Anyway, as usual, in the small hours of the morning I was thinking when I should have been sleeping. I rap. Badly. Because it makes me laugh and feel like a gangsta at the same time. True dat.
This post is more than how The Man makes me cover my eyes in disbelief. It’s more about how when we get older the slang we used to use or sometimes want to use sounds more ghetto than ghetto fabulous.
My Ranger friend and I were having a tête-à-tête just a few nights ago in which she ended every sentence in “bitch” or the plural “bitches.” I chose homefry, homeslice or any variation – homegirl – you get the picture. I also had jazz hands, but that’s another story for another time.
Some of my friends (The Man included) have adopted some of the sayings of today. Of course now that I’m under pressure I can’t think of any. Or, perhaps I’ve blocked them from my short-term memory because I remember what it felt (and sounded) like when my Mum, June Cleaver herself or at least a very neurotic version, said “Gag me with a spoon” for the very first and last time.
Sure, each region, state, province or wherever the hell you live, has its own dialect – a set of words unique to that area. Age brackets have their own dialect too and it’s a bit disconcerting when a foreigner tries to infiltrate the tribe. Just as a group of teenagers may have looked at me in confusion (and then alarm) when I was spewing forth the “Can’t you feel the music pumping hard like I wish you would,” so should they too if I used the word “fail” and I’m not talking about a science or driving test.
Words also change their meaning over time. When gay once meant happy, it now means something completely different. And swinging? Well, don’t get me started on that one!