Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Origin of the F-Word

We're having some rather dubious weather here right now, and so some co-workers and I found ourselves with some excess down time today because even if we had to leave the building, no one wanted to go out in the icy mess. So like the intellectuals we obviously are, we sat around a table with hot tea and discussed terribly interesting things...like how swear words became swear words. Now I don't know about you, but I have often wondered this. Who decided that you can't say "shit" in civilized company without being reprimanded? Why are euphemisms for the male and female anatomy considered uncouth? And why is the most used and taboo word, "fuck," considered so taboo? So we did what any educated group would do: we consulted the internet. And lo and behold, we found something that explained all anyone might want to know about the origin of the f-word. Here's the info:

Probably the most used and common swear word is the F-Word (FUCK). Many others as the M-Word (MOTHERFUCKER) derive or are complemented by the F-Word, and most of the others (like Ass Hole) and (cunt) have an actual meaning but have become swear words.

So, the only interesting one to research is the F-Word. Here some theories about its origins:

1. The American Heritage Dictionary says its first known occurrence in English literature was in the satirical poem "Flen, Flyss" (c.1500), where it was not only disguised as a Latin word but encrypted "gxddbov" which has been deciphered as fuccant, pseudo-Latin for "they fuck."

2. When doctors wrote a diagnostic notation on the documests of soldiers in the British Imperial Army reporting sick and found to have Sexual Transmitted Diseases., the abbreviation F.U.C.K. was stamped on his documents. It was short for "Found Under Carnal Knowledge."

3. In the 15th Century, when a married couple needed permission from the king to procreate. Hence, "Fornication Under Consent of the King" (F.U.C.K.).

4. May be an acronym of a law term used in the 1500s that referred to rape as "Forced Unnatural Carnal Knowledge" (F.U.C.K.).

5. Referring to the charge for prostitution in England : "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (F.U.C.K.)."

Interesting, isn't it?

So the next time you drop an F-bomb, you're a little bit smarter for it. And if anyone gives you any shit, tell 'em to go fuck themselves.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Keeping It Real...

I think I've mentioned that I moved to the backwoods (close to Mayberry) this past summer. It's a quaint place that actually does boast the trifecta of restaurants: Applebee's, Chili's, Olive Garden. Date night in a small town! Woo hoo! But seriously, I can handle small towns for the most part. What I really dislike is the fact that I run into students when I need to do shopping of any kind. Now why should this bother me? Well, I often like to just roll out of bed and head out, often in what I wore as pajamas. However, I have found that in such a small area, the probability of me encountering someone that I work with , work for, teach, taught, supervise, etc has grown exponentially. I mean, I can't really hide my beer and condoms under my frozen peas, can I? Case in point: I was at the Walmart last weekend, just minding my own business, when I felt someone following me. Paranoid much, you ask? No. I stopped and took a left into the toilet paper aisle and then caught 3 students (think nutty buddies) from the campus where I used to be the assistant principal indeed following me. I could hear them whispering and giggling as I grabbed my 9-pack double roll Quilted Northern. As if one's teachers and/or principals do not have a need for toilet paper? When I smiled and said hello, the boys looked wary, as if they weren't quite sure if I'd sprout another head. I decided that I should just keep going, and I thought nothing of it until I got home and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was in a scrunchie on top of my head, reminiscent of those classic, kid-friendly Fraggles (the curse of curly hair!). I was devoid of makeup except for the faint smudges from yesterday's mascara. I was nattily attired in a red sweatshirt, my SpongeBob fleece pajama pants, and black Chuck's converse trainers. Frankly, I'm not sure they really recognized me at all and probably thought they were following a bag lady. Either way, I felt a slight flush of embarrassment. This is when I miss living in a real city. No one cares if you go to the market in your pajamas. No one cares if you have make up on, or if you reek of last night's boozapalooza. And the greater square mileage all but guarantees you won't run into the people you work with. But in a small town, people take note of that shit. I actually had a colleague mention to me that they had heard I was wandering Walmart in my pajamas. WTF?? Since when is that news? I mean, it wasn't like I was running around braless or something! Of course, it was a Sunday, and seeing as how I'm not a regular churchgoer, perhaps the shock that I had slept in and forsaken the baby Jesus did not go unnoticed...nor unjudged (yes, I'm making up terms now). So now I'm forced to at least put on some lipgloss, wash my face, and wear street clothing rather than pajamas if I want to dart out to the market. Often I put on a little mascara and tinted moisturizer as well. It's ludicrous, but I've bent to the will of the Mayberry area small minds. Perhaps in a few short weeks, I'll be able to thumb my nose at these rednecks as I prepare for a new employment adventure. One can only hope...and light candles and say 14 Hail Marys and 8 Our Fathers every day until it's a lock. Who knows? One thing I know for sure is that nowhere in the Holy Bible does it say that you cannot wear pajamas or no make up when you shop at Walmart. He who has no sin cast the first stone! And I never shop on Sunday. Never.

