Friday, April 06, 2007

Souf Cackalacky, how I do miss thee

I shall be forever grateful to my parents for raising me in The South, and I just know you're gonna ask why, too. Why? Mostly so I can fuck with peoples heads. Especially now that I use the internet so much using "southern speak" can be quite fun. Perhaps we should term it "Typing in the Vernacular" of one's origins.

The first time I ever read anything written in vernacular was Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. At first, it was a bit difficult, but found out soon enough that if I read it aloud to myself it made far more sense. So I took to reading it aloud out in the middle of a field sitting on a rock. Hey! There was no one out there to judge me or laugh at me either. Lately my accent seems to have become much more muddied. Generally speaking I do not have much of an accent and if someone were to peg it then they'd be off a bit since I tend to sound typically midwestern. But I think it's because I have always had somewhat lazy speech in that I took on the sounds of those I spoke to most often, which served to temper my southern dialect when I lived in New Orleans.

Also, when I was a teenager visiting a friend in Chicago, I'll never forget my humiliation at being teased mercilessly. All everyone wanted me to do was say "ya'll". It made me start looking a bit harder at my accent and what would make me "normal" if I spoke differently. So I learned to speak more slowly, which lowered the pitch as well as, made me far more conscious of the sounds coming out of my mouth. It quickly made short shrift of my accent and I sounded more like the people on tv.

Until recently, the only time I sounded southern was when first woke up, was overtired or sick or had been drinking. Then something happened. I started "hearing" myself speak as I wrote forum posts, emails, and blog posts. The weird thing was that I was hearing a southern accent, NOT my normal one. So, ya know whut? Feck it! Then came typing in vernacular. ack! Considering that I keep in touch with a lot of people via instant messenger it just started happnin' while I wuz chattin' awnlahn. whut thuh fuuuuuucckkk?

Hey-ulh fahrr! Dayum! It's gawt me! HEP ME HEP ME! I cain't stop eet!
*Hell fire! Damn! It's got me! Help me help me melp me! I can't stop it!*

No matter where I am or where I go in life I shall henceforth be true to my farkin' suthun sef, Ya'll.

*btw, I grew up in South Carolina, otherwise known as Souf Cackalacky and by Gawd I am a Gamecok blood runneth crimson and black forevah.

Speaking of Gamecocks, perhaps next time I'll write about all the innuendo laden USC Bumper stickers like my personal favorite " You can't lick our Cocks", etc... and about fond memories of 1980's college football when Joe Morrison was king of Black Magic and his Fire Ant Defense ruled the South.

Monday, April 02, 2007

Postcards from the edge

Otherwise known as The Spit Brigade in my house. I have finally gone and done IT! I attempted to remove most of the calculus from Tiger's teeth. The manky smell emanating from his mouth finally got to me this morning and I could no longer deal.

As most of you know, I was a dental hygienist in my former life back in the USA, so I am equipped with the skillz and the majority of the tools. I say majority because I no longer possess the several thousand dollars worth of implements of my trade. I cannot say where they went, only that when I left America they were sitting there ready to be shipped with the rest of my things and they never made it here. I have my suspicions, but no proof, but considering how much they would be worth at a local flea market back home, I can only guess. But, I digress.

While Tiger was having his morning snooze on the sofa I saw my chance to strike as he's pretty calm and laid back, but this was a first attempt and I wasn't sure how he'd react to my fingers in his mouth. Considering that he absolutely hates having his teeth brushed I was fairly certain all would not go as planned. But what the heck, it wouldn't hurt to try. I pulled out the few instruments and selected what I thought most appropriate and sat beside him.

I took a quick peek to seek out the most offending calculus, readied and steadied my hands on an instrument I'd not held in well over a year (Damn, but I'm good lol). Hrmmm, perhaps I spoke too quickly. I succeeded in removing a few bits of the most unsightly stuff and decided to move onto a canine I found particulary discoloured and hoarding the worst of the lot. Tiger's eye opened and he peered at me whilst I perused the tooth, seeking the best angle to use. I struck quietly, gently, and came a bit so I went at it again and I'll be damned it he didn't freakin sneeze!

The next thing I knew, I was looking down at a broken instrument! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! Where did the end go? FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! His gum has blood on it, just a thin trickle, but holy crapola! What did I do?????? My poor boy!

Frantically I searched around his head, in his mouth, probed his gums, fearing the worst...the instrument could have broken off underneath his gums and might need to be surgically retrieved. Oh! Damnit!

What's that? Next to Tiger, on his Teddy Bear lay the offending piece, oh thank heavens! Apparently when he sneezed, his tooth hit the instrument and broke it clean off and the piece went flying a few inches away to land on Teddy. Now I'm shaking that it's all over and disaster hasn't occurred. I stood up and shook myself. Looked back at my hands and thought, hrmmmm. Let's go for the other teeth I can get to. So I did. Poor boy. He has to put up with so much from me. But now, his teeth are somewhat clean and I don't feel like a totally inept mama.

He needs to chew more bones but I can't get him to. He just loses interest after awhile and leaves them for the ants to strip away all the good bits left. I'll have to come up with some other solution.

As I said earlier, poor boy. Yesterday he had to have a bath and have his ears cleaned. He has boy dog ears, aka very dirty ears. He hates getting bathed because the tub is slippery, he hates having his ears probed but I cannot stand the goop that builds up in them because he insists on lying and rolling in dirt. Somedays I really want a girl dog. Tasha was always so clean. I miss that. The only time she would get herself dirty on purpose was when she felt she was dirty enough and needed a bath, which she loved, so she's get in something to make herself dirtier so I'd bathe her straight away.