- Jon Stewart is a DILF. Just thought you should know - mrrowwr!
- I like Stephen Colbert quite a bit too.
- I probably should not be allowed to have those sugary imitation coffee drinks, like I did yesterday
- I've still got dangly plastic bits hanging off of my car cause I haven't gotten it fixed since the little incident.
- And I still haven't done our fucking taxes - shit!
- I've got too much butt for these jeans
- I can still smell his shaving cream from this morning's kisses - mmm.
- Hormone levels may have temporarily returned to normal.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
There are times that I don't want to write just light, breezy, inconsequential stuff. And I guess I don't really, I mean I don't think you could call this a necessarily "happy" or "fun" blog. But there's still always part of me that holds back. I'm not sure so much if it's fear of you or fear of myself.
There were certain things, actually a lot of things, that my mother would tell me not to tell people, or not speak up about. She did it to protect me in a way, I think, but at the time it came across to me as shame or embarrassment. All the years of self-help kind of stuff we went through to not keep our feelings bottled up, but then I was expected to go back to that. For my mom, it seemed more as what she thought was socially acceptable. You don't want anyone to feel responsible for what you've gone through, feel obligated to empathize. You don't want to be one of those people who says too much too soon. Maybe she just didn't want me to keep wearing my heart on my sleeve, there for anyone to take and use as they wished. And in a way, I understand. But in a way, I've never been that great at keeping my feelings and experiences to myself. Yes, there have been times when sharing has hurt me even more by the response I got - but there are also times that I felt like I was getting this poison out of my system and along the way, finding others who understood.
Christ, people. There are so many of us who have been abused, had rotten childhoods, fucked up relationships, etc. And while so many of us want to pass it off as being so incredibly strong, saying "So what? I got over it - you should too" - can't you see that this shit is still there inside? Can't you see that it affects all of your personal relationships, even if you don't realize it now? I'm tired of being told I'm just too sensitive. I'm tired of people laughing and turning away because they don't want to feel. I'm tired of the belief that being emotional is a character flaw. I'm tired of keeping it all inside because of what people think, or what I think they'll think.
Wow, I don't know what's gotten into me. It's like I want to fight for something, but I just don't know what. Already I feel apologetic and like I'll regret that I've revealed my weaknesses here. But right now, I guess I don't fucking care.
One thing that's really bothered me for a long time is when people take rape and incest and violence against women, or really anyone - so lightly, so jokingly. I don't consider myself that easily offended or above "off-color" kinds of humor, but I guess for me, I just don't think that shit is funny. And it amazes me how many people think it is. I can only imagine that nothing similar has ever happened to them or someone they've cared about, or it has and it's a really fucked up way of dealing with it. I can't believe that in some of these blogs I've read, no one ever fucking calls them out on it. Not even me. They can pass it off as just writing fiction or being sarcastic, but still. What's the most appalling, to me, is the women who seem to turn their backs on other women. You're a fucking woman, and you want to play off rape as something enjoyable? Do you realize how much that is just spitting in the face of someone who's actually gone through it? Do you think you're impressing all of your male chauvinist readers? Fucking christ, if I read one more blog where a woman says something along the lines of "I wanna be brutally raped - LOL" I'm gonna fucking puke.
And I know, free speech and all that. And I know, I don't have to read it. And I know, I'm probably taking this too much to heart when it may not be intended that way. But fuck if it doesn't make me a little more sickened every time that it seems everyone has become so desensitized.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
You know what? I love the smell of hot toner in the morning. Really. There's something comforting about the smell of a nice, hot, 20 page fax coming in. Mmm. So... office-y. Almost as nice as the smell of fresh laundry right out of the dryer.
So yeah, pretty much feeling better than yesterday.
Spent some time on the couch yesterday lying on my left side to try to take the pressure off of the right side of my sinuses - I think that's why I was getting dizzy. The cat curled up with me on the blanket and purred and then the boyfriend made a light, delicious dinner for us and we watched some Family Guy reruns. So really, I can't complain.
Wait a minute, I don't know what to do when I'm not complaining. No wonder I'm having a case of writer's block.
p.s. Does anyone remember the song that's the title of this post? It really gets stuck in your head. "Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow..."