**Got an important trip coming up, so start praying bitches!! Momma needs a brand new job!

Friday, January 02, 2009

Welcome 2009...You Bitch!

Happy New Year everyone!! I trust you are all recovered from the celebration? Although I normally look for any reason to imbibe large quantities of champagne, I was very moderate this year. Mostly because I didn't want to encourage my pants to text people without permission nor did I want to throw up on Roach Clip. Yes, I spent the evening at a lame ass party at a hotel downtown with Roach Clip. Now, don't get me wrong, I like parties for the most part. There's plenty of people to dazzle with my engaging conversational style and rapier-sharp wit (much less indulge my own delusions, eh?). Now I know what you are thinking: Why is she bitching about actually having a date and plans on New Year's Eve? So okay, I'm not really bitching per se. I just have never had much patience with the eternally pretentious uptown crowd. I'm not really "into" the "in crowd". I'm just not. Perhaps it was all the time I spent in Lost Angeles. Maybe I'm just getting old. Who knows? Very little about such things engages my cerebral cortex. I did enjoy myself the first part of the evening, but once the ball drops, people get entirely too annoying for me. I think I have mentioned my distaste for strangers touching me. Why is it that people think it's okay to try to kiss on complete strangers after midnight? I'm not any kind of big germaphobe, but ewww! Keep your spittle to yourself, bitches! Poor Roach Clip was not the pillar of restraint in the alcohol department, which also annoyed me since I had to deal with his drunk ass until 2am. I finally had had enough and stuck his ass in a cab and sent him home. At least I hope he made it home. I haven't heard from him as yet. Now before you start judging me, I'll have you know that we are not serious. At least I'm not serious about him. We're really just friends, but he insists on trying to segue most every outing into some kind of situation where I might consent to have sex with him. It's not that he's a bad guy. It's not that I don't find him attractive. But I don't wish to pursue anything too serious with him, and I have my suspicions that one night of doing the deed would change him into a Stage One Clinger. No, not because I am so spectacular in the sack (hey, I've not had any complaints, so shut the hell up!). Mostly because he's that kind of guy. Plus, he's hit 40 and doesn't want to be alone. He's said as much in our many conversations, so I can say this with conviction. And quite frankly, I'm not going to be the one some lonely sad sack "settled" for, nor will I settle. But hey, I got semi-molested at a New Year's party, so that's more action than I've seen in..well, a while. Gotta find that silver lining, right?

So, as you know, I always have hopes for each new year. I don't really like the word "resolution", so I have hopes. I won't bore you any longer by posting them all, but I will say this:

I hope you all have a peaceful and prosperous 2009. I hope that you find what you are looking for, meet all your expectations, do what you most desire, or whatever. I'm working on a few hopes myself for this year, and I will build on my hopes from 2008. Thank you all for stopping in once and awhile and making me laugh. I really love to laugh...