Stay Away from the Lights

Must… resist… the… casino…it keeps calling for me, “Leana, come to us. You have the day off tomorrow, you are still ahead from your last visit…there’s nothing good on T.V!!!”

I mustn’t. I can’t. I won’t. Nooooooo.

Two of Every Kind on My Boat

The recent rains in Southern California have managed to leave their mark on my bedroom window. When I came home from work last night the first thing I heard was, “drip…drip…drip.” I’m no Inspector Gadget but I knew exactly what that was. The association manager had gone home for the day so I just laid down the towels and relocated my Tupperware to the window sill.

I attempted to sleep in my bedroom, but again the “drip…drip…drip” was too much an annoyance. I folded out my couch and attempted to sleep. I may have gotten 3 hours of sleep.

I spent most of the morning hunting down the association manager, then the property manager and finally members of my condo association. I finally got word that they were going to have a roofer come out and take a look. That’s the last I heard.

The first thing I heard when I got home tonight was “drip…drip…drip.”

Now it seems to be worse than it was this morning. I’m going to make some phone calls tomorrow and if I don’t get the answers I want I’m going to lay down a hurt on my condo board. I may have to bring out the Purse squad.

Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to fold out my couch and cry myself to sleep.

Owning a home sucks ass.

Detective Robert Goren

That Vincent D'Onofrio is one hell of a detective. You can be sure that if my body washes up on Venice Beach with a jump rope tied around my neck, I would want him to be the first guy on the scene. Well actually, you can be sure that I wouldn’t want to be dead washing up on the beach, but if I had no other option I’d want him to be the detective on my case. The dude can look at a bruise on your body and know what object caused it, he can feel a piece of paper and tell you what type of tree it came from, he can smell a piece of cheese and tell you the name of the cow that donated it. He’s THAT GOOD.

Yeah, I’d definitely want Vincent D'Onofrio on the case. Either him or Scooby and the gang.

The Plan is Fool Proof

I’ve decided to win the Lotto. It’s really the only option. If I want to pursue the stand up full-time and still be able to buy my purses, play poker and eat, I need to have more money coming in than going out. But I don’t want to work harder or invest, so the Lotto is the easiest answer. I don’t just want to have a roof over my head and a cupboard full of Ramon noodles, I want to be comfortable. And that comfort can only be bought with Lotto-like money. That or I need to sell a kidney. Let the bidding begin.

Something’s Blowing in the Wind

The wind and rain woke me up at 3 this morning, and my rattling bedroom window made sure I couldn’t get back to sleep. Between that and the constant slamming of a door two apartments down, I was screwed. How could the owner of that door not be woken up and say, “Hey I better secure that door so my neighbors can sleep.” Ass munch. I bet he’s a renter.

I Hear it's Going Around

I must be getting sick again. I went to the mall for the mega after-Christmas sales and didn’t buy one single purse. What is happening to me? I didn’t even see one purse at Macys that I was even interested in picking up to take a closer look. I hope this is just one of those 24-hour bugs.

T'was the Evening of Christmas

I defy you to find a chili dog at 9 pm on Christmas Day. It’s an impossibility.

Quality Christmas Television

Television has been a big part of the Christmas Day festivities. Here’s the way it shook out.

8:00 a.m.: My Aunt Linda and Cousin Julie and I watched Channel 9’s gift to its viewers- a shot of a fireplace and holiday music playing over it. We watched for an hour and the logs in the fire never burned down. There was much debate as to whether it was a real log burning fireplace, some digital manipulation, or as Cousin Julie believed, witch craft. We all agreed that the log looked a lot like a hippo. Channel 9 wouldn’t burn a hippo on Christmas, would they?

9:30 a.m. to 10:30 a.m.: “Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer.” Now I’ve seen a lot of cartoons in my day. I grew up with “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer,” “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” “Frosty the Snowman” and even its extremely weak sequel, “Frosty’s Winter Wonderland” where the children attempt to hook Frosty up with some scank-snow woman named Crystal. But this cartoon was by far the most preposterous.

Yes, I know cartoons can take some artistic license simply because they are cartoons, but this was just offensive to all who know the song. Not only did they change the plot of the cartoon, wherein Grandma didn’t end up dead by hoof but instead is whisked away to Santa’s personal North Pole hospital, but they turn it into a remake of “Miracle on 34th Street” with a court scene reminiscent of “A Few Good Men.” But instead of Jack Nicholson on the stand, it was Santa. Plus the grandma in question’s last name was Spankinheimer. I am not making that up. This cartoon is sure to be a holiday classic.

