Err-runs...

Me: Please go get the electrical cord for the hip cooling unit, its next to my side of the bed.

George, back from upstairs: Here ya go!

Me: That's to my Kindle.

George, back from upstairs: Here...

Me: That's to my laptop.

George, back from upstairs: THIS?

Me: That's to the cell phone...

George: well, god dammit...

Me: Its okay... Can I just have an ice pack from the freezer?

Hip, Hip, Hooray...Not!

I'm trying to bring crutches into the world of Haute couture... one gimpy slap step at a time...(sigh)

Google image

I have been on walking aids recently, first a walker, then crutches. I have been off my horses,too. I am not happy about that. I haven't even been able to longe or play with them for fear of injuring myself further.

Three years ago, thinking I was in my twenties, not my fifties, I overdid the leg presses at the gym. The result was soreness that turned into tendonitis which turned into bursitis of the hip. Chronic, painful, sleep disturbing, radiating-to-my-foot bursitis. I couldn't even lay on my affected side or wear snug pants.

So-called conservative therapies either didn't help at all or helped only a little. Those included massage therapy, warm water movement, iontophoresis, electric stimulation, and injections of corticosteroids at the site.

Finally, my orthopedic surgeon recommended a procedure to remove the bursa, a surgery that is only done by a couple doctors, and those in a city over a hundred miles away. After a ton of research, I agreed. Last week, I had the surgery, and now I am on crutches and off my horses.

I am not a languishing sort of person, not one to enjoy this interlude drooping and clickety-clack staggering from bed to couch. I am ready to be all done with this.

Lesson: when it comes to weight training at my age: less is more...

Learning

Google image

An eastern teaching says 'When the learner is ready, the teacher will appear'. That doesn't mean a miraculous appearance, but a readiness to learn. Lessons are all around us every day. When the soil of our mind and heart is ready, the seed of learning can sprout. I struggle with 'keeping myself ready to learn the lesson', open enough to take it in and apply it to my life.

New Life, for Some

My husband is 'semi-retired' now. Meaning he hunts and fishes for four to six weeks at a time, then returns to a regular work schedule when he is home, usually 8-5. Hmmm.

This is not working for me. I am alone during the dark autumn evenings when he travels, and have him around for dirtying the kitchen and going to bed early for work when he is home.

It's not like I can have a network of friends to spend time with and then abandon when he decides to be home, or just go and do my own thing whether he is here or not. I am alone, in the worst way, except if he was dead, I mean.

I am not a solitary person. I really like conversation, cooking and visiting with someone everyday. But, suddenly, since June, I have been alone more than I have been a part of a couple. I don't think I like this...

Clean Up On Aisle Life!

I feel like I should be a character in the children's book 'Everybody Poops'. I would be the clean up person, the poop scooper, the carpet cleaner, the gagging glove-clad follower of the parade...

No such character exists, of course, but it should. And, it would be me.

My grandpugs are visiting. One of them, the youngest, has had some, uhmm, gastric upset lately. I'm talking the visible foggy paint peeling gas and copious amounts of semi-soft crap all over the house. I bought new carpet when we moved into this place, and I have tried to limit the exposure to nasties and toxins.

Suddenly, though, it is as if I live in a land mine area full of unusual smells and scary tarry piles.

I am thinking of diapers...

You've Got Mail

My husband got more than a laugh out of seeing an AARP membership solicitation addressed to me in the mail. He got downright gleeful, all 'ha-ha-ha' over it.

That lasted until I sorted through the pile of mail and discovered a meaningful missive just for him: a pre-paid plan for cremation...

Email and Facebook etiquette

Everything one writes on Facebook or sends in an email is just a substitute for the spoken work. In other words, if we send it to others or post it on Facebook, we have stated it as fact and as something we support. If we pass on an untruth or unconfirmed statements as 'fact', we are both advancing another's agenda (unwittingly, I hope!), or undermining our own credibility.

