Friday, December 08, 2006

The dreaded "F" word!
I was surfing around on the web the other day and thought I'd see if I could find the origins of the "F" word.
I found some interesting things. For instance, the word is supposedly an acronym variously rendered as:
Fornication Under Consent of the King
Fornication Under Charles the King
Fornication Under Crown of the King
Fornication under Christ, King
Forbidden Under Charter of the King (a sign posted on brothels closed by the Crown)
For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge
Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge
File Under Carnal Knowledge (how Scotland Yard marked rape files).

The two most common acronyms are: Fornication Under Consent of the King, and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.
Now, it might make sense that the first is correct. After all, maybe couple really did need the King's permission to procreate back in the day, but I kind a doubt it. People have a tendency to ummm, well, you know, f--k like rabbits and breed indiscriminately, so I seriously doubt that anyone actually awaited the King's consent.
The second refers to unlawful fornication, such as rape, child molestation and adultery. Such crimes were generally punished by the stocks and supposedly the perpetrators were forced to wear a sign around their necks bearing the acronym F--K, But, this too is a myth. Folks in stocks did indeed wear signs around their necks, but the For was not included. The sign would simply say, rape, adultery, stealing a cow or what have you, but not For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. That sign simply would have said, unlawful carnal knowledge.
So, obviously the word did not come to us from an acronym. So, where did it come from?
According to alt.usage.english FAQ,
[Fuck] is a very old word, recorded in English since the 15th century (few acronyms predate the 20th century), with cognates in other Germanic languages. The Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang (Random House, 1994, ISBN 0-394-54427-7) cites Middle Dutch fokken = "to thrust, copulate with"; Norwegian dialect fukka = "to copulate"; and Swedish dialect focka = "to strike, push, copulate" and fock = "penis". Although German ficken may enter the picture somehow, it is problematic in having e-grade, or umlaut, where all the others have o-grade or zero-grade of the vowel.
AHD1, following Pokorny, derived "feud", "fey", "fickle", "foe", and "fuck" from an Indo-European root peig2 = "hostile"; but AHD2 and AHD3 have dropped this connection for "fuck" and give no pre-Germanic etymon for it. Eric Partridge, in the 7th edition of Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English (Macmillan, 1970), said that "fuck" "almost certainly" comes from the Indo-European root *peuk- = "to prick" (which is the source of the English words "compunction", "expunge", "impugn", "poignant", "point", "pounce", "pugilist", "punctuate", "puncture", "pungent", and "pygmy"). Robert Claiborne, in The Roots of English: A Reader's Handbook of Word Origin (Times, 1989) agrees that this is "probably" the etymon. Problems with such theories include a distribution that suggests a North-Sea Germanic areal form rather than an inherited one; the murkiness of the phonetic relations; and the fact that no alleged cognate outside Germanic has sexual connotations.

So, it appears the word is German in it's origins. But, origins aside, let us consider the word itself.
Is it a verb? As in "Go f--k yourself?" Perhaps, because it certainly does describe an action.
But, it can also be a noun as in, "He is such a f--k." Which pretty much describes a lot of men.
It is also used as an adjective, as in , "That is so f--king cool." describing how cool a thing is.
Well, whatever the meaning, whatever the tense, whatever the usage, it is perhaps the single most widely used curse word in any language!
I myself have used it quite frequently, and colorfully.
I have a friend, Sandy Lender who coined a new phrase with it. For assholes she finds overbearing and stupid, it is f--ktards! Excellent word and certainly brings to mind an officious little bastard quite clearly.
Frankly, I am amazed at the people who use the word. Actors, of course, and professional wrestlers, football players, baseball players, basketball players, coaches on the sidelines certainly, but also, Senators, Congressmen, Vice Presidents, Presidents, ( and some even do it in the Oval office) professionals, lawyers, cops, harried housewives and husbands. Even little old ladies and gentlemen have let it fly from time to time.
Why? Because let's face it, it is beyond a doubt the only word that adequately describes any given situation at any given time.
So, why is is considered a curse word and the grand dame of all curse words at that?
I think I'll start a petition to have the word included in Webster's next year as a verb, adverb, adjective and noun. After all, if everybody is saying it, how bad can it actually be?
Have a great day, y'all!