10:30 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.: To say my family enjoys British humor would be an understatement. Christmas Eve was all about the BBC and this afternoon we spent watching my Cousin Stephanie’s French and Saunders DVD. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the dry humor and quick wit of the Brits, but much of it was about shit that only Brits know about, like their local news reporters and kidney bean pie. And half the dialog was lost on me ‘cause they were talking so fast. That’s why I enjoy Southern humor so much. I’ve never had to turn to someone in the middle of a Jeff Foxworthy special and ask, “What did he say?”

4:00 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.: I re watched the WPT Shooting Star final table from the Bay 101 club -also known as the game where Phil Gordon schooled an entire table. I would have to say this is my favorite WTP game. I know, choosing a favorite WPT game is like choosing a favorite child, but even parents secretly do that.

6:00 p.m. to now: “Death of a Cheerleader.” Christmas wouldn’t be the same without this holiday classic. Kellie Martin falls in love with Tori Spelling (the cheerleader), but when she professes her love for her, Tori tells her to “go away freak-show.” Kellie then fillet’s her like a salmon. You go Becca!

It's 3 a.m. Do You Know Where Your Leana Is?

I just got home from the Commerce Casino, where I had my most exciting evening of poker yet. Let’s just forget the fact that I’ve only played in a non-tournament game twice since I started my obsession with Texas Hold-em. Let’s just concentrate on the excitement that was tonight.

I decided to celebrate the forthcoming Christmas holiday, and subsequent four days away from the office, by going to the casino. My dad was nice enough to send me cash for Christmas (how did he know that’s what I really, really wanted?) and told me to do whatever I wanted with it. I’m sure he might have meant pay a bill or buy a sweater, but I took it to mean, “Feed your poker addition.”

Had I believed in bad luck I would have turned around before I even got to the casino. I took the wrong exit off the 710 freeway, got lost and had to park a million miles away. I get inside and signed up for a 2/4 table with 20 people in front of me, and 45 minutes later I realized I had signed up for Stud, not Hold’em.

I’m glad I realized it before I sat down at the table. How embarrassing! I almost bolted. It was almost 10 p.m. and I was getting cranky. I asked one of the pit bosses where the Hold’em section was and he directed me to the 300 tables right next to the door I passed through to enter the casino. What a dumb ass am I? Please don’t feel the need to answer that in the comments section.

After waiting another 20 minutes, I got seated at a 1/2 table. I didn’t want to get involved with the 1/2 tables ‘cause your rate of return is crap. You could sit at a table for 3 hours, be doing fairly well and still only walk away with $30 extra dollars. No thank you! But it was the first free table and I was so itching to play that I took the seat.

I ended up setting between this huge Mexican man covered in tattoos and a creepy old guy wearing a member’s only jacket. I could tell it was going to be a fun table ‘cause everyone was chatty. Apparently the Mexican guy would raise every time around making the pots pretty big, so it was really more of a 4/8 table than a 1/2 . I almost walked then, not wanting to get forced to spend $4 every hand to see a flop, but again I stayed.

Which was a good thing. Everyone was comfortable with calling this guy’s reraises, and since the blinds were only 50 cents and a buck, I would only have to go in when I thought could play something. And I wasn’t bullied by the Mexican guy ‘cause I knew he’d call with crap anyway.

I got my all-time greatest hand tonight. I was in the big blind and was dealt two Kings. This in itself is an awesome starting hand. The Mexican caps us out at $4 and we saw the flop, K, 4, K. Holy shit! I made a four of a kind on the flop. Inside I took a double take and I think I peed myself a little. A freakin’ four of a kind. The Mexican raised and I just called. It’s called slow playing and my boyfriend Phil Gordon does it all the time and he’s so cute about it. The rest of the table called as well.

The turn was a J and I re raised. The River was a ten, but it didn’t matter. The only hands that can beat a four of a kind are the straight flush and the royal flush and there wasn’t three of the same suit on the board, so it wasn’t even possible. I reraised. There’s no limit after the river so you can reraise, until someone calls you or folds. The Mexican’s hoochie mamma, seated to his right, a big old white woman kept reraising me. I almost felt sorry for her, so I only reraised three times- finally I called. She turned over two Jacks declaring triumphantly, “full house.” I paused and looked at her smiling, wrinkly face. “Four Kings,” I replied. The entire table gasped and then cheered. It was quite a made-for-TV moment. It was so awesome. I ended up taking more than $100 for that hand and nearly wiped out the Mexican’s girlfriend.

