Okay, I have a quirky sense of humor. I find the cell phone commercial where the guy tells the other guy his phone comes with an anti-theft device funny. You know the one? Where he then tells the guy to try and take his phone but when he does the guy with the phone beams him with it in the head. Yes, I laugh my ass off at that. That’s sick right? I’m weird for finding that funny right? Or am I in the majority and that’s why they make those commercials? I don't know. But I find disturbing commercials entertaining. Yep, we’ll call it quirky.
I also have a sarcastic way about me. I can hear you now...."Noooooooo, not you?" To you I say "absaposilutely." Some people have even told me I’m a smart ass. ("Nooooooo not you, Angel of Design. Surely you must be joking." "I'm not joking and stop calling me Shirley." Sorry, quirky moment.) But I’ve come to realize that being quirky, sarcastic and a smart ass isn’t all a bad thing.
Sure, you know you tend to have more than your fair share of sarcastic moments when your now six year old son understands what sarcasm means by age four and has since used it often. He even says “I was being sarcastic.” I have either well equipped him in life or have messed him up already, at such a tender age. His ability to grasp sarcasm even shocked my dad, who claimed that he didn’t fully understand what sarcasm was until he was in his 30’s. Either my son is waaaaaaay ahead of the game or my dad was waaaaaaaay behind. Perhaps a little of both? I dunno.
So I am setting my kids up to have a quirky sense of humor. Yes, but they love to laugh so props to me regardless.
But I realize now that my children, including your 5 year old daughter, have been exposed to the fine art of semantics, on top of it all. That’s sooooooo bad. In my defense that isn’t just my fault, it’s hubby’s also. I know I’m in trouble when I said to my five year old daughter "grab your blue pants,” and she replies, “Mommy. They’re blue sweat pants.” Sweat pants, whatever, they’re still pants. Arrrgh! Wait, I do the same thing. Spliting hairs. I do that! Dear God!
That’s how my house is. We split hairs. We argue it down to the finite point. If you aren’t specific then there’s wiggle room in the argument or discussion. So my young children have learned that early in life and for that I know I’m in trouble when they’re teenagers. Shit! How do I undo that? Nope, can't. What's done is done.
The other thing I realized is that I might not mind being called a smart ass because I know it’s just my quirky and sarcastic sense of humor that gets me tagged that. I have also noticed that when people say that they’re usually laughing so I’m obviously at least mildly amusing. In the end they are sure to expect the same reply each time they call me a smart ass, “It’s better than being a dumb ass.” You see. Quirky, smart ass, semantics.
I had some of those qualities when I met hubby. Then I made the brilliant decision to send him off to get his juris doctorate and PAID to fine tune his skills. He brought that home. That changed the tone of arguing forever, that changed the way we joke, that changed even the way we discuss things.
One day I was talking to my father on the phone. God love him. I was asking him a simple question. We had just changed our phone service to our cable company (does that make sense? No? Well we did so end of discussion) and they had done so a week earlier. I was trying to get to our account on line but my cable username and password didn’t work so I thought, “Hmmm, I wonder if the louse that came instead of the guy I was supposed to have needed to give me a new username and password but didn’t.” So I called my dad to see if he had received a username and password from his serviceman. 10 minutes later I said, “Yes dad, but that wasn’t my question. My question was…..” You see my dad tends to meander in a conversation. After hanging up the phone hubby was laughing. Why? I didn’t know. I thought it was from the deep sigh I had expelled and the frustrated confused look on my face. It wasn't. What I found out was he was laughing because he said I’ve been around him too long, that I was talking like a lawyer. He said I sounded like I was cross examining my dad. *sigh* What the hell do I do now? So here I am… a quirky, smart ass who apparently now has been properly trained in the fine art of arguing. Everyone is going to hate me. *double sigh*
Okay. There you have it in a nut shell. I should put a sign up in my house “debate/argue at your own risk. Smart asses live here.”
