Those of you who know me are already aware that I, by birthright, am fluent in bumpkinese. I was much chagrined to discover that many of my co-workers do not share my affinity for the language, (Though Justin does speak one of the Eastern dialects originating in Como, Texas.)
While analyzing the disconnect that my monoglot friends find so irksome, I realized that there are some geographical issues that are getting in the way of our becoming the true cultural "Crock Pot" that I know we can be.
I will demonstrate using a few words and phrases which, while pedestrian out here in the DTJ, continue to baffle and intrigue the non-bumpkinese.
congkreek - An amalgam of sand, cement and aggregate materials used in the construction of buildings in faraway places like Plano, McKinney and Lewisville. It is worth noting that one local resident, for a decade, referred to a popular shopping center in Plano, TX as the "Congkreek Mall." I discovered that she was actually talking about "Collin Creek Mall" and had just never realized that these two words are what language teachers call "false cognates." They sound similar but mean something different. Bumpkinese can be tricky.
ception tank - an elaborate wastewater purification system endemic to the Duct Tape Jungle. The English translation is 'septic tank'
bu-SEP-fer - a kind of conjunctive preposition that is also a contraction. It means "except" or "but." In a typical bumpkinese sentence, it would be used in this way: "Everbuddy kin go busepfer Daddy, cuz he gots kort (court)."
pa-MOO-duh-grass - Bermuda Grass
SUB-toot - An interim or replacement teacher. We didn' do nuthin' up to the skoolhouse yesterdy whatcuz we had us a subtoot.
If you are a recent transplant to the DTJ, I hope that this brief explanation will help you to build bridges of friendship with your neighbors. I will soon post a more complete version of the dictionary. Please understand that it will be a living document, as I am constantly exposed to new and different subsets of this peculiar populus.
Showing posts with label redneck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label redneck. Show all posts
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
I'm the Jane Goodall of Dairy Queen
Little did I know that when I popped into the DQ at 9:30 pm with my husband, I would have an anthropologically enlightening experience.
The male entered first. He was huge - almost bear-like in appearance. (Ar first, I must admit he was the love child Rosie O'Donnell and one or more of the Oak Ridge Boys.) He had a regal quality about him. Judging by his clothing (and the fact that we were in Farmersville) he must have been a regional dignitary or some other person of importance. He was wearing a mostly-white, cotton v-necked T-shirt, expertly festooned with tiny portions of what I can only assume was his afternoon meal. I suspect the fabric was something of high quality, such as "Fruit of the Loom." His lower half was equally stunning, having an equestrian feel. On his lowerhalf were loosely hung olive drab and kelly green, plaid, flannel pajama bottoms with the aforementioned shirt tucked neatly inside. These were pegged inward sharply just below the knee by what I thought, at first, were riding boots. Further observation confirmed that they were in fact what the locals call "Mud Boots." This was further clarified not only by the preponderance of elderly earth clinging to nearly every surface, but also by the single word "Caterpillar" embossed on the back of the heel. He was a SPECIMEN to be sure.
I was already reeling from the experience of observing such a specimen in its native habitat, and did not even dare to dream of seeing the female of the species. Then, to my astonishment, she appeared!!! She was even more than I ever dreamt she would be, so I decided to give her a name. I called her Tiffany Lurlene Pickens. She nearly defies description, but try to picture a supremely man-scaped version of Ed Asner in glittery flip-flops, dragonlady fingernails and scrunchied ponytail all akimbo, sticking out the back of a grimy John Deere ballcap. She dazzled me by rocking her "John Deere meets Juicy Couture" look. Black toenails were nearly eclipsed by the glitter of her sequined flip-flops (she obviously shopped at Porter Waggoner's estate sale). From the generous smear of mud on her left calf, I can only assume that the male marked her as his property using one of his boots. Obviously, she was a "keeper."