We only get one chance with each of our acquaintances at being a person of character and truth. If we value that, we have a duty to verify information before we hit 'forward' or 'send'. If we don't, we lose that chance. I value my credibility with you. I therefore promise to you that I will check out the things I send to you as best I can to confirm their truth, as I have done in the past. Because I know two things: 1) I value my credibility in your eyes, and 2) I value you and your time more than to make you read untruths or rumors because my name is attached to them.

I further promise that if you find that something I have sent you is wrong, untrue or offensive, I will appreciate your feedback and will not be offended for pointing it out to me, because I know you do so out of love and respect for me.

Internet communication has been around long enough that it is time for personal responsibility. If we utilize the technology, we owe it to others to use it responsibly, correctly and with good manners.

Here are some rules we should adopt that might prove useful for Facebook and emails:

(You won't easily find these in books or on websites covering a modern version of etiquette, but they should be part of everyone's introduction to the computer. In fact, I'd lobby for them to be printed on every computer.)

1. Send only what you have checked out and that you want to have associated with your name and character. If you don't know, or don't have the time to check it out: don't send it!!

2. If you regularly forward almost all or all of your emails, shame on you! You are not thinking of your friends or what might really interest them; you are mindlessly cluttering their inboxes and taking up their valuable time. That is not 'staying in touch' nor is it communicating, it is dumping.

3. If you are forwarding items, be responsible and delete the addresses of others you are sending it to. Send it to yourself and put everyone else in the Bcc (blind courtesy copy) box so that personal email addresses aren't out there for others to exploit.

4. If you think something is worth passing on, take the time to make it appear polite and presentable. In other words, colored text, giant text, different fonts, exclamations, capitals, scrolling, emoticons, all that 'stuff' is the equivalent of screaming at your reader. Yes, all those buttons can be used, but SHOULD they? It is irritating to be forced to scroll down, down, down, having one's chain yanked, reading one. GIANT. red. green. blue. word. at. a. time. Make the point, get to the punch line, and let your reader off the hook. They are certain to have other emails to read. If we hogged a conversation in the same manner, we would get slapped or rejected socially, probably both.

If this confirms your current practice, you are a mature, informed and considerate user of modern communication tools. (But, I bet you know someone who could use this email.) If, though, you think this might describe you even a little, rather than take offense, think honestly about your communication with others. I'll bet, even if no one told you directly, someone is thinking you need a primer, and this is it.

Becoming Real...

Google image of the illustration by William Nicholson from the book by Margery Williams, published 1922

This is one of my all-time favorite sections of the book The Velveteen Rabbit. I am in a pensive and thoughtful mood, pondering the concept of becoming a better, more real person. Enjoy...

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

A Young Woman Leaves Home

Seattle, where a piece of my heart will live

Google image

Today, my daughter moved hundreds of miles away from home to Seattle. She graduated college with honors after attending on a full ride scholarship. She has gone from being a quiet private high schooler to a strong, wickedly witty young woman with friends surrounding her as she herds them to outdoor challenges. She radiates confidence and energy. She is fully prepared for the big world away from her small town roots.

But, still. I am at once sad to my bones at her leaving, happy for what life will gift her with, and pleased that she feels free to go. But, still. She is my baby, the last of the brood. She will be no longer within quick reach to rescue or simply to touch. She will be hours away. I will no longer have the expectation of the step at the door being hers. I will no longer see her burst through the back door, Pug and laundry basket balanced precariously, saying breathlessly, 'Hi, Mom! I got some time so we came down!'

I clearly remember my mother's sadness when I left home at seventeen. I, too, felt the heaviness of the moment, not without a little fear. And, I felt sorry for my mother. She seemed so old, so vulnerable, so unhealthy. And, she was. Not really old, but worn out by poverty and hard work and disappointment. But she was vulnerable and unhealthy, and I felt like I was abandoning and betraying her. I cried all the way to my new apartment near the university I was to attend.

I have broken the cycle of poverty and abuse in yet another way with my own daughter's leave-taking. She knows I am whole, and healthy, and busy, and involved in my own life. She need not fear for me, or feel like a traitor to me in order to seek her own dreams. And, that is another gift I can offer my children. I have given them roots, and now I offer wings.

