's pockets with heavy rocks and walked into the ocean. Or maybe it got cancer, I'm pretty sure it got cancer.

This thought makes me wonder where words go when they die. We all know cats and dogs go to animal heaven. They chase butterfly's made of T-Bone steaks and catnip around all day and sleep on pillowly clouds of Cotton candy. People who take the lords name in vain go to Hell and people who ring your doorbell incessantly at 6 am asking you to join their religion, go to Heaven. But what about words?

In my mind they go to a place very similar to earth, where words like athwart, methinks and hark sit around smoky cafes discussing Proust's: A la recherche du temps perdu and drinking port. While words like tubular and groovy just walk around in flip flops trying to get laid.

So, if it's all the same to you when I die I'd like to go to word heaven, because Jesus Fucking Christ, it's probably a lot more interesting than Hell.