Pop in the buggy, y'all!

If you’re from Southern Kentucky and you’ve ever travelled out of state (or far enough north, in some cases), then you’ve certainly encountered some… ‘attention’ due to your accent. In fact, the last time I was in Florida, the worker at Cold Stone Creamery had a little chuckle at the way I said ‘cheesecake’. I have no clue how I say it any differently than anyone else in the world, but he asked me to repeat it for effect, and then awarded me an extra scoop. Totally worth it.

But sometimes the attention isn’t positive. On another vacation a couple of years prior, my family and I were snapping pictures on the beach. You know, standard tourist stuff before we headed home the next day. There was another girl, a bit younger than me, who actually started laughing at us talking, and then proceeded to makes jokes about us, while standing no more than twenty feet away. And she had the gall to do this while wearing a flippin’ stormtrooper mask! I tried to strangle her using the Force, but it was no avail. So I had to settle for shooting her some dirty looks and grumbling under my breath.

It never fails to get my blood pumpin’ when people assume that anyone with a southern dialect is ‘stupid’. Tell me, oh Ye of Standard Speech, did you get a 35 on the English section of your ACT? No? What about a 34 in the reading? I didn’t think so!

The point is that our mountain culture makes us who we are. Sure there will always be individuals that poke fun at us for our dialect. But I’ve learned that you should never let the opinions of others affect who you are, or who you want to be. Let your roots shine through. What does the judgement of strangers matter, anyway? The only person that needs to be happy with you, is YOU. So to celebrate my love for our culture, let’s examine some of that funny ole mountain speech and how it’s different from other parts of America the Beautiful.

Pop

When I did some research on the spread of Pop/Soda/Coke across the US, I was actually surprised that ‘pop’ seems to be a more northern trend, although it’s snaked its way into the southeastern region of the bluegrass state. And don’t ask me about that weird interjection of Coke in Missouri and Illinois. I have no clue where that came from.

Buggy

I was under the assumption that Buggy or Cart were really the only terms at play when it comes to the metal contraptions that help us carry all of our crap that we just impulse-bought at walmart. But apparently, the list also includes wagon, carriage, trolley, and basket. While more heavily used in the South, buggy does seem to have quite an influence throughout the Eastern US. Who knew?

Pecan

Perhaps I’m weird, but I’ve never pronounced pecan like ‘pea-can’. My family has always opted for the more centralized ‘pick-ahn’. How do you say it? Is it different from the way your grandparents say it? Let me know!

Caramel

Similar to the little spread of Western influence with pop, ‘car-mul’ seems to be a Northwestern thing that has snuggled into the heart of Eastern Kentucky. If I think ‘care-uh-mel’ I might think snooty rich people with champagne and pearls. But that would be prolonging stereotypes, so of course I don’t do that. ;)

Crayon

In my experience, most people from my lovely hometown of Hazard carry on the Southern tradition of pronouncing it ‘cray-ahn’. But I did meet this guy in college who actually said ‘cra-oon’. To each his own, I suppose.

Y’all

Through my twenty one years of life, I’ve never had someone say ‘y’all’ who wasn’t doing it sarcastically, or to be dramatic. I always say ‘you all’. I did get a little chuckle from the comment above the graph, though.

But that’s all I could think of. Do you know something that is specific to Eastern Kentucky? (Or anywhere else, for that matter!) Please leave a comment with your own tales of dialect!

You have HOW many animals?

Well, see that’s a funny story, actually. It depends on how you count them. Animals that are living in the house, not necessarily mine? Let’s see… three dogs, three cats, and a snake. Essentially, a small zoo. But now, there are three people living in our little nook of the city, so that averages out to one dog, one cat, and a foot-long section of a snake each. That’s not so bad, is it?

The living situation itself is a little odd, but it works. My husband, Kyle and me have one bedroom, and my best friend since God-knows-when has the other. So there are ten living organisms in a small house. TEN. It was eleven, but Patrick Henry (the little freedom fighter fish) has recently gone to the big fishbowl in the sky. Godspeed, my little friend. Godspeed.

Cats or dogs first, who do you want to meet? How about C, the snake. Her name is lady, she is a corn snake and she belongs to Tiffany, my roommate. Now, that doesn’t mean I don’t like her. I actually really enjoy snakes as pets, I just don’t have any at the moment. Okay, maybe you’ve got the heebie jeebies and you think I’m insane. That’s perfectly okay. But hear me out: they live in a small cage. No hair on your clothes or furniture- ever. You feed them about once a week and they couldn’t give a crap whether or not you spend quality time with them. No, your scaly, legless friend will never demand a walk in the park, or that you throw a ball. They’re even lower maintenance than fish. Fabulous for a busy mom or someone who’s just lazy. Or a lazy, busy mom. Whatever. They make good pets.

Dogs. Man’s Best Friend. Woman’s Biggest Annoyance. Okay, okay, that’s not true. I didn’t really mean it. They can be a little bit much sometimes, but you better believe I would rather spend time with my dogs than most people. That’s right, I’m the awkward friend who never makes it inside your house because I’m rolling around in the grass with your German Shepherd, Hank. Fur > skin. I mean come on, has a dog ever caused drama in your life? No. And if you do somehow manage to push the envelope of their patience and actually piss them off, one slice of bologna and all is forgiven. Reminds me of Kyle. Ha.