She oozed confidence. This was evidenced by the (gulp) lavendar terry cloth UBER-short shorts and matching (brace yourself) halter top with a big, white "#8" on it. To say she was a fashion daredevil was an understatement. She was the Evil Kinevel of fashion. I would imagine that, as a woman, one would have to have absolutely no fear in order to wear a brassiere that is four sizes too small. I surmized that, like her mate's heavily adorned T-shirt, this served to show dominance and superiority, as the undergarment (which could only have been crafted of adamantium) affected the illusion that Tiffs had four breasts rather than the usual two. I will have to confer with one of my colleagues, a specialist in proto-human anatomy, to discover if any of our distant ancestors had "fore-bosoms."
Tiffs has a mane of black hair with blonde roots grown out about an inch and a half. This completed her "I'm an inverted Madonna" look.
The female of this particular hominid species LOVES personal adornments, and is very obviously a predator, for her fingertips sported Pepto-pink, raptor-like claws approximately two and a half inches long. These, I am sure, are multi-functional, as she repeatedly used them to scratch her netherparts in what I can only guess was a show of dominance. Fascinating!
Then, as quickly as they came, the pair collected their Belt Busters and Oreo Blizzards and vanished into the night somewhere along highway 380.
The male entered first. He was huge - almost bear-like in appearance. (Ar first, I must admit he was the love child Rosie O'Donnell and one or more of the Oak Ridge Boys.) He had a regal quality about him. Judging by his clothing (and the fact that we were in Farmersville) he must have been a regional dignitary or some other person of importance. He was wearing a mostly-white, cotton v-necked T-shirt, expertly festooned with tiny portions of what I can only assume was his afternoon meal. I suspect the fabric was something of high quality, such as "Fruit of the Loom." His lower half was equally stunning, having an equestrian feel. On his lowerhalf were loosely hung olive drab and kelly green, plaid, flannel pajama bottoms with the aforementioned shirt tucked neatly inside. These were pegged inward sharply just below the knee by what I thought, at first, were riding boots. Further observation confirmed that they were in fact what the locals call "Mud Boots." This was further clarified not only by the preponderance of elderly earth clinging to nearly every surface, but also by the single word "Caterpillar" embossed on the back of the heel. He was a SPECIMEN to be sure.
I was already reeling from the experience of observing such a specimen in its native habitat, and did not even dare to dream of seeing the female of the species. Then, to my astonishment, she appeared!!! She was even more than I ever dreamt she would be, so I decided to give her a name. I called her Tiffany Lurlene Pickens. She nearly defies description, but try to picture a supremely man-scaped version of Ed Asner in glittery flip-flops, dragonlady fingernails and scrunchied ponytail all akimbo, sticking out the back of a grimy John Deere ballcap. She dazzled me by rocking her "John Deere meets Juicy Couture" look. Black toenails were nearly eclipsed by the glitter of her sequined flip-flops (she obviously shopped at Porter Waggoner's estate sale). From the generous smear of mud on her left calf, I can only assume that the male marked her as his property using one of his boots. Obviously, she was a "keeper."
She oozed confidence. This was evidenced by the (gulp) lavendar terry cloth UBER-short shorts and matching (brace yourself) halter top with a big, white "#8" on it. To say she was a fashion daredevil was an understatement. She was the Evil Kinevel of fashion. I would imagine that, as a woman, one would have to have absolutely no fear in order to wear a brassiere that is four sizes too small. I surmized that, like her mate's heavily adorned T-shirt, this served to show dominance and superiority, as the undergarment (which could only have been crafted of adamantium) affected the illusion that Tiffs had four breasts rather than the usual two. I will have to confer with one of my colleagues, a specialist in proto-human anatomy, to discover if any of our distant ancestors had "fore-bosoms."
Tiffs has a mane of black hair with blonde roots grown out about an inch and a half. This completed her "I'm an inverted Madonna" look.
The female of this particular hominid species LOVES personal adornments, and is very obviously a predator, for her fingertips sported Pepto-pink, raptor-like claws approximately two and a half inches long. These, I am sure, are multi-functional, as she repeatedly used them to scratch her netherparts in what I can only guess was a show of dominance. Fascinating!
Then, as quickly as they came, the pair collected their Belt Busters and Oreo Blizzards and vanished into the night somewhere along highway 380.
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