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
I went to bed feeling dizzy and nauseous. I woke up feeling dizzy and nauseous. Just because I've got a nice boss doesn't mean I should go home when he gets back. I'm saying that mostly for your benefit. I'm trying to tell myself to be a good girl but given the choice it seems I never do what's right. Bleh. Tuesdays always seem to suck. Sorry, I've got nothing too good to say right now.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
In fifth grade, my friend and I felt we were perhaps a little too old to be playing Barbies. Well, that didn't exactly stop us. We weren't too old to play "dirty Barbies" after all! We just had to keep it hush-hush and make sure her little brother (tattletale) left us alone.
I don't know if you're familiar with Barbie and the Rockers? Umm, hello? They each came with a cassette tape and everything. Well, one of the members of Barbie's band was Derek, who I thought was way cooler than Ken (which I never had). He sure got a lot of action, being that there was usually about a 6/1 or more ratio of ladies to gents.
But, he was kind of a jerk about it.
I'd bring Derek over to my friend's house, where he'd be unimpressed with her Barbie's hotel. He just wanted to drive her corvette and make-out. At times, he'd request that she wore something a little sexier than her full-length gowns. He'd try running his outstretched hand through her hair, but ended up getting it caught and pulling a blond snarl out. Smooth. Then he'd clumsily try to pull her clothes off and would grin at her firm breasts, rubbing his muscular body squeakily back and forth against hers. "Sex" was pretty awkward, given Derek's pemananent briefs and Barbie's tendency to not open her legs, but you know - we managed. Afterwards, he'd use such cliched phrases as "Wow, baby - you're the best." or "Really, I'll call ya..." as he raised his arm in a stiff waving gesture, the arrogant smile still plastered on his face. One time Barbie got pissed at his quick exit and tried something to lure him back.
"You can't go. I'm pregnant."
"What? There's no way you can know that yet." (that was me being a smartass)
"Yuh-huh!" (that was my friend, being insistent)
"You told me you were on the pill!" (I must've heard this somewhere before)
"Oh right. Nevermind. I'll take my pill and I won't be pregnant anymore."
"I don't think that's how it works, but fine."
We didn't feel like playing anymore after that.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
So the boss surprised me the other day by asking if I had heard of "the shocker". No no, I didn't take his hand like so and show him. I just turned slightly red and asked if that was a trick question. Really, he just learned about this last weekend, and thank God somebody already explained the gesture to him. "I didn't know - I always thought it was a gang sign!" I guess he figures if it's something silly and immature, I must know about it, and well - that's true for the most part. I'm glad all I had to do was snicker and cover my face to avoid much further discussion.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I look at my stats and I see you looked at your stats and saw me hanging out and then you came over to see what the fuss was all about. Well, it was just little old me! I don't like to keep bookmarks on one of the computers that I use and I'm just wacky so I go to your blog through my blog and clickety-clickety-click and then you think holy crappers, that's a lot of referrals from that one site, but it's all that same *%$#^*% person. Geez, that girl must be really obsessive-compulsive or just like, has a thing for me or something.
And you're right!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Wow. Yeah. That was some time well spent there changing the font colors 14 times on the old template, then going through all the different pre-made templates and not liking any of them. Whew. Yeah. And for those of you who are old school, this is just the same ol template I used in the beginning. Yeah, good times and excitement.
That was dumb.
How come we always end up having the litterbox in the same room as the computer? The smell of cat poop is really stifling my creativity.
(I can't even make a proper caption for this cat... and doesn't she look like she needs one?)
So I ordered some Girl Scout cookies. Since I didn't know when they'd arrive, I didn't happen to have the cash on me at the time when the girl's mom brought them in to work. No problem, they take checks. As I thumbed through my purse, I noticed that I had the old checkbook from an account I cancelled as well as my current checkbook. And I thought - how shitty would that be? To purposely write a check to a freakin Girl Scout when you know it would bounce? I wonder if anyone has bounced a check for Girl Scout cookies? And I started thinking - I wonder if they would deal with that at the corporate level? And then I thought, well I would hope so, what're they gonna do - make the girlscout pay? I start imagining:
(Troop leader approaches with a voided check, thrusts it in the scout's face)
"Well Jenny, do you know what insufficient funds means?"
"What? Umm, no?"
