So Fizz — who is @relsqui on Twitter (you know, the neighborhood bar/cafe place where I’m pretty much always hanging out) — said a wonderfully true thing the other day:

“Reading @havi’s blog the first time is like reading a message in code.

It takes a couple of posts to internalize the vocabulary.”

Ahhhhhhhh. I totally loved this because … yes.

One of the fun things here is the shared language, and that you guys let me get away with all sorts of things without having to explain them. Eventually, you’re in on all the jokes and the wackiness anyway.

So why not have a glossary? I mean, what the hell. That way when you send people here, they can look up at least some of the weird stuff I say. Or see how many Fluent-Self-ified bits of Havi-speak they already know.


This one isn’t mine, actually.

It’s a great word. Though not as good as webcock.

I generally use it to describe the kind of people who throw shoes (see also: Shoes, Throwing of).

And I probably got it from the Communicatrix.


The art and science of growing your thing (the thing!).

And of getting your thing (the thing!) into the hands of your Right People without feeling icky or weird about it.

When I say I’m helping someone biggify, it might mean that my duck (see also: Selma) and I are helping them promote or get the word out about something, but in a non-gross way.

A person who is biggified is someone with platform. And reach. And sparkles.

Generally, biggification = good. I talk a lot about mindful biggification which is what happens when you biggify while working on your stuff. (see also: Stuff)

The word biggifier, on the other hand, has been known to come with a dash of snark.

Ooh. Dash of Snark! It’s just one guy! (See also: It’s just one guy).

Like the internet-ey biggifiers who try to get us to think big think big think big. Whatever. I think it’s okay to not have to think that big.

Dammit list

The dammit list is your list of things you stand for (see also: Sovereignty).

“I am going to wear excessively fuzzy socks, dammit!”

“I don’t have to explain why I need a dammit list, dammit!”

Other dammit list posts: revisiting the dammit list and more ways to use the dammit list.


Working through the stucknesses that get in the way of you doing your thing (you know, the thing!).

Destuckifying is what you’re doing when you’re learning about triggers. Or talking to the fog. Or giving yourself permission to not have to practice “transparency”.

Sometimes it’s figuring out how not to feel like dirt. Maybe because you don’t want anyone to look at you. Or you accidentally gave your monster a cookie and it was, weirdly, the wrongest thing to do, even though lots of other monsters like cookies.

Or using my wacky methods if you’re a Shivanaut (see also: Shivanaut), or if you own my emergency calming techniques package.

It’s applying the stuff that Selma and I teach so that you can have a conscious, intelligent relationship with yourself and the world around you. So that your stuff (see also: Stuff) doesn’t have to hurt so much.

Email sabbatical

The best thing that has ever happened to me. (See also: No, seriously. I don’t do email.)

Fake Band of the Week

This is something we do every Friday on the Chicken. (See also: Friday Chicken)

My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”

That’s it. It’s stupid but it’s addictive.

Stupid But Addictive. It’s just one guy. See? Like that. Only funnier. You’ll get used to it.

Friday Chicken

Our weekly check-in, which I started calling a Chicken. Mostly because my gentleman friend made me this awesome chicken graphic.

You know, because rituals are important.*

This is where I talk about the hard stuff and the good stuff in my week and people join in, and eventually the whole thing devolves into extreme goofiness.

* That might be the first post where I said “blame the Jews!” Ah, nostalgia. Also, I don’t eat the chicken. Selma and I are vegetarians.

So this, for example, is a Friday Chicken.


About a year and a half ago I bought some stockings for Naomi. From Sock Dreams. The joke was that we were so obsessed with each other that we were … stalking each other.

So these were … stalkings. Striped stalkings to wear on your legs. Yes, jokes are so much more funny when you explain them in elaborate detail to someone who doesn’t care, do you not find that to be so?

Anyway, we talked a lot about how fansocks (or fan-socks, if you prefer) are the coolest thing ever.

And then random people started knitting them for me. And making scarves for my duck because she doesn’t have feet. Never mind.

It’s just one guy

See also: Fake Band of the Week.

“You know that new venue that just opened up at the meme beach house? I heard Fake Band of the Week is playing. You know it’s just one guy, right?”


Highly Sensitive Person.

That would be me.

This term is also not mine. It comes from Elaine Aron‘s book The Highly Sensitive Person, which probably wasn’t meant to be a biography of me or anything.

But reading it was really helpful. And HSP has become a kind of short-hand for sensitive flower introvert-ey people.

It’s why I don’t go to (ew) networking events. And why that gets a place of honor on my dammit list.


I really don’t like acronyms. But I love NVC.

Nonviolent Communication (aka compassionate communication) has been a total freaking lifesaver.

Meme Beach House

The original reference is to when Stu (See also: Stuisms) translated “people will hate me and be jealous” to people will hang at my meme beach house.

Now it’s become (in my mind, yes?) the venue where my Fake Band of the Week plays its non-existent gigs. Except that it turns out it’s a real place.

My Gentleman Friend

That’s my partner in crime everything. There is backstory to why I call him that, but it’s not that interesting.

Right People

The people your thing is for. Even if they don’t know it yet.

People that you actually like. And they like you. A lot. This is totally not the hippie word for “target market” because blech. I kind of write about this all the time.

» Update: Right People re-explained


Selma is a rockstar. She is the only duck I know who can reasonably be described that way. She’s also my business partner.


People who practice Dance of Shiva or Shiva Nata, in Sanskrit.
Shivanautical = anything that describes the process of Shiva-ing it up (aka doing Shiva Nata).

Example: “Man I had some crazy shivanautical epiphanies this week. Now I know why I flip out whenever that one asshat at work throws a shoe at me.”

Shoes, the throwing of (also known as shoe-throwing)

It’s what happens when people say hurtful things out of nowhere. It sucks.

Also, it’s really hard to destuckify when shoe-throwing is happening. Hence the sovereignty thing. (See also: Sovereignty)


Sovereignty is the state of not giving a damn what people think because you are the king or queen of your life. I got this from Hiro.


The thoughtful, insightful things that we sometimes come up with, usually after some sort of … shivanautical epiphany.


Stu is my stupid, paranoid McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software. His name is short for work, you Stupid piece of crap!

A Stuism is anything that he says. I collect the most egregious of these for your amusement and put them in the Friday Chicken.

Stuff, yours

You know, your stuff. Your issues.

The stuckified patterns that cause us to lose our sense of sovereignty and sometimes to think people are throwing shoes at us even when they aren’t. And yeah, sometimes they are.


(See: Stuff)

Tfu tfu tfu

That’s me spitting three times to avoid the evil eye.

The Twitter Bar

Where you can buy me a drink. I’m @havi. Kazoo!

Very Personal Ads

Also known as the VPA. Though that wasn’t my idea, obviously, since you already know that I have a thing about not liking acronyms.

It’s where we practice getting more comfortable with asking for stuff.

Phew. That was the glossary.

I really need to stop making up words because this post is way too long.

Also: The meta. It hurts.

Ooh, and there are four words in the glossary that aren’t mine: let the guessing (or the counting) begin.

The Fluent Self