Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Grammar Snob

I recently started realizing something that really bugs me that I haven’t previously given a lot of thought to. 

Grammatical errors…  Or just plain grammatical weirdness.

I don’t care if you start a sentence with a conjunction.  I do it all the time.  In every non-scholastic thing I’ve ever written.  If I didn’t constantly use fragments and conjunctions, you probably would have no idea the voice in my head is so A.D.D.  Maybe.

Squirrel.

Let's be realistic.  I've always known I like things to be fairly grammatically correct.  I like wording not to sound awkward, I like my punctuation to be mostly right, and I like my tenses to match up.  Mostly, I don't like to be tripped up while reading.

However, the problem I noticed I'm having is with severe grammar problems in pop culture.  I like it when I start listening to the lyrics of a song and don't end up with my head cocked slightly to the left like my dog when I start growling at him (not that I do that) and thinking "what the fuck did they just say?"

I don’t really even care how many times you say “baby” or “yeah” in a song.  Given that it’s within reason.  And not sung by anyone with Bieber anywhere in their name.

I have a problem with this.

I actually really like this song.  But the first phrase kills me.  To the point where I change the words when I sing along.

In case you haven’t caught on already, let me explain.  He says, “It kills me not to know this, but I’ve all but just forgotten” (fine so far) “what the color of her eyes were, and her scars or how she got them.” 

Wait…  What? 

No.

Just.  No.

The problem is that he is referring to the color of her eyes (singular—in most cases, at least), not the eyes themselves (plural).  So the first time I started to sing along with the song, I automatically sang the lyrics in a grammatically correct manner: “what the color of her eyes was.”  Then I realized I had sung the wrong words, backed up the song, and listened to it again to make sure.  Now I sing the wrong lyrics on purpose.  I am just that OCD, I guess. 

Scary, right?

I couldn’t care less where I went to for dinner Saturday night, but it bugs the crap out of me when a lyric in a fucking rock song is grammatically incorrect.  

Well, I’m scared.

I also can't remember what I had for dinner Saturday night.  
That can't be good.


In other news, I bought new the other day.  Bad choice.  Weirdest pants ever.

They are currently in ending hour five of their rape-a-thon. 

I carry all my weight in the middle of my body.  So I have little knees, calves, and ankles.  Pretty petite shoulders.  Fairly large chest.  Smallish waist.  But between my belly button and mid-thigh, there is a little more squish than I would probably have if given a choice.  The fact that I work a desk job 40 hours a week doesn’t exactly help the junk in my trunk. 

The weirdest thing about these jeans is that they pretty much fit my ass, but are tight in the thighs.  Then fit perfectly from the knee down.  They are evil imprisoned in a denim-y hell.

I take that back.

I am imprisoned in their evil, denim-y hell.

Fuck jeans.

I’m only wearing sweatpants or leggings from now on.


Maybe.

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