This has been the rambling thoughts of a quirky woman with a 10 day long headache. Thank you and peace out!
I also have a sarcastic way about me. I can hear you now...."Noooooooo, not you?" To you I say "absaposilutely." Some people have even told me I’m a smart ass. ("Nooooooo not you, Angel of Design. Surely you must be joking." "I'm not joking and stop calling me Shirley." Sorry, quirky moment.) But I’ve come to realize that being quirky, sarcastic and a smart ass isn’t all a bad thing.
Sure, you know you tend to have more than your fair share of sarcastic moments when your now six year old son understands what sarcasm means by age four and has since used it often. He even says “I was being sarcastic.” I have either well equipped him in life or have messed him up already, at such a tender age. His ability to grasp sarcasm even shocked my dad, who claimed that he didn’t fully understand what sarcasm was until he was in his 30’s. Either my son is waaaaaaay ahead of the game or my dad was waaaaaaaay behind. Perhaps a little of both? I dunno.
So I am setting my kids up to have a quirky sense of humor. Yes, but they love to laugh so props to me regardless.
But I realize now that my children, including your 5 year old daughter, have been exposed to the fine art of semantics, on top of it all. That’s sooooooo bad. In my defense that isn’t just my fault, it’s hubby’s also. I know I’m in trouble when I said to my five year old daughter "grab your blue pants,” and she replies, “Mommy. They’re blue sweat pants.” Sweat pants, whatever, they’re still pants. Arrrgh! Wait, I do the same thing. Spliting hairs. I do that! Dear God!
That’s how my house is. We split hairs. We argue it down to the finite point. If you aren’t specific then there’s wiggle room in the argument or discussion. So my young children have learned that early in life and for that I know I’m in trouble when they’re teenagers. Shit! How do I undo that? Nope, can't. What's done is done.
The other thing I realized is that I might not mind being called a smart ass because I know it’s just my quirky and sarcastic sense of humor that gets me tagged that. I have also noticed that when people say that they’re usually laughing so I’m obviously at least mildly amusing. In the end they are sure to expect the same reply each time they call me a smart ass, “It’s better than being a dumb ass.” You see. Quirky, smart ass, semantics.
I had some of those qualities when I met hubby. Then I made the brilliant decision to send him off to get his juris doctorate and PAID to fine tune his skills. He brought that home. That changed the tone of arguing forever, that changed the way we joke, that changed even the way we discuss things.
One day I was talking to my father on the phone. God love him. I was asking him a simple question. We had just changed our phone service to our cable company (does that make sense? No? Well we did so end of discussion) and they had done so a week earlier. I was trying to get to our account on line but my cable username and password didn’t work so I thought, “Hmmm, I wonder if the louse that came instead of the guy I was supposed to have needed to give me a new username and password but didn’t.” So I called my dad to see if he had received a username and password from his serviceman. 10 minutes later I said, “Yes dad, but that wasn’t my question. My question was…..” You see my dad tends to meander in a conversation. After hanging up the phone hubby was laughing. Why? I didn’t know. I thought it was from the deep sigh I had expelled and the frustrated confused look on my face. It wasn't. What I found out was he was laughing because he said I’ve been around him too long, that I was talking like a lawyer. He said I sounded like I was cross examining my dad. *sigh* What the hell do I do now? So here I am… a quirky, smart ass who apparently now has been properly trained in the fine art of arguing. Everyone is going to hate me. *double sigh*
Okay. There you have it in a nut shell. I should put a sign up in my house “debate/argue at your own risk. Smart asses live here.”
This has been the rambling thoughts of a quirky woman with a 10 day long headache. Thank you and peace out!
1 Comments:
Throw some maximum strength excedrin in that fondue pot baby and go to town this weekend! LOL.
My goodness, if you lived closer we'd apsaposilutely have to get together for ibuprofen cocktails and sick commercial night!
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