"Well it means that I'm going to have to take back that patch you earned for selling 100 boxes. Ohhh and you were so close, too..."
"Nope, that's the rules. I guess you'll know better next year."
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Dude. What is up with the Wall? (Ahem, you know what I mean - it rhymes with Ballgreens?) The harshly blaring lights, unmarked merchandise and zombielike staff aren't enough?
It seems like every time I go, something weird and/or mildly irritating happens. And I'm not even talking about the times that they lost or didn't have my prescription, I mean - that's just expected as part of the fun, right?
>There are the times when the lady at the pharmacy pick-up counter looks like she's gonna blow your fucking head off as she asks you if you have any questions for the pharmacist, which you politely say you don't, even if somehow you did. Or the times when you spell your last name three times and she just starts sighing loudly and rummaging through all the little alphabetized buckets, throwing prescriptions to and fro in her frenzy.
>Or the times when you're unfortunate enough to have to go down the aisle with the feminine products, which inevitably will be in the process of being stocked by multiple gawking male employees who won't just politely get out of your way. "So yeah man, huh huh she was totally wasted and passed out in the back of my car, and... OH! CAN I HELP YOU FIND ANYTHING, MAAM?" in the way that's just completely for the other guy's amusement. I shake my head and turn around, pretending to have come down the wrong aisle. I can just picture their little snickers as I walk away... "Damn dude, looked like she needed some super absorbancy, huh huh!"
>Or the time that I waited in line at the pharmacy checkout for what felt like an eternity behind this greasy guy who would not stop dancing this little jig, then annnounced when it was his turn at the counter "YES! I am picking up some OINTMENT!"
>Or the times that I run into this guy I went to school with who works there, who always tells me he dreams of someday "burning this fucking place down, I swear I'll fucking do it, I fucking hate this this place. Sorry, I gotta go hide the clearance stuff before people try to buy it."
Okay, so the last couple times I had to go for a prescription, I figured I'd use the "convenient drive-thru service" to possibly avoid the craziness. No such luck. I'm almost positive that the guy they have working the drive-thru window used to work either at an oil-change place or as a bouncer. Not that that's a bad thing, he's just kinda gruff and LOUD, considering what he does. I'd say just imagine Tom Sizemore is giving you your prescriptions, but ok - he's a couple notches below that level of intensity. Still. The first time I went, I was in the second lane which has this box on a track (not like the nifty tubes at the bank) which has written all over it DO NOT CLOSE DOOR - DOOR CLOSES AUTOMATICALLY so you know, fuck if I'm gonna be the one to close it and get yelled at by this dude. So of course, the box-thingy gets stuck as it tries to go up and into the building because the door does not close automatically and so he has to tell me "YOU GOTTA SLAM THE DOOR SHUT ON THAT THING, OKAY? LET'S TRY THIS AGAIN!" and it was just a stupid embarrassing experience. Today I go and figure I'll be in the first lane and avoid the box thingy. But still, I get the same guy and he barks at me, interrupts me when I try to answer, he's like "YOU NEED TO SPEAK UP, AND SLOWER" and then later he said something that I didn't know was a joke that needed a response because HE SAID IT LIKE HE SAYS EVERYTHING ELSE. So I halfheartedly smiled and nodded, but wasn't really looking at him and he's like "ARE YOU OKAY OUT THERE, MAAM?" and I thought, you know I guess I can just be glad he didn't look at my prescription and announce into the microphone "OH I SEE - YOU ARE NOT OKAY, ARE YOU? HA HA HA" but anyway. We complete the transaction and he says "Nice car, by the way" and I almost say "Damn, dude - don't be such a fucking dick about it" but then I realize he can only see the side that isn't (still) smashed up, so I just awkwardly grumble "thanks" and chirp out.
I gotta switch pharmacies.
note: this use of "The Wall" coined by Dane Cook, as if you didn't know.
& Look, I used the word dick for two post titles in a row!
I know, it's the same old thing.
Something's always wrong, something's always in need of repair.
It can be rather disconcerting, it seems that whenever I take myself or my car to get checked out, I get about the same reactions:
"Hmm, that's odd..."
"When was the last time you had this checked?"
"You really shouldn't let these things go for so long."
"Woah, you see how that's over there? That should be over here."
"Rrghh, someone really screwed this on tight last time..."
