I was going to find out what the word is for when you use a word that's spelled like the way we speak, all slurred-together-like. I was gonna.
But then I got good and mad about getting dumbed down and decided if I researched that word, it might give me license to just start, you know, getting dumber.
As if. With, like, a smaller vocabulary, and more use of "like" in my written life, and not as in, "I like ice cream too much," but more along the lines of, "I was all, like, sheesh, and he was all, like, unh-hu-uunh." I wasn't even raised in the Valley.
I had a call today from a longtime friend who was raised in Phoenix, which I'm pretty sure isn't a valley -- don't they have a mesa there? -- but Phoenix was very Valley-esque in my 1980s day.
This friend (we'll call her Carolyn) had the raddest hair. It so totally did not gag anyone with a spoon. In the late '80s, Carolyn's bangs stood straight up in a most wave-like manner. She was edgy and way cooler than me. She was cooler than everyone except Wav-O Am-O, a sweet girl whose hair could stand a little taller than even Carolyn's, and who embraced New Wave music and had a couple thousand safety pins in her leather bomber jacket. (I was a secret Air Supply devotee with an ever-so-practical Land's End ski coat. How uncool is that?)
Today Carolyn is the mom of two teen boys, so you know she is reduced to the uncool, definitely not "phat" or whatever they call cool these days. (I still think you're the coolest, Caro, even if your hair is at way lower altitude now.)
Anyway Carolyn called me today to tell me about a high school reunion. It's a big one. I graduated a little early so most of the really cool kids from my day were a lot more adult at graduation than I am, say, now.
But I still am apparently getting dumber.
The call took me right back to that day of Guess jeans and Cyndi Lauper (sp?) hair and, like, bandanas wrapped around wrists and all. I'd show you a picture but I don't have a scanner. And that's probably more pleasant for all of us.
I was jolted out of my quick trip down locker-stuffing lane by the sight of a Wisteria my mom gave us. It's all crispy and unhappy in the heat because I was completely irresponsible and put it out of the regular watering path while I was trying to decide where to plant it. My first reaction was to run into the nursery and buy another one (!) so my mom wouldn't know that I'm still that distractible and flighty.
I was gonna water it, Mom.