Fly high, my sweet child. I'll be here, always.

(from Journal of Ravensayrie)

All I pay my psychiatrist is the cost of feed and hay, and he'll listen to me any day.

~Author Unknown

Touching Sage

Today, my mare and I spent some time together as she quietly chewed her grain. We stood in the warm afternoon sun, relaxed in our closeness. I began stroking her back, repetitive long firm touches with the flat of my hands on both sides of her spine. After a while, I switched to a gentle slow circular motion with my fingertips. Sage began to close her eyes.

I worked my way up her neck, feeling areas of tightness melt away under my massage. She sighed deeply and leaned into my body. I traced the lines of her legs from shoulder to hoof, from hip to hoof, again and again. Sage swayed in place to a gentle rhythm of her own. She curved her neck around me and drank in my scent, gentle lips nibbling my skin lightly. Then, we just stood there, my hands on her back, her head pressing me to her body.

At last, a huge sigh escaped her and she returned to her grain, gently blowing a sigh from her nose. I patted her, said, 'Good girl' and left. When I turned to look at her, she was watching me. I smiled and left her alone.

My hands still felt hot and electric from her touch.

Reaching An Abused Horse

I have two new horses. They came to me from the same owner. One is a gelding, a Tennessee Walking Horse/Quarter Horse cross. He is Mr. Big, a big, bold, outgoing character with a curious nature and a desire to please. The other, a Tennessee Walking Horse mare, is reserved, quiet, watchful. It is the mare that intrigues me and sends me to the pasture to watch her and think about her personality.

I was told that she was abused by the man who bought her as a youngster from the breeder. That, in his slow downward spiral into mental illness, he lashed out at those under his control, his horses bearing the greatest burden of his wrath. Hospitalization and medication were forced on him, relocating to new homes was the fate of the horses.

Sage (the mare's stable name) went to the home of a wonderful woman who loves her horses, spends hours every day grooming, riding, wrangling them into and out of separate paddocks and stalls. She french braided Sage's tail and bathed her with lavender soap. Under her loving hands, Sage learned to be still for ministrations and attention. I was told to 'kiss her face a lot, she loves it'.

I saw something different, though. Not a horse that loved the attention, but an abuse survivor who was walled off, holding herself closely to herself, standing stock still to avoid gaining attention. As a counselor in the mental health field, I saw the same thing in survivors of domestic or sexual abuse. Sage's stillness and frozen acquiescence impacted me more than if she had thrown her head or backed away. It was as if she knew she should want this but could not allow herself to trust or let down her guard.

It made me not want to hold her head to me, to not kiss her stone still face. It made me want to give her the space she needs without me invading her closely held defenses. It made me want to gain her trust, to reach her openly and honestly, when she was ready to receive that caress without fear. It made me want to learn more about horses in general and her in particular so that I could be a partner in her reawakening to a mutual relationship.

I asked a trusted friend who is an exceptional horsewoman and trainer to meet Sage and give me her thoughts. Our impressions were identical. She pointed out the specific body language that I merely sensed, horse language that validated my assessment. What I have is an introverted, damaged horse who holds herself away from further pain. She is never violent, angry or hostile, never kicks, bites or rears, she just remains within a shell, remote.

My job will be to reach her, to get her to trust me, to let me lead her out of her remote place of mental survival and into a full relationship with me and other humans. To help her learn to trust again, to learn to breathe and relax.

I will take you on this journey with me, reader, for you to learn as I do, the language of learning and growing and pain and recovery. For my horse and for me, an adult survivor of physical abuse.

Tips for being a useful person

Reprinted from Loving the Simple Things, at http://tolivetolaughtolove.blogspot.com/

I don't think the principals behind paleo, primal, and self-experimentation stop at nutrition. I like to think that people could benefit from application of these ideals to all areas of life. And so I ask you: are you a useful person? If you take a trip to the beach and want to start a fire, can you? A lot of people quite simply aren't useful. They can talk your ear off about TV shows. Some can even get as deep as music, philosophy, religion, and literature. But actual usefulness? Increase your ability to do daily tasks and truly succeed at daily life? Nope. So as a public service, here is a brief and by no means inclusive list of things you should learn to make yourself a more useful person.