Of the three dogs in our humble abode, Rynn is my absolute favorite. She’s a white Australian Shepherd with striking blue eyes. She hasn’t left my side for more than a few hours since she was just five weeks old (yes, I know that’s way too early to be away from mom. But that is a rant for another blog post). And goodness, she’s brilliant. She’s one of those amazing dogs that will listen like a human. It’s “Rynn, will you get in the floor?”, not “RYNN FLOOR.” She’s amazing. She’ll even give you a high five! Her favorite past times include chasing a ball, chewing a tug rope, sleeping with her legs all splayed out like a fool, and running madly around the house like a puppy possessed. Favorite foods are pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut and peanut butter.

Baby Rynn!

Those eyes though!

Second place in my heart is Tiffany’s black GSD, Bella. God love her heart. I honestly think the poor gal may be autistic. She struggles with dog body language and can’t handle looking you in the eyes if you’re within five feet. She’s also got and extended top palette, so she has the most wicked overbite I’ve ever laid eyes on. But she’s a good dog, despite her learning difficulties. She never makes a mess in the house, never gets in the garbage, never shreds things or causes general havoc. She’s been Rynn’s best friend since day one of her puppyhood. They’re vomit-inducing, I warn you.

UGH.

And then, there’s Dozer. He is literally the dumbest dog I’ve ever met in my life. He’s a sweetheart and he means well, but he’s cost me approximately $7,000 in paper towels. Well maybe not that much, but I am certainly getting tired of cleaning puppy pee puddles. Heh. Puppypeepudddles puppypeepuddles. Say that five times fast.

Anyway, he’s exclusively Kyle’s dog and the absolute bane of my existence. I don’t have a problem with pitbulls as a breed, but Lord have mercy, this one is making me go gray. He can't learn. Just can't. I need a vacation. 

Rynn and "Doo Doo"

Felines are just the best thing. I’m really disappointed that Adam didn’t name them ‘Furry Awesome Balls’ instead of just…cats. But in his defense, I’d probably be running out of creative juice with animal naming too. So we’ll let this one slide. For now.

Of the three cats scampering about, only one of them is mine. His name is Vincent. I can hear it now. “Vincent? That’s a strange name for a cat.” Well, maybe it is to you. But maybe that’s because you don’t know that he’s missing a large chunk of his ear. He was like that when we found him, so for all I know he sliced it off and mailed it to his girlfriend. If you understood that allusion, then you’ll know where his name comes from. If not, go back to art class.

Vinnie is a black shorthair of unknown origins, with an adorable white spot on his chest and ‘deodorant marks’ (as I call them) beneath his front legs. While he may seem like a normal cat if judged from his appearance, he is actually completely insane. Certifiable. No one in the house is protected from his sudden bouts of kitty play. Maybe you’re stumbling towards the kitchen at two in the morning, croaking for a glass of water. And maybe you’ll find your ankles being mugged by a sudden flurry of cat baps, before he dashes off into the shadows to await his next victim. He never uses his claws, because his intention is play and not murder (although that is debatable between Kyle and I). But there is nowhere to hide that he will not find you. Nothing is sacred from his explosive kitty-zoomies. Not even the dogs are safe. Vincent is undoubtedly the King of the House. And no one is brave enough to argue with his Highness.

High King Vincent

And finally the last two cats. They’re property of Tiffany as well, and they’re sickeningly adorable. Bruce and Quinn. Yes, Bruce Wayne and Harley Quinn. Brucie is gray, and his sister has a white mask and little gray spots. They don’t have much personality developed aside from the general kitten-ness, so we’ll see how they turn out.

Sometimes I complain about the animals, yes. I get tired or waking up in the morning and taking the dogs to pee, or scooping out Vincent’s litter box. I have to come behind them and gather the stuffing from their latest toy. And Rynn is always asking me to throw her ball. But no matter how much I may grumble about them, I am so grateful that they’re a part of my journey here on earth. Fur babies bring me heaps of joy and entertainment. They catch my tears and listen better than anyone else. I can’t imagine my life without them.

Now excuse me while I go get a lint roller.

love is a four legged word <3

Jesus didn't wear jeans

No, he didn't. But I do. Well, I try to. It's a little frustrating, combing the racks for denim with a long enough inseam. I need a 37". Most 'longs' are 34". Hellooooo, high-waters. That happens when you're a woman, and you're 6'2" though. I guess that makes me a modern-day Amazon. No. A Glamazon. 

While it is definitely the tallest pillar (pun definitely intended) of my physical being, my height is not everything about who I am. In all honesty I probably couldn't make a list of all the things that make me me. I was going to name this blog Nervous Nellie to pay homage to the anxiety disorders that I suffer from. Then I started thinking: while that's a part of who I am, it's not all of it. And I don't intend for it to stick around for my entire life. So I won't try to condense my personality into a couple of paragraphs for easy reading. The human mind should never be constrained and condensed. Be who you are, no matter how much room it takes to express it.

So, anywho, this blog. What do I have in store for you? Lots of different things. A literary smorgasbord of brain droppings from my skull to your screen. There will be joy. Heartache. Anxiety. Laughter. We'll walk hand-in-hand through all my likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams. You'll learn about my psychotic cat and adorable dog. We'll go over weight loss, dental floss, and taco sauce. Definitely taco sauce. But above all, this blog will have praise for God. He is the captain of my life, and I sincerely hope that I can reach out to others with my writing. He gave me these tools, and by golly, I'm going to use them!