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Okay, somebody this morning on one of my writing groups just had to say something about Social Security. They simply could not leave well enough alone.
Well, okay then, here we go!
For years my ex husband drew social security disability, not because he was actually disabled, at least not physically, but he was a drunk, and he did do drugs, so I guess in a way he was disabled.
But, his disability was of his own making and choosing. I can't remember a single time that I actually saw anyone hold a gun to his head and make him take that first drink or swallow that first pill, or snort that first line. His 'disability' was of his own making, and yet he drew full disability from Social Security because of it.
Okay, so maybe alcoholism IS a disease, but no one will ever convince me it isn't a disease of choice, so if that's what's on your mind, forget it. You won't sway me.
Now, my mother, God rest her soul, suffered serious debilitating illnesses the last fifteen years of her life. She had a diseased heart, emphysema, (okay, I know that particular malady is pretty much self inflicted, because we all know how hard the tobacco companies tried to dissuade people from smoking in the thirties, right?) rheumatoid arthritis, and cancer, which finally killed her in Jan. of 2003.
For years we all tried to get Momma on disability because honestly, she couldn't even walk from the kitchen to the bathroom without gasping for breath, so she sure as hell couldn't work.
But you know what, time and again she was denied. And why? Not because she wasn't disabled in the eyes of the Social Security, but because she had never worked outside the home and hadn't paid any money into the system.
Are you kidding me? My ex husband drew full disability from the time he was like twenty-eight, and I can probably count on my one hand the number of years he actually worked, and here's this drunken drug addict drawing full disability, and my Mother can't get squat.
Now, there's a system that works, don't you think? Stupid.
And here is my next rant about that failing system. I've worked lots, and paid in lots, and yet I keep hearing that there probably won't be any money in the kitty when it comes time for me to draw.
Well, above seems a good reason for that. And how about the executives who retire with pensions of fifty, a hundred or hundreds of thousands of dollars a month, and yet these greedy bastards still whine about that measly social security check and their Medicaid. Seems kind of stupid to me.
So then why in the blue hell is everyone so against privatizing Social Security? I mean doesn't it make good sense to anyone?
Say Joe Blow is thirty years old, makes $75,000.00 a year and his wife Sally Blow makes $52,000.00 a year. They have three kids, a mortgage and the usual bills families generate over the course of a life time. Given the raises that sometimes compensate for the cost of living hikes, these guys are doing all right.
Why can't Joe and Sally open an account, which should be tax free, by the way, and each put maybe four or five hundred dollars a month into this interest bearing account. Say this account is set up to where the Blows can not touch it until they retire. There's their retirement money, which is a hell of a lot more than they're gonna get from Social Security anyway.
Now granted, this probably won't work for the poor folks of which there are a helluva lot more than rich folks. So, poor folks continue to pay SS tax, and they get to have a decent shot at living and eating and getting their medicine when they retire.
Someone needs to really fix this system, because as it is now, it just doesn't work!
And for God's sake, please don't get me started on the IR freaking S! Bloodsucking swine!!
Have a great day, y'all.

Christmas Song MEME:
This was passed on to me, and I'm passing it on to you!!

I've been tagged! I'm also a newbie at this process so I don't know exactly how to go about tagging someone else, but bear with me will you please. This MEME came to me from my blogger friend, Jeni Ertner, of the blog,"Down River Drivel" linked to mine .
The rules are simple: list (at least) five of your favorite Christmas songs -- and then tag (at least) five other of your blog friends to do the same on their sites.Here is my top 5 list as sung by everyone
Now, at my age remembering anything is a neat trick, so who knows how long it will take me to come up with five Christmas songs. Are there five Christmas songs? I'm sure there are, there has to be, right? Okay, so hmmm, .
1.Silent Night, of course. Hey it was easy to remember, they're doing that Pampers commercial on TV. Okay, so I cheated a wee bit, nobody said I couldn't get help!
2.Little Drummer Boy. I like this one because of the drumming and because my hubby is a drummer. All right, all right, and its a Christmas tune, okay?
3.Blue Christmas, by the King! Who in the last fifty years has listened to Christmas music and that wasn't played at one time?
4. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer, a little light hearted ditty that hopefully doesn't give anyone any ideas. Especially my grand kids!
5.Oh Holy Night, but the one sung by Il Devo, that group Simon Cowell discovered. Those boys have the most phenomenal voices, it makes your heart hurt to hear them!
Okay there's mine, now, who to tag with this, MEME?
1.Dorothy Thompson of