Swimming.
Recognizing drowning (it doesn't look like the movies) and being able to save and or resuscitate drowning victims.
Gardening.
Harvesting.
Preserving food.
Fishing.
Hunting.
Cleaning kills.
Cooking, especially without recipes. Knowledge of common cooking substitutions are useful too.
Sprinting and long distance running (to escape, to catch, to hunt).
Fire building.
First aid, both advanced and wilderness.
Child care.
Basic finance and investment knowledge.
Basic knowledge of the law and rights in your country (and any country you're likely to visit).
The confidence and ability to barter.
Driving, both automatic and manual.
Driving a boat, jet skis, snow mobiles, and motorcycles.
Basic anatomy and physiology.
Common childhood illnesses and injuries and their treatments.
How to cut wood.
Basic farm skills, like riding horses, milking cows and goats, and stacking hay.
How to change a tire.
Basic car things, like hitching and backing a trailer, jump starting a car, and getting out of mud.
Basic emergencies like how to help a choking victim, how to prevent and manage shock, and to not move a person with a possible neck injury.
Basic sewing repairs.
Laundry knowledge, like how to remove stains and keep fabrics lasting longer.
Household problems, like resetting breakers, checking the pilot light, and fixing leaky faucets.

How to paint a room (a *good* job).
Basic landscaping, like pruning plants, mowing, edging, pressure washing, and rototilling.
How to iron.
How to use a grill.
Basic animal care, like nutrition, checking for cysts, clipping nails, bathing, and checking for and removing ticks.
Tie a proper knot in a variety of situations.
Use a gun effectively and SAFELY.
Clear a room.
Counter a rip current in the ocean. Better yet, be able to detect an undertow before going in.
Find good water when needed.
Tie a tie.
Parallel park.
Ride a bike, and do simple repairs.
Use a camera.
Basic woodworking. If you can't build a chicken coop, you can't do much.
Take someone's temperature.

So that's it for now. Feel free to chime in with more! Some of these are everyday skills, some of them aren't. All of them make you useful.

Servicing Our Loved Ones: I Am a Giver

How do you service your loved ones?

I am listing some of the things I do:

food (immediate cooking and preserving for later use)

laundry

transport

companionship

massage

editing

advocacy

laundry

interpreting

medical advice

listening

support

money

advice

sympathy

presence

touch

wisdom

acceptance

training

The list could go on and on, but these are the most common. Do they appreciate it? Sometimes. Do they get the extent of the effort? No.

I am sure that the full impact or realization will only happen when they give in this way to others. For some of the adults, this probably will never happen. I can only hope for a whiff of appreciation. For the kids and young adults, I can only hope that life provides them an opportunity to give and to learn to service relationships. It is a gift to others, a delicate balance between making others happy and still preserving the self, and one's own happiness.

I am the adult child of a chaotic, violent, alcoholic household, and my tendency is to give and give and give. Until I am exhausted, resentful, hurt and confused. Don't go to that point. That is my advice.

Give for your own reasons. For love, for calm, for relief from pain in another, for deepening a relationship. Never for validation or to gain approval. Therein lies the trap of subservience and resentment.

Time Passes, Children Grow Older, I'm Getting Older, Too

From standing in a muddy hole under a crooked goal with a jersey sizes too big to breathtaking saves for a professional team wearing the best gear available, my son has grown up.

What I wouldn't give to go back, just for a little while, to the time I wrapped him in a warmed towel after a hot bath to remove the mud, and read him to sleep.

As the song goes:

Well, I've been afraid of changing

Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Children get older

I'm getting older, too...

The World Goes On, But You're Not There: What to do?

From http://eternal-earthbound-pets.com/

Notice of Rate Increase: Due to the increased activity associated with the May 21, 2011 Rapture prophesy we have increased our service rates for all new contracts submitted as of 1/13/11.