The table talked about my hand for at least another half hour. It was good to know I would be remembered. I’m sure one of them is composing a song about my four kings right now.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful. The member’s only jacket crapped out long before and the Mexican and his hoochie got bored and left. A bunch of young white boys started filling in the empty spots. They all apparently knew each other and were being rowdy and I wasn’t in the mood for it. Plus the new dealer was giving me shit for hands and I didn’t want to lose any more of my mountains of chips.

I ended up cashing out $150 up (not including the initial investment from dear ol’ dad) That extra money will help a lot, if I can keep myself away from the casino the rest of the weekend. I’m going to try to get my aunt and cousins to play tomorrow night, wait I mean tonight, damn, it’s late. The stakes won’t be quite as high but it will be fun none the less.

My Christmas Wish List

I know you are thinking, “It’s the night before the night before Christmas Eve and I STILL haven’t gotten Leana a gift. What do I give the girl that has everything?” I don’t want to leave you twisting in the wind. Here is my gift list, in no particular order…oh and money is always welcome.

2005 Ford Thunderbird

Allure by Chanel

Any Coach purse

Trivial Pursuit, SNL Edition

Seasons 1, 2, 3 and 5 of The Simpsons (I broke down and bought 4, undeniably the BEST season)

Buy-in to the 2005 WPT

A permit to carry a concealed weapon (priceless)

Leana's Purse Kill Squad

Meet my loyal crew of purses. While there are many in my group, these are the six I can pull out of the closet at a moments-notice to step up, no matter the job. I trust them; but if any one of them dares cross me, they will face my wrath. I am Leana

Bribron & Puff Adder-The twins
 

Gaboon Adder-Sharp shooter

 

Crotalus viridis abyssus-the judge
 

Mamushi-Demolitions expert
 

Caissaca-the lookout
 

Jararaca & Jararacussu-The mother/daughter team


 

At Least There's Only Three Days Left

Remember last week when I went on and on about how much Monday didn’t suck as usual? I totally jinxed myself and because of it, had the WORST Monday ever. This Monday receives a 10 on the blows scale and an 8 on the sucks scale. I can't wait for the fallout tomorrow. I'm definitely wearing my helmet.

Couples, Couples Everywhere

Being single during the holidays totally blows. I was the only person at the company Christmas party tonight without a date. Even the nerdiest developer brought someone-so it was his mom, but that’s not even the point.

I spent the whole evening chatting up other couples while drinking cheap merlot out of a plastic cup. And the worst part of all, we were on a boat so I couldn’t have snuck out early if I tried.

That of course made me wonder, if I had fallen off the boat, would anyone have noticed? Probably not.

The thing is, I’ve never brought a date to a work event in the past and it’s never bothered me, ‘cause there were usually enough other singles there that I had a group to talk to, but tonight it was ALL COUPLES. I felt like a complete loser… until that is, I started pounding the wine.

I don’t even like wine, but it was there when I needed it. It didn’t act like it had something better to do that night or would rather be somewhere else, like hanging with its friends or watching football. It didn’t say it was going to call then didn’t. It didn’t check out the chick at the other table. I had its full attention. It was just me and the wine. It was a true friend. I love you wine. Never leave me. Promise me!

So You Say it's Your Birthday

I just realized that today is the birthday of my very first boyfriend. How is it that I can remember the name of a guy I dated when I was 15, but I can’t remember if I paid my Visa bill or where I left my cell phone this afternoon?

Why can’t I remember crap that will actually help me in the near future-like knowing the answer that will get me the green wedge-thing in Trivial Pursuit; or in the distant future-that will remind me that my bra goes on the inside of my blouse, not the other way around?

But since I remember, Happy birthday David Faaborg, wherever you are.

Girl-Power

One of the comedy user groups I frequent (by frequent I mean I read the posts but don't comment and instead silently scream at most of the stuff but am too chicken shit to post) had a long-running debate [debate in this instance means a trash-talking, poopy flinging free for all where nobody quite remembers what the topic was but they want to get in their zingers] on male versus female comics and who is funnier.

I think just by sheer numbers there are way more funny male comedians out there than females. How can it be 50/50 when there are probably 5 male comics working the clubs for every 1 female working the same rooms? It's just not physically possible, even using "new" math.