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Pet Peeves

And boy do I have a few of those! Oh, I know, everybody does. For every single one of us there is some little thing that just drives us up the wall.
For me it is actually about a dozen or so, but I'll try to be as brief in my ranting as I can be.
Okay, my number one pet peeve is a lousy server! Nothing pisses me off more than to go to a popular restaurant, and have to stand in line for upwards of forty-five minutes and then get a server who doesn't know a Queso dip from a salsa!
For instance; Hubby and I went to our local C----i's a couple of weeks ago, on a Friday night. When we got there at around sixish, there was a line out the door. Hubby is not one to wait patiently for a table, but I told him we were waiting. So, I went in, had our name added to the list and took that little pager thingy they give you.
While we waited, I happened to notice there were several empty tables, and hubby took a stroll through the restaurant and discovered there were exactly twenty-two empty tables and booths all over the place.
Now, this didn't make a lick of sense since there was a line out the door and down the sidewalk of waiting patrons. So, hubby asked to speak to the manager who told him that most of the evening servers hadn't come in yet. Huh? On a Friday evening? Are you kidding me?
Okay, so after forty five minutes we get sat, and it is fully another fifteen minutes before our server graces us with her presence.
Now, by this time hubby is a bit tense, so he doesn't use the sweetest tone while ordering his sprite. He's driving, so I get my usual two Miller lite drafts.
Off she goes and after another fifteen minutes we begin to wonder if perhaps she's gotten lost somewhere along the way.
Finally, she shows up, with a coke and a margarita! Hmmm, not what we ordered. Hubby is getting tenser. She doesn't even apologize, just snatches the drinks up and stalks off.
I try to laugh it off, but hubby is really testy by now.
Okay, after another fifteen minutes, she comes back and while I can't be 100% certain, I am fairly sure that my Miller lite has morphed into a Bud light, but I'm cool.
"You ready to order?" she says, and hubby's reply?
"We were ready thirty minutes ago, where were you?"
No answer.
Okay, we order chips and Queso before dinner Then dinner, yes?
No! Dinner arrives a full forty minutes later along with the chips and Queso.
"You can take those back," hubby says quite crossly.
"You ordered them," came her tight lipped reply.
"Yes we did, as an APPETIZER!"
So, she grabs them up and stalks off again.
My CFS is luke warm, the gravy a congealed mess on top of the mound of cold mashed potatoes. But, not wanting to cause a scene I choke them down.
Not so hubby. He's a bit of a wimp when it comes to rare steaks. he doesn't want to see any red in the middle. So, when he cut into his steak and the blood oozed out onto the plate, he looked up at me and I could see the white blotches on his forehead signifying that someone was about to tote a cussing.
But who? Our server had disappeared again, and I was pretty sure she was watching us from some obscure corner, laughing.
Hubby grabs his plate and heads for the hostess station, and I kind of slump down in my seat. This is going to be bad.
After a lot of gesticulating with his hands, hubby comes back to the table. Ten minutes later our server reappears.
"Is there a problem?" she asks.
Hubby glares and I shake my head.
After another fifteen minutes, hubby's steak is returned by the manager, who stands over him while hubby cuts into it. It is, by the way, the same steak they had undercooked before. Now it was like shoe leather and hubby pushes his plate away, and asks for the check.
"I'm sorry. I'll take the steak off your bill," the manager says.
"Don't bother," hubby replies. "But, I do have a tip for our server."
I hurry and stand up, cutting him off. I know what he's going to say. But, it's too late. The server walks up to the table and hubby looks her in the eye and says, "We do have a nice tip for you and your efforts."
"Why thank you," she gushed sweetly.
"Find a new line of work," hubby growls and stalks off.
Find a new line of work indeed. Some folks can be servers, some can't, you know?

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Okay, something new. I decided, or rather hubby decided, that I should do some advertising for my quilts and try to get some orders so I can make some money doing what I really love doing.
Of course, everyone who knows me, knows that quilting is my second love, behind writing. But, alas, the money flow from the writing is a mere trickle at best so.....
I make quilts. Very nice ones, I might add, and I do them all myself. I cut them out, I piece them, and I hand quilt everyone of them. I like hand quilting better than machine quilting because ,to me at least,a quilt ain't a quilt if you machine quilt it. I like old fashioned. I like the look and feel of hand quilted pieces, and I think they are a more personal gift than something that has been machine quilted. But, that's just me. A lot of folks prefer machine quilting because; number 1, it's faster, and number 2, machine quilted pieces seem to hold up better when washed repeatedly.
Still, all of my quilts are hand quilted,and so far not a one of them has failed the washing machine challenge.
I made the one pictured above two years ago. I also made the shams and the bolster and the little envelope pillow. The pattern is called "Off With Their Heads" and I got the idea and the pattern from one of Alex Anderson's Simply Quilts shows.
I get a lot of my patterns from books though and have about a hundred of them, books that is.
My all time favorite Christmas gift my husband ever got me is a quilt book that has quilt patterns from the 1700's to the 1950's. It's been around a pretty good while.
So, okay, I guess maybe I'll see if I can do some advertising for some custom quilts.
The problem with the whole thing is simply this. If I make a quilt, and hand quilt it, then I am going to put a high price on it. I have to. my time is valuable, to me anyway.
It takes me anywhere from six weeks to three months to complete a quilt, depending on the size and complication of the design.
So, pricing tends to be on the high side.
And that tends to put people off, who truly believe that those quilts they buy at Penny's or Belks are actually handmade and hand quilted.
They can buy a queen sized quilt for anywhere form $49.00 to $129.00. And I say bully for you, then buy one. But, I guarantee you they are not handmade. They are made in a factory oversees somewhere, and while hands certainly did thread the machines and set up the pattern, that's as close to handmade as those things get. Still, they convince themselves they have a real handmade quilt for $49.00.
All I can say is, Caveat Emptor, let the buyer beware. And remember, you get what you pay for.
No, I believe my pricing will cause me to have few sales, as people always want something for nothing, or as little as they can get by with.
Well, sorry, my time is worth something, and I will set my prices in stone. No haggling, no discounts, except to close friends.
So below is the prices I will advertise for custom made hand crafted quilts.