April 1, 2011: Illinois and Iowa have now been added to our service area.

You've committed your life to Jesus. You know you're saved. But when the Rapture comes what's to become of your loving pets who are left behind? Eternal Earth-Bound Pets takes that burden off your mind.

We are a group of dedicated animal lovers, and atheists. Each
Eternal Earth-Bound Pet representative is a confirmed atheist, and as such will still be here on Earth after you've received your reward. Our network of animal activists are committed to step in when you step up to Jesus.

We are currently active in 26 states, employing 40 pet rescuers. Our representatives have been screened to ensure that they are atheists, animal lovers, are moral / ethical with no criminal background, have the ability and desire to rescue your pet and the means to retrieve them and ensure their care for your pet's natural life.

We currently cover the following states:
Maine,New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky, West Virginia, Colorado, Oklahoma, Kansas, Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Illinois, Iowa.

Our service is plain and simple; our fee structure is reasonable.
For $135.00 we will guarantee that should the Rapture occur within ten (10) years of receipt of payment, one pet per residence will be saved. Each additional pet at your residence will be saved for an additional $20.00 fee. A small price to pay for your peace of mind and the health and safety of your four legged and feathered friends.

Unfortunately at this time we are not equipped to accommodate all species and must limit our services to dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, and small caged mammals. [Please note: we can now offer rescue services for horses, camels, llamas and donkeys in NH,VT, ID and MT ]

Thank you for your interest in Eternal Earth-Bound Pets. We hope we can help provide you with peace of mind.

Blogger's note:

Also, see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVL84rRnrhs

A Real Cowboy

This boy sounds so young. Makes me realize that thirteen on a remote ranch in Montana and thirteen in urban L.A. is further apart than miles. As are the values...

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

Not well. Under the weather. Sick. Had better days. Feelin' rough. Feelin' like shit. Not myself. Manifesting clinical signs of disease. However you want to say it, I feel cruddy. I am sick. I am: e) all of the above. And damn tired of it. Here, in the second week.

I run out of breath when I shower, and have to rest up after. I go to my knees coughing when I drag my dirty laundry behind me to the laundry room. I cough episodically all night long. I cough throughout the day. I cough until I get light headed and have to kneel or sit.

Bronchitis, pneumonia, sinusitis, herpes simples I outbreak on my upper lip. Not one or two. Or three. The big four; full house; royal flush. But that means I get to take all the good medication and have all the great side-effects as a result. Red, inflamed nose. Nausea. Loss of appetite. Blotchy face. Nice zit on the chin (kick me, why don't ya?). And, I am sure, eventually, a lovely yeast infection.

It's a great day to be me. It's a great day on the farm. Won't you be my neighbor?

April Rainbow, aka Rainey

I now have a horse, a registered Anglo-Arabian mare, 11 years old, 15.2 hh, owned by only one other person, her breeder, a woman. Her dam raced, and is registered at the Jockey Club. She comes from million dollar winning lineage.

I have been sick with bronchial pneumonia for over a week, and, in my first outing from the house in over a week, except for the doctor's office, I went to the livestock auction. Just to be in a different place, one that smelled of horses. I parked close, being unable to ambulate very far without gasping for breath and getting light headed. Slowly, I walked in the warm sun to the holding pens behind the sales arena building. Horses and people and the voices of both enveloped me like an old quilt. I leaned against a gate to rest. Then, I strolled the wide aisle between paddocks.

I saw a gelding that looked promising. He was sound, and fit, and healthy and unflappable. And I flapped him, slapping his loins, yanking on his cinch, pulling his tail, checking his teeth and hooves. He just took it. Hmm, maybe I'd see if he fetched much money... Then, I wandered to the next, and the next, and the next paddock.

I was suddenly wracked by a coughing spell, leaving me light headed and weak. Eventually, I moved on to the next pen, thinking I better go home and to bed pretty soon.