It's a rare evening, indeed, when I'm doing a show and there's another girl in the lineup. Usually it's me smack in the middle of 8 pretty-white guys, the one black guy and maybe an Asian. Of course they all figure I'm one of the other comics' old lady, and it's not 'til I get on stage that they realize that I might actually be doing comedy and not just being a pathetic open-mike groupie slut (that’s my day job). But that's not even the point of this blog entry.

I remember watching Season 2 of Last Comic Standing and a female comic got on stage and forgot what she planned to open with. The judges started throwing out topics, “your boyfriend is a jerk...relationships are hard,” something like that. Then they did a montage of female comics talking about relationships and dating..I decided then to leave all my relationship material behind and work on building up other bits. I didn’twant to feed into the stereotype that all female comics talk about is dating and their menstrual cycle, and I didn’t want to be seen as one of THOSE comics.

But what I’ve realized is that it’s not a stereotype. All comics, male and female, do material on relationships and dating, ‘cause it’s a universal subject and a huge pool for material. I went up one night and the five male comics ahead of me all talked about their girlfriends. So why should I throw out a bunch of killer material, just ‘cause some people roll their eyes at yet ANOTHER female comic talking about relationships?

And why should any subject be off limits based on a person’s gender? Just 'cause I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't talk about the hilarity that ensues while trying to write your name in the snow or showering with 12 guys after gym class.

Do I think some women take relationship and menstrual jokes too far? Yes. Are some hacks? Sure. Do some only get stage time 'cause they blow the booker? Absolutely. But you could totally say the same about the guys out there. So the entire argument is absurd.

I could go on, but I have cramps.

What Christmas Means to Me

My clever cousin Stephanie and I came up with a list of what Christmas means to our family, in order:

3. Eating every hour on the hour from Christmas Eve night ‘til Christmas Day night; breaking every fifteen minutes to graze, pausing periodically to nosh and taking a breather between snacks.

2. Spending quality time with our friends and family in our most comfortable and stylish muumuus and kaftans.

And a tie for first place between getting an extra day off work and celebrating the Baby Jesus.

I Am Not Roger Ebert

I saw Oceans Twelve tonight. A movie on a school night? The scandal!

It was pretty good. Not as good as the original, but a nice way to spend a couple hours. My buddy Hugh and I went to the Pacific Theater 9 in Lakewood. We were two of four people in the audience for the 5:55 p.m. showing. The guy who sold us our tickets also ran the concession stand and took our tickets before we went in. It was that busy!

But seriously folks, it was an ok movie, but you can probably wait ‘til it’s on video if you really want to save your duckets for Fat Albert, hey, hey, hey, coming your way, Christmas Day.

I heard someone say to make sure not to pay too much attention to the plot; otherwise you’ll get one of those horrible ice cream headaches. I’m glad I took the guy’s advice. The plot was a little “Say what??” for my taste, and some parts were a little too, “whatever!” and “as if!” But Brad Pitt is just so terribly charming that you just let it slide.

My friend Hugh agreed that the movie seemed like it was trying a bit too hard to be clever and that the main cast was all “look at us doing our charming thief thing we do, cha-cha-cha.”

I can’t believe I gave a movie review in my blog. How pedestrian. I’ll think of something comedy related to rant about tomorrow.

Just Another Manic Monday

This was the first Monday in recent memory that hasn’t totally sucked the big one. I have learned in the last four years in my current job to just “deal” with the utter crappiness of Mondays. I come in late and don’t make any plans for the evening, because invariably, something will go horribly wrong and I’ll either be painfully late, or miss the event completely.

The reseller newsletter is like an abusive boyfriend to me. Every week I hope it will be different. “This week we’ll get it out at a decent hour.” “This time Dennis will get me the text before it gets dark” “This time the HTML won’t take 2 hours to layout.” But every week I’m hit with another, different issue that requires even more attention. You’d think after four years I’d have some kind of routine down, but there are too many variables involved. Too many to even go into on this blog. I will save it for my super secret rant blog, where I can name-names (SkeezySkankHole™) and cuss.

Not that I can’t cuss here, but I chose not to damn it!

But this week everything went terribly smooth. I was in my car by 7 p.m., which I have to tell you is so freakin’ early. Yeah I did, I said freakin’.

