Scribbles by Viv, Vintage chicks lol

From My POV, Acronyms Are KPC

I try to be a hip social medialite, but who can keep up with the ever-changing acronym dialect? 

When this whole social media thing started years ago, I thought for months that WTF meant “Wait Till Friday,” you know, kinda like TGIF. It was only after I emailed it to my supervisor in a company memo that I found out differently.

The 5-year-old explains the latest acronyms to Grandma.

The younger people keep coming up with new acronyms so that older people — AKA parents and grandparents — don’t have a clue what they are actually talking about, which is usually how clueless their parents and grandparents are.

In my first week of AAC —Advanced Acronym Classes (taught by my grandchildren) — I’ve learned that MTFBWY does not mean “May Take Forever, But We’re Young,” (which explains why I never used that acronym), but instead, stands for “may the force be with you.” 

I also learned STFU does not stand for St. Francis University. Sister Mary Jean called to express her “disappointment” in me.

Facepalm.

Even vintage chicks know what LOL and LMAO means, but how about TL;DR? Turns out that means “too long, didn’t read.” Now that I think about it, one of my editors used to write that on the stories I sent him. He sometimes sent my stories back a second time with a scribbled “CALMSO!” (cut a lot more sh** out)

Because of my experience with the WTF acronym, I made an assumption recently when my younger sister sent me a text that said: WFH?

“WFH?! NOTHING HAPPENED! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” I fired back.

Sis texted back: “OMG. LMAO. WFH means “Working from home.”

Coronavirus, Vintage chicks lol

Killing Time Between Birth and Coronavirus

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Day 14 of Extreme Social Distancing

3:10 a.m. — Finally fell asleep after binge-watching episodes 1-7 of the new season of “Ozark.”

7 a.m.— Woke up after dreaming I was driving to the levee — which was in the Ozarks — but the levee was dry, and now I can’t get “American Pie” out of my mind. Glanced at time, muttered, “Nah,” rolled over and went back to sleep.

9 a.m. — Woke up to Maya Angelou (Cat 1) sitting on my head and trying to pry my eyes open. “You have food,” I mutter to Maya and Harper Lee (Cat 2), who jumped on the bed in defense of her BFF. “Besides, all you two are doing is eating, laying around, binge-watching Netflix and getting fat. No more food.” Maya coughed up a hairball on my pillow and Harper looked at me slyly and slowly began kneading my belly fat.

Now, for ten years we’ve been on our own, And moss grows fat on a rolling stone, But, that’s not how it used to be …

9:10 a.m.— Debated on whether to put on real pants instead of pajama bottoms. Maybe even a bra? Nah.

9:30 a.m. Passed neurotic, anxious hubby, who was in the recliner watching 24/7 news and devouring a dozen brownies, harikari-style, with vodka chasers. Checked the pantry: Eight rolls of toilet paper left, but who’s counting?

It is Sunday. Maybe I should change into clean pajama pants?

And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye, Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die
This’ll be the day that I die

10:05 a.m. —Sun came out for seven minutes, then it started raining. Fed both cats, made coffee, did back exercises, dashed outside in pajama pants and got the paper.

With every paper I’d deliver, Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn’t take one more step …

11 a.m. — Still raining. Wind kicked in, as well. Sent a group text and videos to the grandkids of me dancing in the kitchen to American Pie, blowing kisses, giving air hugs and playing Uno by myself to show how much I missed them. Sigh.

And I knew if I had my chance, That I could make those people dance, And maybe they’d be happy for awhile …

12 noon — Should be working. Deadlines looming. Maybe later. I’ve got all day. OK, just one more episode of Ozark and then I’ll get to work.

Did you write the book of love, And do you have faith in God above, If the Bible tells you so?

3:30 p.m.— Accidentally set out frozen cheesecake instead of frozen chicken to thaw. Watched the last three episodes of Ozark and started watching Tiger King. OMG. Can’t. Stop. Watching. This. Train. Wreck. Had entire cheesecake for dinner and ate a jar of Nutella with my fingers for dessert.

I can’t remember if I cried, When I read about his widowed bride, Something touched me deep inside, The day the music died …

2:30 a.m.— Geesh. Ten hours of my life. Gone. Did finish watching Netflix, though. I’ll start on Prime tomorrow — after I finish my work. Sent a group text to my kids and my siblings. Within 10 minutes had 38 notifications. No one is sleeping. Who am I kidding? Neither am I. Got up and tiptoed to pantry: Seven rolls of toilet paper left, but who’s counting?

Do you believe in rock and roll, Can music save your mortal soul, And can you teach me how to dance real slow …