It was weird meeting this horse at the auction. She strained against her lead rope, pushing her head through other people who were looking at her, and tried to reach me. She kept sniffing my mouth, and then laid her forehead and soft nose along my body. Soothing, like she knew I was sick. She just 'held' me that way for a little while. Instead of going home, I made my way into the sales arena and sat down in the front of the audience.

She was brought in, and held herself with dignity and calm. Then, I coughed again. She turned her head in my direction, taking a step toward me before her rider took her the other way. But, still, she turned her head, watching me. A couple of times, she held my gaze, I am sure of it, and I am not starry-eyed that way. She kept her ears forward through it all, a good sign.

Throughout the bidding, I actually shook my head 'no' twice to indicate that I was not going to continue, but, next round, I found my hand up. I was strangely calm, too. Let me make this clear: I did NOT want a mare, I did NOT want a nongaited horse, I did NOT want an auction horse. Yet I ended up with one.

As I watched her move in the arena, smoothly, surely; side passing, backing, stopping abruptly, I thought about her color; 'she's like cinnamon, or paprika, or, I got it: copper!' Not the new shiny stuff, the weathered, been there/done that copper.

As I stood to go pay for her, I took one step and something caught my eye. It was a penny, lying nearby, dusty and with a little mud crowning Lincoln's head. It is now glued in her file, on the page written by her former owner, saying she is a 'good girl'.

Then came the work of bringing her home. My sister came to help. I could not have done it alone. I was too weak to even face the locks on the shop and the big sliding doors leading to my horse trailer back at home. But, we got her home uneventfully. She loaded right up. (That, any horse person will tell you, is worth at least a hundred dollars). Home to meet Sonny and Buddy, the retired old gentlemen geldings that live on my farm.

Even during the excitement of meeting the boys, she came back to check on me a couple times, then returned to act like a girl, such a squealy, fussy, prancey girl. Little squeals and paws of the front hoof.

I am not so much a girly girl. And now I have April Rainbow. Good god... Why can't her name be Calamity Jane Barbed Wire, for cryin' out loud? What the hell do I call her? Not April. The only April I know is a raging angry bull dyke. Not Rainbow; that is WAY too 'tie-dye and tofu meet the Care Bears' for me. I will give her a name with character, an Irish sounding name, and a name befitting the soggy valley in which we live. I shall call her Rainey.

Welcome home, Rainey.

God, I have a princess, and a redheaded one at that...

We Have All Been There

I remember when, I remember

I remember when I lost my mind

There was something so pleasant about that place

Even your emotions have an echo in so much space

And when you're out there without care

Yeah, I was out of touch

But it wasn't because I didn't know enough

I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy?

Does that make me crazy?

Does that make me crazy?

Possibly

And I hope that you are

Having the time of your life

But think twice

That's my only advice

Come on now, who do you

Who do you, who do you, who do you think you are?

Ha ha ha, bless your soul

You really think you're in control?

Well, I think you're crazy

I think you're crazy

I think you're crazy

Just like me

My heroes had the heart

To lose their lives out on a limb

And all I remember

Is thinking, I want to be like them

Ever since I was little

Ever since I was little

It looked like fun

And it's no coincidence I've come

And I can die when I'm done

But maybe I'm crazy

Maybe you're crazy

Maybe we're crazy

Probably

Songwriters: Brian Burton; Thomas Callaway; Gianfranco Reverberi; Gian Reverberi

Wordsmithing

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are the winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Removed by screener... CL (C of TW note: I really want to know what this one was!!!)

3. Intaxicaton: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.

And the winners are:

1. Coffee (n.) The person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted (adj.) Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

3. Abdicate (v.) To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade (v.) To attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly (adj.) Impotent.

6. Negligent (adj.) Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

7. Lymph (v.) To walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle (n.) Olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. Flatulence (n.) Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash (n.) A rapidly receding hairline.

11. Testicle (n.) A humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude (n.) The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon (n.) A Rastafarian proctologist.

14. Oyster (n.) A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism (n.) The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent (n.) An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.