Of course this brings with it all sorts of worries. I usually dread Tuesday morning as I brace myself for e-mails, phone calls, faxes and burning crosses saying something was inaccurate or just plain wrong in the newsletter. And getting the newsletter out early makes me even more worried…perhaps I sent it out to quickly, perhaps I should have given it a final edit..perhaps I should have just waited ‘til 8 p.m. to not test the fates.

And why haven’t I gotten it in my outside e-mail account? I’m supposed to get it in my outside account, to make sure it goes out. Oh just perfect. That’s all I need. Maybe nobody got it.

Maybe this wasn’t that great of a Monday.

Update: Paper Delivered, Anger Grows

Mark the time, 11:44 a.m. and my paper has finally been delivered. Pedro (not Jose as I had thought) showed up. He left the paper at the front entrance. I went down to retrieve my paper, FINALLY. What I found interesting was that only my paper was there. What about the 10 or 11 other people in my building who also subscribe to the Times? Did they not raise a fuss? Do they just NOT get a paper because Pedro’s truck broke down?

What I’ve learned is that it true, what Plato said, the squeaky wheel does get the grease. Now, I’ve never been one to lay down when I see injustice. Usually I witness it, then call someone and complain about it. Ask my 7Eleven buddy Hugh, he will attest to that. The 7Eleven in Torrance dared changed out the cherry squishy mix with watermelon. Hello, how can I have a cherry coke squishy with watermelon? That’s disgusting. I called the customer service number on my squishy cup. The next day, my cherry squishy was back. That’s power.

But now I’m going to become even more vocal. When I don’t receive prompt, courteous service, not matter where I am, I will let people know about it. Wherever I see my needs not fully met by people of the food service or retail industry, I will stand up and shout, “I’m annoyed as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

Now, I must get to my coupons.

I Hate the Family Circus

Is it too much to ask that my Sunday paper be delivered on Sunday?

I have a very rigid routine when it comes to my Sunday mornings. I wake up between 7 and 8:30 a.m., put on a pot of coffee and walk out to the front of my building to retrieve the Sunday paper.

Once back inside with my paper I proceed to throw away every part of it but the ads and the coupons, making sure not to catch a glimpse of current events or news of any kind. I think there should be an option offered at the Times for people who only want the ads and coupons. It would save a lot of trees if you can ask for the “no news” option.

I make myself a cup of coffee and pour over the Macy’s ads and coupons and decide if I’m going to brave the malls or actually do something productive with my day. Usually I go back to bed.

Regardless of the outcome, that is my ritual. It’s 10:48 a.m. and I still don’t have a paper. This throws off my whole schedule. I’ve already drank two cups of coffee and made two trips to the front of my building, and no paper. I called the Times at 9 a.m. to request a replacement paper and was told it would be there within 90 minutes. So at 10:45 I called again and the customer service rep was all, “you still haven’t gotten your paper?” and I was all “yeah I got it, but I thought I’d call to see what you were doing!” What the hell?? He’s like “well, I’ll fax the driver and you’ll have a replacement within 90 minutes.” I’m like “it’s already been 90 minutes.” He’s all “the driver’s had some trouble with the delivery truck.” I’m all like, “what you mean is that Jose’s little white S10 was so loaded down with lawn mowers and half a dozen rakes, that he couldn’t fit my paper into the bed!”

You can’t start reading the Sunday paper at noon. That’s not how it works. The Sunday paper is for Sunday mornings, when you first get up, wipe the sleep from your eyes, comb the vomit out of your hair and try to forget that in a short 24 hours you’ll be back at your job staring down the next five days of the same ol’ crap.

This throws off my whole Sunday. I might as well go back to bed!

You Like Me, You Really Like Me!

Finally, after all my sweat and tears, the hours of slaving over a hot keyboard and feeling the early stages of Carpal Tunnel, I finally got someone to read and comment on my weblog.

Of course it's my cousin, but I won't allow that to ruin this momentous occasion for me.

I'm going to Disneyland!!!

Already Turning Down Gigs

I was approached by the HR lady in my office to provide my comedy stylings at the Company Christmas party next weekend. Apparently Nadia the Flamenco Dancer had pulled a calf muscle and would be unable to dazzle us with the sensuous dance of the pink bird.

Now, my comedy aspirations are no secret around the office. Quite the contrary, I told my soon-to-be-boss during my interview that I’d stay with the company just until I got my HBO special, then I’d be out the door. Of course that was nearly five years ago, but they still know that’s the plan.

