On finding the right words

This is not about how to find the right way to say something complicated.

This is about how to throw a party.

A friend of mine who lives in Oregon likes to have these parties at the beginning of every summer wherein guests bring some pasta salad, maybe a few beers, oh, I don't know, perhaps some Jello? No, probably not Jello. But, you know. Coleslaw maybe. The hosts crank up a grill and cook hot dogs and burgers. Condiments are presented. There may be a lawn game or two involved.

In Oregon, such an event is called a BBQ. Or, spelled differently, a barbecue. The event is so recognizable as such, that my friend, should her last name be Windsor, could invite people to a Windsor-Q, and all attendees would know that it would be outside and that food would be cooked on a grill (fascinators optional).

I tried inviting some of my South Carolinian friends to an Aynor-Q recently. Later, when I mentioned that the grill - the one we keep outside and cook food on - would be heated for the event, I got a surprised response. "Oh, we're grilling?"

Right. Because not only was the Q not specific enough to suggest BBQ - which I get - but here, in the Deep South, the word BBQ (or barbecue) does not mean "a party where people cook outside." It is a noun that means "food that is cooked with smoke" or a verb that means "to cook with smoke." In the Carolinas, it can also be a noun defined as "pulled pork." Said pulled pork may be mixed with barbecue sauce, either vinegar or mustard-based, but NEVER, for the love of Jesus, will that sauce be tomato-based.

Here, an event where people cook outside on a grill is called a "cook out."

Oooooohkay. Lesson officially learned.

I also learned another lesson at what turned out to just be a good dinner party: if you're a yankee (I hear I am), don't try saying "y'all." It works in writing - I've found it's quite efficient as a plural, gender-neutral pronoun in a casual email. However, when I tried it on my guests, my efforts were met with mockery.

Bastards.

On humidity: Part 1

Oh, humidity. You wicked, wicked bitch.

On a recent day, I was feeling hi-tech, so I looked at the weather indicator on my iPhone. Our house is temperature controlled, and it seemed easier than going outside. It said the day's high would be 77.

Since I'm an idiot, and I lived in the desert for five  years, I put on a pear of jeans and a breezy black blouse with cap sleeves, plus a jaunty little blue hat I bought on impulse at some cheapass shoe store in the mall (I look really good in hats, as long as I can get them on my giant head).

A pair of earrings, some flip flops, and I'm set to go.

Ha!

You southerners already know my mistake. 77 with 10% humidity is jeans weather. 77 with 99% humidity means you'll be peeling those fuckers off when you get back to the comforts of central air.

Stupid.

So I changed into a sundress, and I thanked Jesus for giving me blonde leg hair.

Actual conversation between me and Roomie:

"Uhg, I just don't want to shave my legs."

"I don't care."

"Well lucky me, because I'm lazy."

"It just lowers the chances of some southern hottie stealing you away from me."

That's love, people.

*Update: The following day, when I woke up, I looked out the window and saw a sort of low-hanging fog that, if I lived in London or the Pacific Northwest, would mean a cool, gray day was ahead of me. Here, it's just the hot morning mist. I walked outside, and it felt like I'd walked into a dog's breath. The high tomorrow is 91. (p.s. It's still May, right?)

I begrudgingly shaved my legs, and in the process shaved a chunk out of my ankle about the size of my pinkie nail.

Blast you humidity! Blast you (said whilst shaking bloody Venus razor at sky)!

It's going to be a long summer.

Conversation I had this week

"So, what did you say about the rapture at work?"

"Um, nothing."

"What, really? No one brought it up?"

"No, and I'm not going to. That would be a really quick way to get fired."

"Oh, come on. You could have just said, like, 'Hey, probably won't see you all Monday, eh?'"

"Right. Add in a 'I mean, I'll probably still be around. I'll hold the place down.' That is one valuable point I did not think to put on my resume. 'Definitely won't be called back in case of Rapture.'"