Twin ............ $100.00
Full............... $150.00
Queen.......... $200.00
King.............. $300.00

For special designs, like the Cathedral windows and Mariner's Compass quilts, the price will be doubled on all but the King size. Kings will cost $1000.00. A bargain at twice the price as anyone who has ever made one knows.
So, there it is. I seriously doubt I'll get any takers, because like I said, people always want something for nothing. But, regardless, I will continue to make them and put them away or give them as gifts to my family and dearest friends.

Monday, December 04, 2006

"Tis the season to be jolly" Says who? Tis the season for rude jerks who try there damndest to ruin things for everyone.
For example, I drove into my local Wally world parking lot yesterday afternoon. Now first of all, any idiot who goes to Walmart on a Sunday afternoon is just begging for trouble, but,I had some shopping to do so like a dummy off I went.
After driving around the fifteen acre parking lot for ten minutes, I finally found a parking space pretty close to the county line, and sadly Walmart does not have trams to transport their patrons from the back forty to the front door. So, I had to hoof it the mile or so to the front door.
Inside was a scramble to grab a buggy. There weren't any in that lovely line up at the front door waiting for me like there usually is, so I had to keep my eyes on the checkout lines to see which sweet, considerate soul would actually carry his one bag with the loaf of bread in it to the carry by hand, and then rush over to grab the buggy before someone else scooped it up.
It took me three tries, but I finally nailed one, and of course it was the one buggy in the whole store that had a wobbly front wheel and veered to right hard while I'm pushing it.
So, one by one, I traversed the aisles, which took less time than normal because the shelves were virtually empty. Walmart has this annoying habit of stocking their shelves at night, so of course by mid afternoon the shelves are bare.
With my limited amount of booty I proceeded to the checkout and tried in vain to find a line that had less than twelve people in it. I finally found one. You know those twenty items or less checkouts? Right! There were three people in this line. Me and two others. I had three items, the other two people had upwards of the contents of a grocery store in their buggies.
The lady in front of me turned around and smiled and I looked pointedly at the twenty items or less sign and she just shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Sorry about that."
So, lady number one has paid and is off, and lady number two proceeds to unload her buggy and half of items onto the conveyor belt. The cashier looks apologetically at me, then shakes her head.
Some twenty minutes later, lady number two is all rung up and then the fun begins. Her check, after taking a few more minutes to write out is spit back at her by the machine. Not to be deterred, she insists the cashier tries it again. She knows there's money in the account, she still has checks in the book! Lord love a duck! Okay, second time refused. Let me try this she says, dragging out a plastic card that looks for all the world like a debit card. it is. Now, if I'm not mistaken, if your check is spit out, it's kind a doubtful that your debit card is gonna work. And it didn't.
Still undaunted, she pulls out a succession of credit cards; all of which are denied. Finally in exasperation, she pulls out a wad of bills from her wallet and pays cash. Now why in the gay hell didn't she do that to begin with?
Finally I get to pay for my miserable little three items and make my escape.
And I"m lost. Where did I park that car? So now I'm wandering aimlessly up and down aisle after aisle trying to find my car and wondering why it is so difficult to find a black car?
Finally, after about a half hour I find it, and all I can do is just stand there and laugh like a lunatic. I know the people who were walking by must have thought I'd lost my mind, laughing like some escapee from the nut house, but honestly after my experience in the store, this just made my day.
Parked on my left, the driver's side, is a huge Ford dually, that is pulled in almost diagonally and so close to my car that Twiggy would have been hard pressed to get in the door!
I wanted very much to leave a note on this guys truck windshield asking him if he always bitch parked or if he was just an inconsiderate asshole during the holidays.
Merry Christmas y'all!!