Well, okay - you get the point.
But in my halfassed defense, it's not just the procrastination, it's the not having money and the shame, too.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
The last two mornings, I've slept in much longer than usual, but still feel exhausted. Woke up drenched in sweat, muscles stiff, feeling like I had ground my teeth away. Angry, sad and confused. Feeling out of touch with reality, like I had a mental breakdown in my sleep. Kept getting trapped in awful dreams that normally I could wake myself out of. I feel like my story is all just predictions of an awful, inevitable future. Nothing makes sense right now.
Friday, March 17, 2006
(Not exactly today's turn-ons, but just read it anyway, will ya?
Oh, and here's the turn-offs post)
And now... a few things that shed light onto my otherwise miserable
- - having an irishman at home, ready for some shamrocks & shenanigans later on! (woo! jump-up jump-up and get down!)
- - or more likely, corned beef & cabbage (that's good too!)
- - having the boss gone due to "March Madness"
- - listening to Zero 7
And the following blogs I've been stalking lately that are just so damn funny and intelligent, I am rendered speechless...
Gone Feral - found through Tiny Cat Pants and was hooked. Incredibly hilarious, smart and sassy - even able to make light of things like bad doctor visits and jahooby infections.
Tiny Cat Pants - she's on vacation right now, but she never ceases to amaze and impress me with her political views (that make sense, even to me!) and humor. And I never get tired of her cooter talk.
Alright alright, that's enough ass-kissing for now.
And have a happy St. Patty's day everybody!
For some reason, I tend to get grouchy on Fridays. I know, what the crap? Guess I save it up during the week. Oh, and I don't have a social life that involves the usual "it's Fri-daaay-time-to-par-taaay" thang. Anyway, here are my grievances thus far, a.k.a. turn offs:
- - tummy aches
- - bitches who cut in front of me to get their gas station crappycinos
- - 404 page errors
- - page-load status insisting on being "done" when infact it is not done, it's not done at all
- - empty inboxes
- - toilet odors
- - bad local radio
- - as in, that James Blunt "you're be-ooti-fah-hull" song. I've had enough of that. You need to cram it, fuckface.
- - or that new Destiny's Child/Beyonce/whatever the fuck you are now/ song that's just whiney shlock with an offbeat kinda rhythm, sounds like a twix commercial. Oh yeah, you have no way of telling which song of theirs that is by my description, do you?
- - stupid faxes with no cover page
- - my own lame existence
Oh, and how this bulleted list shows up without the bullets, so then I gotta use dashes. That's real nice.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Another piece of proof that I'm freaky?
Smelling his underarms really turns me on, it must be the pheromones and what-not. I like to nuzzle my nose in there, inhale deeply, and it can lead to me vigorously dry-humping him. Some people just have a good body smell. His pits smell kinda like celery, yet celery alone doesn't make me hot. Hmmm... (???)
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Ever feel like you're just so deep inside your own head that you can't get back to reality? That you're overthinking the countless possibilites of every situation so much that you couldn't possibly answer anyone's questions in a clear and to the point way? Ever feel like you're living your life like more of a perception of yourself than your real, deep-down self? Or that you're reacting to others based on what you think they think of you, when maybe they don't even think of you like you think they do? Do you ever feel like you're just going through the motions, because that's what you're supposed to do?
I know, don't question these things...
Monday, March 13, 2006
Sunday, March 12, 2006
As I've mentioned, at my former job there were a lot of... interesting folks. One was a 60-something, sort of grizzled woman who had worked there for like 40-some years (no joke). People (including her middle-aged daughter, who also worked there) gave her shit all the time - mostly because she was in a position of authority and could be rather gruff. But since I didn't work directly with her, for the most part we got along pretty well.
For a while everyone took their lunch together at these long picnic tables. It ended up that most of the time I'd be sitting directly across from her. And she'd have to comment about whatever it was I was eating, or wasn't eating. Which, you know - I guess women just do. I didn't comment on what she ate, but I'd be almost physically ill when she brought leftover chicken. It wasn't the chicken itself, mind you. I just did not want to see her eat anything with her hands.
