premorse

premorse\ pri-MAWRS\ adjective;
1. Pertaining to the end of something irregularly shortened, as if bitten or broken off.

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Another new word for me.

It got me to thinking of the things in my life this word describes. My first thought was of my thumb on my left hand, the one I cut nearly off when I was a young child. It's not noticeable unless I point it out to people, but it's smaller and shorter than my other thumb. The darn thing has bothered me all my life because there's a small mass of scar tissue or what's left of a severed tendon that will hurt if I grip something the "wrong" way with that hand.

Ever heard the old adage "Sticks out like a sore thumb?". I've lived that expression, both literally and figuratively.

Can't remember exactly where I wrote about it, but I did tell the story of a guy I used to work for that had part of his nose missing, bitten off in a long-ago bar fight.

Other things in my life prematurely shortened? For one, my marriage. It probably should've lasted at least another couple of months.

Funny thing about my thumb and my ex-wife; her dad was a doctor and he told me my thumb could be repaired and could do it in an hour or so, easy as pie: a local, reattach the tendon, a few stitches. I probably should have extended my failed marriage at least that much longer.

Just as well, the divorce. I stuck out like a sore thumb in her family, anyway. (both literally and figuratively)

My hair is another thing of premorse; its life span has not only been irregularly shortened, it's starting to disappear.

I've had people in my life whose lives were irregularly shortened too, but I just don't feel like writing about that right now. In fact, it's made me so sad I think I'll stop right here.

That would mean this post is premorse, huh?

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EDIT TO ADD

Found the "nose biting" post: Who Nose?

Two-Scoop Rebel

You Are a Rebel

You're a wild child, and you aren't about to slow down anytime soon. You're the type of person who will do something just to say that you did it! You don't worry too much about getting caught - you're having too much fun breaking the rules. While you may not be involved in illegal activities, you do like breaking social norms.

The Ice Cream Cone Test

Blogthings: 100's of Fun, Free Quizzes and 3 Stupid Ones

mojo

mojo \ MOH-joh \

noun:
1. Personal magnetism; charm.
2. The art or practice of casting magic spells; magic; voodoo.
3. An object, as an amulet or charm, that is believed to carry a magic spell.
4. Good luck or favor concerning an event or individual.

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I used to have a lot of mojo (definition #1, anyway) when I was younger.

I'm not sure that whether I've lost it because I'm older, or I just can't remember where I put it because I'm older.

yeuk

yeuk\ YOOK \
noun: 1. An itching sensation.

verb: 1. To itch.

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Now all I need to know is another word for "scratch".

cheechako

cheechako \ chee-CHAH-koh \, noun:

1. A tenderfoot; greenhorn; newcomer.

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Oil field terminology isn't quite so kind to people starting out on the job; they're called "worms". (and if they're particularly inept, they're called "weevils", which is a worm's helper.)

It's National Underwear Day!

"Official Site"

I remember my mother always telling me to be sure I had on clean underwear in case I was in a wreck. I never did say anything to her, but I always figured that if I was in a wreck, clean underwear might very well be the least of my problems.

Still, I always have on clean underwear. While not as big of an obsession with me as my socks, I have several dozens of pairs of underwear. I doubt that there's more than a couple of pairs of white ones; my underwear collection has more colors than a rainbow. I really like gray, but also buy black, blue, green and a few other colors, some in "Miami Vice" pastels.

That's the only "fancy" thing about my undies; I don't buy the nylon nor silk material but prefer cotton. I've had a few pairs of expensive underwear made of something other than cotton, but didn't like the way it felt against my skin. Plus, they also made me walk a little differently. Don't ask why.

My favorite underwear would either be my Soviet boxers, with the hammer and sickle on them or my several pairs of Hank Hill undies. I am also partial to my King Kong underwear - not making a statement when I wear them, but it's probably just wishful thinking.

What I like most about my underwear collection is that most of my larger/size Large pairs are getting several years old and I've replaced them with medium sizes.

Like I mentioned, I don't obsess about my underwear like I do my socks, but they ARE important to me. I change my undies every day, even if for some reason I miss my daily shower.

It's a comfort to me to think that if I DID get into a wreck, I wouldn't let my mother down.

Facebook Poking

Are you a Facebook fan? Even though I've been signed up for a few years, I've only recently started using the service, but post/visit even less than I do this blog. It's a great way to keep up w/ some old classmates as well as friends and family members. I don't really care for the basic setup, but I realize it's a good thing for many people because of its simplicity and ease of use. OTOH, the security flaws seem to be all-too-frequent and should concern anyone who cares about their privacy. Still, it's better than MySpace.

Shoot, anything is better than MySpace.

So when I was sitting in the United diner last week and overheard "Facebook" being mentioned by the couple sitting at the next table over, my ears perked up. The young lady was disturbed that he had many female friends, but was really upset about the "pokes" back and forth.

Now, if you don't know, "poking" on Facebook is the cyber equivalent of a friendly nudge in the ribs. Two of my friends and I exchange fairly regular "pokes". It's a quick and easy way - short of actually posting on their "wall" - to let them know you read their posts and while you might not comment, you're thinking of them. (well, that's what it means to me, but....)

The girl and the guy kept going back and forth, the girl being jealous and making no bones about it and the guy trying vainly to reassure his g/f that the "pokes" should be no concern to her.

"It's no big deal." he said. He went on, trying plead his innocence. "It's just on Facebook."

There was a extended pause in the conversation and when the girl finally spoke up, it made me snort Diet Dr. Pepper out my nose.

"Well...." she replied, "Facebook BETTER be the only place you're pokin' them."