Mad About Shoe./”Kiss me, but no tongue. Ugggh…”

Have you ever…?

I have seen this game advertised as a drinking game (hell, it is even sold at Barnes and Noble and depicts a bunch of people around a bar table with cocktails in hand), and oftentimes it centers around sexual deviance.  You have one too many sips of a Cosmopolitan or beer and before you know it you are telling your most outrageous fantasies and describing the oddest circumstances involving coitus.  It’s also a leading question that can indicate a persons intentions.  Or inadvertently describe a misstep or misdeed without meaning to divulge the information.  It’s also the perfect way to begin a conversation soliciting advice.  Have you ever… let something slip and then regret it?  Wishing you could gobble the words back up before anyone else hears?  I have this image of someone running around, chasing a floating bubble, hastily jumping over things to grab hold of the words and destroy them before others catch on to the chaos they caused.  It then leads to many more questions… what brought on the comment?  Did they mean it?  Are they regretful as much as you are?  Holy crap, what’s the next step?  Should this have happened?

This has been a common occurrence with me for as long as I can remember.  I do let my emotions take hold of me and have never been good at pulling myself back out from the haze of anger or sadness or lust.  I open my mouth, let the word vomit spatter across the room, and then instantaneously feel better having retched up the thoughts, but regretful that I managed to destroy a situation.  There are some times it is good to speak, but then there are others where it benefits no one.  It’s amazing how when I should speak, I am too afraid, but when I should just hold the words in, I end up spewing them out à la The Exorcist.  That, and I over think things.  I fit the typical female stereotype with that behavior.  Obsessing over the nuances and implications.  As stated in an earlier post, I pay attention to word choice.  The specificity of a word can either make or break a conversation.  It’s something not a lot of people think of, unless you are an English major or someone who enjoys linguistics.  When I converse with my fellow liberal arts intellects it is obvious in the way they write and talk that they hold words to a higher esteem than most (I am not sure this is consciously done or not).  I am not sure they actively search for the right word, however, they have the right word at hand based on previous conscious effort to express themselves.  That’s why it always amazes me that when my vomit comes, for someone as respectful of words and meaning as I am, that I manage to forego intelligence and spit out the wrong things.  Always.

I have my iPod plugged into the iHome.  It’s balanaced precariously on the largest television ever.  And when I say television, I do not mean one of those sleek flat screens.  I am talking about one from the nineties, massive hulking thing that it is.  It used to belong to an ex-boyfriend of mine.  When I was growing up I was never allowed a television in my room.  Neither was my sister.  By the time we were old enough to get jobs, though, Andrea saved her money and bought one with a VCR and hooked it up.  I remember some nights hearing the television through the wall connecting our room and growing so jealous.  When I got a job rather than saving the money and spending it on my own television, I saved the money and funneled it into music, books, and clothing.  I have always had a soft spot for books over movies.  I find the images in my head as I read much more enjoyable than whatever director may conceive in a Hollywood movie.  I have always been one to enjoy psychologically based movies, dialogue centric films; Quentin Tarantino scripts are by far some of my favorite.  This passion for words has weaved itself into my music as well.  Lyrically stimulating songs are the ones I listen to.  I love instrumental, don’t get me wrong, because I believe the notes are words unto themselves, but when you have artists like Jim Croce, Cat Stevens, and Simon and Garfunkel that combine the poetry of their lyrics with the beauty of the music, you create an unstoppable force for me.  That elevated admiration for the correct words is something that I believe most people get exasperated with when they talk with me.  I have always been a firm believer in word choice.  As a child I was always scolded for the way I talked.  I swear like a sailor, but I also had the habit of having a sarcastic intonation and poor word choice to boot.  I think because of these comments I began to appreciate the subtle nuances in writing, in speaking, in conversing.  My mom studied communication, and as a result she has improved her speaking skills considerably, and passed on this esteem to her children.  But what does this have to do with the iPod and television?  It just reminds me that my comments to people, the long conversations and the small quips, have meaning behind them.  I am beginning to hate the taste of leather because my foot goes in my mouth more times than it should.

I keep circling around the thought of age and maturity.  It is relatively common knowledge (albeit probably from the study of “women are from venus and men are from mars” notoriety) that men are more immature than women.  But I truly wonder at the validity.  Maybe women have more maturity when it comes to containing reckless behaviors, like bar fights and fart jokes, but I believe that men and women are on the same level and they just don’t know how, or do not want, to divulge that.  Think about it.  How many times has a significant other courteously held a door for you?  Held you at night when you didn’t ask?  Began rubbing your back or feet?  Decided to come with you on some obnoxious hunt for something you just had to have although there were so many more interesting, for him, things to do?  And he did this all without asking?  There is kindness, and then there is the understanding of relationships and that the small things will forever outweigh the grand gestures.  At least they will for me.  What is more is that this surpasses strictly gestures, but words as well.

I believe there is a difference between saying someone is beautiful versus sexy versus pretty versus cute.  All of these descriptions have the overall theme of indicating a thought on someone’s physicality and attractiveness.  But when described as beautiful, I feel like it encompasses something outside the features, but also maintains a compliment for personality and character as well.  It is the greatest compliment, in my book, to be called beautiful above all else.  Sexy implies an objective attractiveness and the level of sensuality.  It can also comment on a singular personality trait of being confident and powerful, not just in mood or activity, but in presentation.  Pretty and cute are the worst.  Cute is the poor man’s pretty, and pretty is the poor man’s beautiful.  It is the simplest way of telling a woman you find her physically attractive without commenting on or including a measure of thought to personality.  Cute is like a slap in the face when in reference to physical attractiveness.  If something you did was cute, like wiggling a pinky finger in someone’s face and describing how it’s your favorite feature, that is different.  A cute personality is still a poor man’s way of talking, but at least it comes across as being a positive compliment.  And what was the purpose of this dialogue?  I honestly do not know other than maybe an example of my whirling mind and the constant thrum of thought pulsing through it.

Oh man.  This makes me want to read people’s minds.  The point of this entry?  Have you ever?  Have you ever said something you regret?  Have you ever stuck your foot in your mouth?  Have you ever wished to forego that moment where you feel totally moronic for saying something when you aren’t even sure what it means?  And now there’s worry about all the doors you swung open and all the reactions spewing forth?  Damn word vomit.  Damn damn damn.

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