Bitch on the Blog

May 9, 2011

The Kipper and the Corpse

Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 06:19

On the whole being more a mellow Al Pacino type I find myself –  this minute and to my dismay – in Robert De Niro mode: Looking at me? Or maybe even Clint Eastwood: Make my day, punk. There is something I so wish I could tell you going back some years. I can’t. I’d be dead within minutes. Never mind. Things need to be taken to one’s grave. Being terribly private, to a fault, it’s no hardship to me. Just a pain because so much of my life’s material lying bracken; and little do I like better than telling a story. Still, one needs to protect the innocent. Or oneself.

Robert de Niro surprisingly straight laced in that film “Meet the Fockers” which, to the British ear, sounds so satisfyingly “Meet the Fuckers”. In the first one de Niro, out of character, was father of bride. Oh dear. Fathers of brides only marginally worse for groom than facing a hungry bear in Canada’s woods. Sequel ‘Meet the Fuckers again’. If ever there has been a scene (apart from Daphne tottering and dancing the Tango) it’s the tight arsed Robert de Niro character in his tank like truck (you have to hand it to Americans – they ARE  prepared) with his little grandson on the passenger seat. For reasons not important de Niro’s grandson’s first word formed there and then: “ASSSSSSSSSSSSSShole”. De Niro nearly veered off the road and later had a hard time to convince the household’s parrot to keep quiet.

Anyway, whenever things go wrong for me (which is rarely but enough to keep me entertained) I will MOUTH, just as heartfelt as that like boy, “Arsehole”. With my mouth forming a deeply felt O hole.

Doing a Jean here (she always asks questions which, most the time, you’d rather not answer): Do you know what the FIRST word was you uttered after having been cooed over for, say, ten months? Oh dear. I tell you, and I am not a Neuro Linguistic Programming Practitioner: Whatever you said first will give a strong hint as to how your life is mapped. If your mother claims that your first word was ‘Mama’ or some such do NOT believe her. It’s never Mama or Papa. Unless you have no imagination or are plain limited, in which case you will not need many words anyway.

U

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6 Comments »

  1. I have no idea what my first word was. For some reason I think Kaitlin said mama but I’m not sure. I do remember I taught her not to cry when she woke up in the morning. Instead I taught her to cheerfully call, “Mommy! Mommy!” Not a good idea. I could scarcely lay in bed when she was saying the magic words, and so sweetly too. I decided I wasn’t too bright. I read of a woman who was much smarter. She taught her child to say “Dada! Dada!”, then “Daddy! Daddy!” So when the baby woke up in the middle of the night she could say, “He’s calling you, Dear.” 🙂

    Comment by Cheerful Monk — May 9, 2011 @ 07:14 | Reply

  2. No-one told me what my first words were…but the would not have been obscene as I never heard my father swear at home. Come to think of it I never heard the F expletive until about 13 at school.
    However, I, apparently, used to suck my thumb and was once heard to declare , “I’m a fumb sucker”, the only problem being that it came out as a classic(?) spoonerism. I was told this story at the age of seventeen, my father considering that I was old enough to receive such information.

    Comment by Magpie 11 — May 9, 2011 @ 10:28 | Reply

    • Well, Magpie, I am not in favour of thumb sucking ever since I saw the damage it did to my youngest sister’s. I myself, and I am probably wrong, see sucking thumb as a case of poor parenting. Or being thrown off breastfeeding too early. (The latter subject inflammatory – so don’t go there).

      I never sucked thumb, neither did I (sister number 2) bite my finger nails. Dear god in heaven.

      Like yours (or Jean’s) my first word wasn’t obscene either. It was plain awful. My mother never forgave herself for leaving me in pram, outside house, in garden, benefit of fresh air, trusting in the world and its good, only to find that I had been fed that which Eastern/Northern Europeans are so good at. I tell you: My father, absent at the time, still believes that my – abject to him – love of Nietzsche and Schopenhauer stems from my being traumatized in said pram.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — May 9, 2011 @ 11:13 | Reply

  3. I’m a day late here after yesterday’s 2 hour hike, off to Santa Fe where I “ran” ha at the gym whilst my grandchildren ice skated & swam, then to Scottish dance where I was pried off the floor almost asleep & taken home FINALLY to bed.
    But now I’m LMAO at this post.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — May 10, 2011 @ 14:39 | Reply

  4. I said “Rosebud.”

    Comment by Conrad — May 10, 2011 @ 19:45 | Reply

    • Oh Con, on that note alone I have fallen straight BACK into love with you.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — May 10, 2011 @ 20:07 | Reply


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