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••• Thursday, April 01, 2004

Note: Excuse this post...I prematurely published and it aint quite ready for human consumption. Unfortunately I don't know how to take it back without losing it...yeah I'm a goof. So I'm fixing it as you read this.

Post Note Note: Okay, I fixed it up a bit, but I can't do any more today.

In the Shake of a Lam's Tale
I wanted to put out a quick post to put the gabagoo on rumors that I've been on the lam. :: Okay, so "gabagoo" is an Italian ham. I just wanted to use it in a sentence, context notwithstanding.::

I'm still without full rights to my computer. I could easily write several paragraphs of dedicated bitchinmoanin about this. But I won't. Okay, I will. But then I'll erase it before publishing.

But I have been knitting out of harm's way (i.e. Barney's way) and have the second Must Have sleeve about half done. I guess a perk of having no computer is that I can avail myself of my other addictions, both old and new. The old being the knitting, and the new being The Sopranos.

The latter addiction, however, is proving to be a problem. First of all, I'm what I might call Vernacular Intolerant. This means I can't listen to regional dialect, cultural vernacular or otherwise accented (to me anyway) speech patterns without it taking over the voices in my head. That means, for me, watching back to back episodes of the Sopranos before bed can make for a night of fitful sleep and F-infused dreams.

I've had this vernacular sensitivity since I was a young girl. I grew up in an urban mid-to-lower class, blue-to-no-collar neighborhood. While we had mainstay households on the block, there were also a few rental units, which meant there was at least one transient clan coming or going at any given time. Many of these families were fresh from the South and heavily accented.

After a day of hanging with the new kids, I was likely to return home with a new pattern of patter. Invariably, a rude sibling would say "Why are you talking like that?" and I'd return to my native nasal. Even now, if I read a stretch of Buddy Don before bed, I'm almost certain to dream in sweet southern font.

The Sopranos have another effect on me. They seen to bring out a certain attitude. Aggression, even. It's like in my head I'm continuously braced to not take crap from anybody. It's a "you talkin' t'me?" kind of thing, even when there's no one around to be talking to me.

In specific settings, I can cuss like a Denis Leary. Otherwise, I don't consider myself gratuitously foul. But this morning, after pouring Sweet Bella her breakfast-kaboodle and before I could stop myself, I said to her sweetly, "There ya go, ya fat little f*uck."

Poor Boosky. I mean, I know she has put on a few El-Bees over the winter, but that was way out of line.

Overall, I'm not totally hating this evolving persona, but I must be careful. While watching an episode last night, I impulsively parroted an impressive string of hurls, courtesy of Carmela. ::sometimes a girl just has to try it on for fit:: I thought I was alone until my son says from behind, "Mom! Did you just say the f-word?" ::f-sputter:: "Does that mean I can say it too?"

I expressed embarrassement. I apologized. I said it was wrong. I explained that I thought I was alone and it wouldn't become a habit. And if I ever heard him talk like that I'd kick his effing a*ss.

Spring Break starts tomorrow. Whee.

Well, this premature epublication thing is bugging me. Its like I was showing some naughty bits. Like that dream where you show up to work in a nice sweater and heels, but no pants. I do feel better, now that I have my pants back on. But it still seems like there's something amiss, something awkward, like my zipper won't stay up. But I don't have time to figure it out. 'Cause I gotta get.
# posted by Marcia @ 7:25 AM


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