Squeasel Word Dinner Parties – From Bustassin’ to Chillaxin’ in One Night

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Here’s the coming couples’ idea, the latest fun pursuit for a marriage celebration ritual that’s been making a comeback, the dinner party. It’s called the squeasel word party, and it does require a bit of explanation. Squeasel words aren’t necessarily descriptions of ways to make your mate feel more appreciated, though that could be one of many uses for them. Squeasel words are a mashup of two words to create a whole new word, while condensing and amplifying the meaning of the two original words at the same time. Chillaxin’ is one mentioned above, and is, of course, a mashup of chilling and relaxing. The title of this piece ought to be self-explanatory, and I’ll leave it at that, as my editor may have a problem with an overt description of the first word. Suffice to say that the first word describes what we’d collectively been doing at our jobs all day, the second described the atmosphere around the sun deck that evening, as the charcoal glowed in the grill, the wine coolers dripped with sweat, and the steaks sizzled.

Couples can’t help having a great time at a squeasel word party. It’s exactly what it says, a dinner party with friends, during which the goal is create as many squeasels as possible, and to keep the creative juices flowing right along with the good food and good cheer. No more Twister, or Trivial Pursuit. It’s time to add as many new words and explanations to the old Funk & Wagnalls as possible. In addition to the two squeasel words listed above, here’s what our last encounter with friends produced. Some of these are almost painfully banal, others, we thought, were inspired and elegant.

As the finger foods arrived, and compliments were shared with the chef, we began grazepraising, then dipchippin’ (of course), then we moved right into swigulping, and, for the, ahem, more chillaxed among us, a bit of brewbelching, naturally. I should mention at this point that it may be wise to leave the kids at a neighbor’s house for the duration. Squeasels aren’t necessarily coarse and/or vulgar, but as your little party progresses, and certain individuals engage in more and more swigulping, they tend to gravitate toward rather more let us say colorful verbal inventions. Call it crudedubbing, or possibly slapfacers, depending on whether or not one’s mate is within earshot.

The conversation drifted toward offices and careers, and rumors of intrigue which were promptly squeaseled into plotjobbing. Facial creases due to long hours became workylines. The necessity of making nice in order to retain one’s job, while putting in more and more hours made some of us overtame. Inevitably, someone mentioned a modern controversy, the office romance. The reference was to a young, alluring fill-in who was referred to simply as, what else, the office temp-tation. Our host could have had her apron printed up and sold in quantity after one of our more creative guests squeaseled that she was so darned barbecute. Clearly the swigulping had taken its toll.

Steaks finished their charflips, beers were topped off, or ‘foamented’, and plates were produced. Shortly the squeaseling ceased, or I might say, squeaced for a time. Not happy with the limited squeasels created thus far, we attempted to outdo one another on various current events. I make no apologies for the outcome, nor do I attribute authorship, wishing to retain at least a semblance of dignity.

Lance Armstrong’s latest attempt at the Tour De France was the lanky Texans try at recycling himself, a libertarian member of the party wanted President Obama to apply the taxbrakes, and for the health care town hall meetings, and their somewhat misleading tactics the squeasel was mediscare. None of us wanted to be caught up in an insurance mixup, or we might acquire an illbill, and have to copray that we’re not misdiagnosed and a end up with a dead-ductable. Nobody needs that.

So get the invitations printed up, squeasel your own way into the etymological hall of fame, and have a good time doing it. One last bit of advice: I think the designated driver is a fine idea, particularly after a squeasel word party. As they say, never drink and derive.


Source by Byron Edgington

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