So I have a few words/sayings that I say instead of cursing. My favorites are: son of a donkey, daggone, frack, frack a doodle, shittake mushroom, be-witch, heffa, and fudge bucket in hot sauce. The only times for over almost 10 years that I actually cursed is in extreme anger, and smexy time. The funny thing is, some actually look down on me for NOT cursing. So let lead you around the long version of why I USED to swear like a Sailor, and then quit.
Once upon a time the was a little black geek girl who attended many mostly peach crayon heavy schools in the suburbs. Her ghetto extended family constantly talked about she “talked white”, like it was such a horrible thing to be educated. The little BGG didn’t really care as long as she didn’t bullied too much at school (which didn’t happen too often as other kids learned soon enough that little BGG was crazy from the day she was born, and would always be a geek that fought back). But as she grew older and those dastardly hormones kicked in, well, she wanted to fit in. Especially as the life she knew began to fall apart as her parents separated. So… She turned to those that used to make fun of her, and tried to be like them.
Hi, my name is dimensionthe5th, and long ago I was a poser.
Before splitting up my parents raised me in a pretty middle class home. My mother was soft-spoken, polite, submissive and naïve. She didn’t drink, and didn’t curse. My father was a true soldier-turned-coastie that couldn’t have a clean mouth even with a soap wash. He was the Man of the House, and everything and everyone followed his rules. The women of the house dressed the way he felt right, even to hair styles. I was raised to be an independent woman, as long as I stayed within the rules of what He considered proper.
Anyway, my parents splitting up, depression, hormones, and starting high school at an age slightly younger than average (nerd power!) made me begin to act out in the ways that went against my parents way of raising me. That meant that at 13, I started stealing my dad’s cigarettes that he left everywhere. And started smoking weed and drinking whenever I visited the bad bunch of cousins. I also began changing my mode of dress, from quirky girly (since my mom is a borderline little person I could fit her clothes by 11 and liked wearing her older pieces), and started cursing and speaking like my family members. That meant a lot of slang and cursing. And my lovely hobby of reading like a speed demon, I put it away.
I sucked at the beginning of the ghetto fabulous transformation. My cursing was off and school friends and the bad-influence-cousins made fun. But I watched, and learned, so I could fit in. Even after my son was born, I kept up with the “hood” attitude, although many could easily see right through it. Even after joining the military I wore doo-rags over my hair, baggy jeans, and always had a black n mild in hand. I drank loads of beer that first year to get used to the taste. And every sentence either had a curse word or the word “n*gga”.
The funny thing is… I never felt comfortable cursing, no many how many years I did it before I stopped. The same goes with the whole hood tough chick style. I grew up loving dresses and reading the dictionary for fun. To limit myself to a stereotype that I was not born to, well, I said before that it should always be about being true to yourself.
After evil ex boyfriends and mental health appointments, by my mid twenties I started to come back to myself. That I don’t need to dress in “Lady Thug” or “Hoochie Iz Us” brand clothing to fit in. That I could be myself and still scare the baby Jesus out of the young enlisted troops without ever uttering a curse word. That I should be proud of the way I talk, because at least I sound intelligent, and as an adult, its looked at as a good thing unlike the stupid childhood/teen years.
So when someone asks me why I do not curse, I say nicely as possible that I’d rather sound intelligent than like a common hood rat.
Also, it’s just more all around fun to make up your own curses 😉