I'm Not a Sender-Backer

Yo,

Today I had my lovely weekly breakfast at Place Milton. It was a small crowd today. Quaint. Also, they changed up the interior. Its all flippedo-changedo.

Anyway, to tell you all the truth, I have been having minor mess ups in my orders as of late. I don't like to mention them because the weekly tradition is so dear to my heart, I'll allow a couple fuck-ups and price hikes without complaint.

Today was the worst experience yet. I ordered my regular, which she (I have no clue what her name is) knows by heart. It's two eggs over-easy with a side of sausage for all you fans out there dying to know my breakfast habits. It came promptly as usual, but there was a slight problem: The eggs didn't look to cooked on one side.

And now a quick aside on how I like my eggs. I like them over-easy. My definition of over-easy is as such: you crack one egg onto a hot surface, preferably a pan or industrial stove top griddle thingy. You let the egg cook a little, enough so that its a healthy golden color. Then you CAREFULLY flip it, so as not to break the delicate delicious yoke. You wait again for the remaining side to golden-ify. Then you serve hot. The key is that the yoke should remain runny as hell while the white is cooked to a dry chewy consistency.

OK, now that we are clear on my egg tastes we can proceed with the story at hand. One side of the eggs (frankly, I didn't even bother checking the other side) was not very cooked at all. It was still moist and glistening. I HATE moist whites. They make me nauseous. In the past, when my order was screwed up, I would politely tell her and ask for it cooked right. Unfortunately, every time I did so the cooks would hastily throw together runny whited eggs!

I considered my options:

a) I could stick with what I have, knowing that if I ask to have them done again I will only end up with even less cooked whites.

b) I could ask for them redone, but just scramble 'em because you can't really do that wrong.

Option A was clearly the more comfortable option. I wouldn't have to make a fuss, and every one would turn out relatively OK in the end. But, one person in particular at the table with me, lets call her L. Ross, no wait, Lindsey R., was a sender-backer.

I am not a sender-backer. I stick with what I get no matter what. One time at Friendly's they brought me the completely wrong order, and not only did I not say a thing, I got excited about it. Aah, Friendly's.

Anyway, the table consisted of three keepers (not the menstrual blood collector, the food taker), me included, and one sender-backer. Somehow, this beautiful sexy mama of a sender-backer persuaded me to send it back (refer to option B).

I politely beckoned over the server. Until this very day, she had been sunshine incarnate. All smiles, all laughs, all the time. She joked with us, snuck us extra free breakfast stamps, the works. I thought, this shouldn't be so bad.

I said, "Excuse me, I think these eggs are sunny side up"
She said, "No, they're over easy."
I said, "Well, they're not very well cooked on one side."
She said, "Would you like me to take it back and have it cooked more?"
Knowing this would only lead to the seemingly impossible runnier eggs, I replied, "No, could I just have them scrambled instead?"

Then, everything fell apart. The sky darkened. There was the distant rumbling of thunder. She gave me a look that said very clearly: Are you fucking serious, you whiny bourgeois asshole? I was stunned by her piercing implied comment. I shrugged helplessly and she turned and left.

The scrambled eggs were brought with minimal haste and I started my meal well after my comrades. I was devastated. I ate sadly. My keeper friends made the obvious I-told-you-so comments, and my sender-backer friend apologized. Not only that, but she came and cleared up everyone else's plates before I was done! I was left eating on my own so all could see just how much of an ass I was, eating my scrambled eggs.

I take a vow here and now, folks. I am NOT a sender-backer. I will eat whatever is given to me, be it frozen piss on a stick, or a delicious sandwich with a side of everyone on the wait staff's feces. I will eat happily, and you will not here a peep out of me.

Place Milton will never be the same...

Photo of the Day

This is my visual depiction of the day's events.
As you can see, the eggs clearly are not cooked, they in fact are still in their shells.
I have asked the waitress for scrambled and she is screaming in despair whilst I am dumbfounded and shrugging.
There is a very small married couple on the side making fun of me, and I am of course eating with my good friends Armadillo and Eagle.

Photo of the Day

I call this one:

Even our shoes are watched by God

What is the meaning of all this?!

Hi all,

Today in my Philosophy of Language class we talked about the meaning of "the". Riveting.
But we also talked about the meaning of pronouns. MUCH more interesting. We brought up some interesting points. Lets examine a short dialogue:

Sally and Jimmy are watching two people in the park. There is a woman and a man being nice to her.

Sally: "Her husband sure is nice to her."
Jimmy: "No he's not. That man is not her husband."

Now, when Sally said her husband she was referring to the man in the park, regardless of whether he was truly the husband or not.
When Jimmy said he, it referred to the actual husband of the woman.
Now let's say the man in the park is named Bob, and the woman's actual husband is named Mr. Nasty, just for clarity's sake.

So, for Sally, her husband = Bob
For Jimmy he = her husband = Mr. Nasty

Thus in such a simple conversation the phrase her husband was holding two meanings simultaneuously, even though the speaker originally only intended one specific meaning. Within the conversation, Jimmy uses a pronoun to refer back to her husband but is able to use the second meaning. I think that's neat.

A similar, but less sensical conversation:

Sally: "I'm going down to the bank to deposit a check."
Jimmy: "Yeah, I need to go there, too. I need to catch some fish."

In this conversation, Jimmy uses there to mean bank, but the "side of a river" interpretation.

Why does one of these conversations seem more natural than the other?
And how does one word hold two meanings within one conversation even though when originally uttered only one meaning was intended by the speaker?

Thats what I study, and if you don't like it you aren't me.

An Awkward First

Hello,

This is me experimenting with words. Thats also where I got the name for this blog.
I am not a very good writer by any means. I don't really know what this blog will end up becoming.
People say I'm funny, but any time I try to write something funny, it ends up coming out as weird or incomprehensible.
As you also may have noticed, I am fond of the carraige return function when casually typing. It helps me seperate my thoughts.

Today I got locked out of my house for the second time in only a few short weeks. Last time it happened to me I was locked out for 6 hours. I had a presentation due the next day that I couldn't work on because my laptop was locked in the house. After that harrowing experience, I made sure that the back sliding doors were unlocked so that in the unlikely event I get locked out for a second time, I'd have a surefire way of getting in.
Well, lo and behold, it was not that easy. After uncomfortably ringing my neighbors' doorbells (they have two! I just rang both at once), I asked if I could sneak through their back door. They politely obliged, and I climbed over their mounds of trash on the back porch.
Side thought: Why do they have mounds of trash on their back porch? It was in bags already, and was covered in snow, telling me that it had been there for quite a while. If it was already bagged, why not throw it out the FRONT door so the helpful municipal sanitary servicepeople could take it away? Weird.
Anyway, after climbing through the jungle of garbage, I arrived at my back sliding door only to find them locked. "Dagnabbit" thought I. So, with the help of my faithful friend Danny, we jimmied open my roomates window with a pen and I was able to get in my house.

After having written out that story of my day, I realize it is horrendously uninteresting. I apologize to my readers [read: reader (read: me)]. Wow, embedded editor's notes! I'm such a fancy editor!

I guess that's why I called this thing Experimenting With Words. Sometimes experiments go terribly terribly wrong.