She had these fingernails... that (partly due to working with cleaning chemicals) were less like fingernails and more like overgrown nasty toenails. Why she insisted on keeping them long, I don't know. But they were like these yellowish-brown inhuman looking talons. It made me a bit squeemish. So, as you can imagine when she brought leftover fried chicken (or any messy food) it was really... something. The fried breading would get ALL up under her nails (and with the longass nails, that was quite a bit of breading) and if she was feeling rather expressive with her gestures as she talked, you'd better watch out for those chicken fingers. Of course, when finished she'd proceed to dig out whatever collected on the underside of those talons and eat it, or just chomp on the nail itself. Who knows what all was under there!? Dude, gross. But we'd be talking, so I couldn't really look away. I couldn't look away, I tell you! And she'd ask, as crumbs and spit flew out of her mouth and barreled towards my face "You're done eating already?" And I'd quickly, politely excuse myself to retch...
But other than that, nice lady. Really.
Friday, March 10, 2006
I just remember a little chunk of the dream I had last night. It was in an old, somewhat abandoned school. Things were fine for a while, we were all watching some presentation or something in the auditorium and then all hell broke loose. I was running with this group of people. We were all trying to escape, but at every exit we came to, someone would die trying to get out, making our herd a little smaller every time. The walls and floors were shifting and we were all being thrown about by whatever force it was outside. I thought I had found another exit, but at the top of the stairs where there was an open door, were these awful growling and barking dogs with blood and drool coming out of their mouths. Someone went ahead of us and distracted (ie: got chewed on by) the dogs so we could pass through. Then it was just me and this sweet little blond haired girl, and all I wanted was to protect her. We made it into some room that was safe, and she clung to me and whispered "I love you" and I said "I love you too and I'm gonna keep you safe." And I held onto her like I was her mother. But when the aliens/monsters came for us, it was the little girl who suddenly had this power to protect us. She'd spin herself extremely fast and knock out anyone who got close. A miniature tornado, she was. Somehow all I got was a few papercuts (I don't know why) and we made it to safety.
And I swear we were not watching Resident Evil or anything like that last night!
I do have recurring dreams where I'm taking care of or protecting a little girl and I think that could be either: the little girl is me, or it's a sign that my biological clock is ticking.
*A Mazzy Star song. I miss falling asleep to that album "So Tonight That I Might See" even though the last song would usually wake me up. Still, one of my favorites from that time. But yes, I realize this title could've perhaps been used in one of my token "lesbo fantasy posts".
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Just a couple quick happy thoughts.
Did I mention that my "not-quite in-laws" are very sweet and funny people? No wonder they've got such a damn good son.
Anyway, thought it was worth noting that my "not-quite mother-in-law" has upgraded my nickname status! Now I hear myself referred to as "The Little" replacing the former "The Little Turd" which, really - was always an affectionate term, mind you.
Oh, and I finally got a haircut this weekend, which upgraded my hair status from "frumpy" to "milfy"! Didn't think there was a difference? Eh, well apparently a few inches shorter will do the trick. Now, I know what you're thinking but really, it was meant as a compliment... even though I'm not a mom. Best not to think about that one too much.
Since I like referencing the old archives lately (I know - how cheap, huh?), here's another post about our funny moms.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
I thought of this again today. There was a Saturday morning a few weeks ago that J had gone into work. I was sleeping in, but startled awake by a thud thud thud on the front door. After living for years in apartments, I'm not so used to having only one door between us and the outside world. And I didn't like the sound of that knock. I froze, swallowing my heart into my stomach. I laid completely still under the covers, listening for the next round of knocks. Bracing myself in the panic-mode that comes from a rude awakening. I waited, but there were no more knocks on the door and I was relieved. Nothing worth freaking out about, but it took a good hour before the anxiety subsided. I don't like unexpected visitors and mostly everyone we know will call us before coming by. It was probably just a Girl Scout or someone else taking donations, or even a neighbor just stopping by to say hello. We don't even live in a bad neighborhood where I should be afraid, but that's sort of the point. It doesn't matter what kind of neighborhood it is. I have this awful fear of being trapped inside my own home. Not just that, but it's one of my fears.