I’ve emceed several work related events, last summer’s company picnic, the last round of baby showers and my favorite, the christening of the new snack machine. But mostly I just introduced people and kept the event moving. I’ve never pulled out any of my stand up material.

Finally, after much deliberation and conversations among my co-workers, as well as some heated IMing between me and RubyDKirk, I decided against doing stand up at the office Christmas party. Nothing good can come of it, I’ve decided. And while my boss and several of my co-workers have actually come out and seen me do stand up; I’ve decided that I must keep the two worlds separate. It’s one thing for them to come see me rock the mike at the Coffee Beanery, but it’s a whole other thing for me to bring the comedy into the work arena. Plus it’s never a good idea to stick out, even at informal company events. You know what they say about the squeaky nail? It gets pounded.

Plus I have a feeling this crowd wouldn’t get my brand of humor. They are more of the “we like Jay Leno-Carrot Top” crowd. My comedy is more of the “I hate Jay Leno-Carrot Top” variety.

Oh, then there’s the fact that they weren’t going to pay me for it. Yo, I don’t work for free. Ok I do, but I won’t.

Lines that will turn any audience against you:

• I like sleeping with 13 year olds
• What, are you people stupid?
• I don’t have any jokes to tell, I’m just going to stand here with my thumb up my butt.
• Gosh what else do I want to talk about? Anyone have any questions?

If anyone can think of any others e-mail me and I’ll add them to the list!

Some Administrative Duties

I finally got around to updating my upcoming gigs page (who needs you Skeezy Skank Hole™?!?). I also added some to the right-hand column. Check me out!

Give yourself a gift, the gift of laughter. Come out and support live comedy!

A Holiday Wish

Written by the BRILLIANT Steve Martin, performed on Saturday Night Live (1991)

"If I had one wish that I could wish this holiday season, it would be that all the children to join hands and sing together in the spirit of harmony and peace.

If I had two wishes I could make this holiday season, the first would be for all the children of the world to join hands and sing in the spirit of harmony and peace. And the second would be for 30 million dollars a month to be given to me, tax-free in a Swiss bank account.

You know, if I had three wishes I could make this holiday season, the first, of course, would be for all the children of the world to get together and sing, the second would be for the 30 million dollars every month to me, and the third would be for encompassing power over every living being in the entire universe.

And if I had four wishes that I could make this holiday season, the first would be the crap about the kids definitely, the second would be for the 30 million, the third would be for all the power, and the fourth would be to set aside one month each year to have an extended 31-day orgasm, to be brought out slowly by Rosanna Arquette and that model Paulina-somebody, I can't think of her name. Of course my lovely wife can come too and she's behind me one hundred percent here, I guarantee it.

Wait a minute, maybe the sex thing should be the first wish, so if I made that the first wish, because it could all go boom tomorrow, then what do you got, y'know? No, no, the kids, the kids singing would be great, that would be nice.

But wait a minute, who am I kidding? They're not going to be able to get all those kids together. I mean, the logistics of the thing is impossible, more trouble than it's worth! So -- we reorganize! Here we go. First, the sex thing. We go with that. Second, the money. No, we got with the power second, then the money. And then the kids.

Oh wait, oh jeez, I forgot about revenge against my enemies! Okay, I need revenge against all my enemies; they should die like pigs in hell! That would be my fourth wish. And, of course, my fifth wish would be for all the children of the world to join hands and sing together in the spirit of harmony and peace. Thank you everybody and Merry Christmas."

Your Lesson for Today

The topic is word definitions. Our guest teacher for today is Merriam-Webster. (Seriously, I did not make this stuff up; it's really what these words actually mean. For REAL!!)

Main Entry: bor·row Pronunciation: 'bär-(")O, 'bor- Function: verb
1 a : to receive with the implied or expressed intention of returning the same or an equivalent b : to borrow (money) with the intention of returning the same plus interest

Main Entry: owe Pronunciation: 'O Function: verb Inflected Form(s): owed; ow·ing
1 a: to have or bear (an emotion or attitude) to someone or something
2 a (1) : to be under obligation to pay or repay in return for something received : be indebted in the sum of
(2) : to be under obligation to render (as duty or service) b : to be indebted to
3 : to be indebted

Main Entry: prom·ise Pronunciation: 'prä-m&s Function:
1 a : a declaration that one will do or refrain from doing something specified
b : a legally binding declaration that gives the person to whom it is made a right to expect or to claim the performance or forbearance of a specified act
2 : reason to expect something; especially : ground for expectation of success, improvement, or excellence