I still have these nightmares about these things that happened so long ago, and I can't deny their presence. The flashbacks of running as fast as I could to lock all the doors in the house I grew up in. Of trying desperately to push the door closed and turn the lock while someone was pushing with all their force on the other side. Or how the moment they thought of another door they could try, I'd have to hope I could reach it before they did. Trying to fight or prevent it would make them more angry, the punishment or humiliation would be worse. I remember how the two rooms in our house that had locks built into the doorknob could easily be unlocked with a straightened wire hanger. That meant that even the bathroom wasn't safe, if I had to go I would just need to try to hold it until later. And I remember the adrenaline I'd have as I'd wedge my bed or dresser in front of my bedroom door... and wait and wait and wait for them to give up and find something else to do. It was a game, to them but not me. I truly believed that they'd kill me if I told anyone. They'd say it over and over again - we'll kill you, no one will get here in time to save you. Once I attempted to call their bluff and my father's hunting rifle was found, cocked cha-chuck and pointed in my face. They thought it was funny when I cried. My fear was fueling them. I had no faith at that time that they wouldn't do it. Of course, somehow they didn't - but that came along with "Ha haa, it wasn't even loaded, stupid crybaby." I was seemingly despised, yet necessary in these games somehow. And I had wanted so badly to be included, to be good, to be fun, to not be the brunt of their amusement. Things like that continued for way too long.
Wouldn't it be something, to go back and right the wrongs that your childhood self couldn't? To fight those fights and never be scared? I had been predisposed with the perfect mentality for it then. I felt that for years I was a magnet, I just brought out the bad side of people. And now although I feel like I've worked through most of these things, paranoia has become some sort of automatic defense mechanism - holding me back from things as simple as answering a knock on the door.
Friday, March 03, 2006
- - female coworker, coming out of bathroom "Wooohh, now don't you go in there for about 35 to 45 minutes, girl. Mmm, I tell ya - I wish I could get my money back, 'cause that sausage just went right on through me!"
- - full-of-herself coworker telling rest of us about her date "I thought at first he said I'm pretty, because I'm so used to hearing that all the time, but no he said I'm witty and I was like that's so cool, because I really am so witty, it's just no one notices it!
- - stupid girl that only lasted for 2 weeks, referring to 911 "Okay, so they hijacked the plane with a box-cutter? I would've been like hell naw, yall ain't taking me down with no box-cutter. I wouldn'ta been scared of that shit, pleease. Pssshhh, how dumb were those fuckin hostages?"
- - meth-head mom, showing responsibility "I'll only carry a gram of meth on me if I've got my baby in the car."
- - non-smoker towards smokers break area "Goddaamn! Who left one in the ashtray? Smells like a fuckin burnt tampon up in here!"
- - overly thrifty coworker to fellow smokers "Hey, do you smoke Basics? I got a coupon for buy one get one free, I'll sell it to ya for a dollar."
- - outspoken redneck says to only black employee at the time "You know how black people just have that smell? No, no - I'm serious! Well, I think I figured it out - it's the grease they put in their hair, right?
- - same outspoken redneck to same black coworker, being honestly ignorant "Why do all black people like watermelon and fried chicken so much?"
- - black coworker to me, about outspoken redneck coworker "That ol' heifer better watch her fatass, next time she wanna talk some ignorant bullshit to me."
- - gay-hating female coworker upon mention of Brokeback Mountain, in seriously disgusted voice "Whatever. Why would I want to watch a couple faggies getting all... faggy?"
* an example of some classy ladies I've worked with
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
When I was little, I remember hearing adults use the expression "making ends meet" quite often, but I guess I didn't quite understand it.
I knew it was just an expression, but I always thought they meant "making ends-meat" like that was a type of meat. I knew it also had to do with not having money, so I figured maybe ends-meat would be all they could manage to get from the butcher. Someone would say "Oh, that's a shame about Jim losing his job, their family was already having enough trouble making ends-meat." See? Because that's all they had to eat, and it was awful to have to make dinner out of that! And what's worse than not even having ends-meat in the first place?
I'd picture these poor souls, waiting with their cupped hands outstretched, hoping to catch the "end" pieces of meat off of the butcher's table before they were thrown away. Later at home, a frustrated mother would pound away at the gristly, unsavory pieces, trying to make ends-meat for her family. The disappointed children would say "Ughh! Ends-meat again?" and so on.
It made sense to me! But I'm so glad I didn't open my mouth about it in a social situation.
Here's the first misconceptions post, dusted off from way back in the archives.