I wondered where the urban term “ratchet” originated, after having someone refer to me as such when my hair was messy and my iPhone case was cracked. Evidently it’s a term reserved for mostly women who ghetto-rig accessories, own a Blackberry instead of an iPhone (outdated electronics in general), has messy hair or make-up, torn clothing and my favorite quote from Urban Dictionary has “side bangs, despite having incredibly small-ass foreheads to support them.”
Explaining this term to my prissy friend got unexpected results; she says, “Does it mean like, ‘haggard’ is that the definition of ratchet?” And I said, “Sure.” But really, saying a girl is “Haggard as hell” doesn’t have the same ring to it as “Ratchet as f*ck” now does it?
It appears at though the term originated from someone misunderstanding the pronunciation of the word “wretched.” All of these descriptions would apply to a wretched woman (I’ve been called wretched before, as well) so this makes sense to me. Just like “nucular” has been added to the dictionary to accommodate for the 1/3 of the American population who says it that way (including George W. Bush Jr. and Sarah Palin), descriptivists in language will always include the common vernacular.
Another example would be saying “mis-chee-vee-us” instead of “mis-chuh-vuhs” as the word’s original spelling suggests. Having these mispronunciations added to the dictionary does indeed change the languages, but we’ve been evolving for so long that who are we to decide when that evolution stops?
So try your best to say the words correctly, but don’t worry if you don’t because sooner or later those interpretations will be added to our dictionaries.
Although honestly I don’t know that I’d prefer to be called ratchet over wretched anyways. I prefer to be called “princess.” Thanks for listening.
See this symbol is funny because those words shouldn’t spell “fish” but the sounds they make in other English words if applied accordingly can make those sounds.
The “gh” is from words like enough, and tough
The “o” becoming an “i” is from a word like women
The “ti” makes the “sh” sound from nation, initiate, etc.
Isn’t linguistics fun?! My professors used this as a fun example in class, even though what they’re really saying is “English makes no sense because it’s a bastardization of several languages so these rules aren’t mutually inclusive which is why it’s so hard to speak English which is why we should treasure the language.”
Eh, we’re making words like “hizzouse” and “sizzurp” dictionary-level words so I think we’re pretty much doomed. Or should I say “dumed” like the “u” in the word “future” ok sorry let me stop.
Being a hot mess has many benefits: people never ask you to go to the gym with them, no one gives you extra responsibilities, girls let you hang out with their boyfriends without being jealous bitches and society as a whole steers clear and lets you do your thing.
Being able to clean up well is a whole ‘nother story. I can brush my hair, throw on some make up and slut it up with the best of them, even going to JOB INTERVIEWS and sucking the occasional wiener. You have to balance how often you’re seen out looking lilke Ms. Love up there.
I choose a 70/30 split of “hot mess” to “has her shit together” just so I can make money and get the D and maybe have some friends and shit. Highly recommend that ratio, unless you’re gorgeous and people do everything for you.
So last night a guy is screamin’ down the street in his minivan, leaning out the window, and he slows down to yell “Nice Tits!” at me before he continues on his way.
I was having an OK night, but that just sky-rocketed my self-esteem to space-like proportions. I can do anything, as long as I have these tits on me. God it feels great.
I only wish that guy had pulled over and stopped so I could’ve hopped in and reenacted by favorite BangBros episode while my boyfriend watched. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, and I missed that one, guys.
This is me during my little stint on Comedy Time TV. It was a nerve-wracking experience for me. I had only been doing standup for 8 months, and just before the show I was told I couldn’t curse or tell dirty jokes. All I had were dirty jokes, I’m NEW! So, you can hear me edit mid-sentence on stage and struggle with what part of my jokes I CAN tell, all the while wondering when and where the light would be that would tell me when my set was over.
I really hope I get to re-do this one day, or that Comedy Time just takes all these shitty videos down. I’m better than this, I promise :(
Gotta say, I’m starting to really like Justin Bieber! I’m actually happy to know that he smokes weed, because that means he is a cool person. Yes, smoking weed makes you a cool person. But only if you keep a job, or go to school, or maintain a normal life.
Why is alcohol legal but weed is not? Nobody goes joy-riding when they’re high, or shoots their friend or lover or gambles their life away. Now, you can abuse marijuana and I have seen it happen, but it’s rare. Most people who smoke recreationally are choosing a more subdued way to spend time with friends and connect with new people.
With the legalization in Washington and Colorado I’m hoping more states will follow suit and the attitude that this plant that grows naturally from the ground is BAD will melt away. I’m not endorsing smoking every day, or even every time you go out with friends, but coming from a family with a few alcoholics…I think it’s a better way to party.
And don’t call it “the lesser of two evils” either; it’s not evil! It makes you relax and talk about politics and the shapes of flowers and makes you write more interesting jokes and enjoy the life you’re living by leaving it mentally, momentarily.
Light up, guys. And hopefully you, like me, are looking forward to the evolution of Justin Bieber <3
Nothing like the double-birthday of your only nephews to remind you that you’re not any closer to having children than you were since your divorce. I love my little brother dearly, but I envy his ability to just make babies and deal with the consequences. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that they look like my baby brother—like me. Makes me think even moreso of what my own children would look like. Of course they’d all have nose jobs at 16 just like the rest of us.
But then they cry, or scream, or offer hugs but give me warnings like “don’t touch my privates!” and then I think of how worried I’d be for my own children. I treat my dog like my child, and every minute away from him makes me sick with worry. I’d suffocate my children and make them wear full-body protective gear to the grocery store. That’s no way to live!
But I can’t even be the rich Auntie that spoils them either. No, my older brother and his wife are so successful that that position has been filled and anyways I’m way too much of a loser to make enough money to support myself much less other humans. So really, I should just make do with what I have.
I can hope to be the liberal, hippie Auntie that swoops into town occasionally and teaches the kids about tolerance and recycling and all the shit that feels so damned important to me and has since I was a small child. They will be my legacy.
Long live the dick jokes, too. Can’t forget those.
Choosing an avatar for your twitter account is super hard. You can’t keep the egg, but you can’t just choose any picture. Because—not many people understand this—you can’t change your avi for a LONG TIME after you choose it!
When you star and retweet other tweeters (which you should do, often) they see your avi in their interactions. If they choose to follow you back, they see your avi in their timelines. People learn to identify you with the little baby dick picture that you’ve chosen to represent your twitter personality.
My avi is a close-up of my face, with my naked boyfriend jumping in the background behind me. I put a small symbol over his penis, which changes with events and holidays, to seem demure. He’s had a santa hat, a menorah, an anti-gun sign, Justin Bieber and right now, a big glowing bow to cover his manhood. If I changed this image, people would not know who I was! All the work it took to get to 2,500 followers would be for nought and I would return to the peaceful nothingness I was just a few short months ago.
Another issue, mostly for female tweeters, is how pretty/sexy to look in the pic. I’ve opted for “not very” on both. I went for funny, and removed all traces of cleavage from my pic. I really, truly want to be considered “funny” and don’t want to get followers based on the amount of tits in my avi. Not knocking any women who do that, lord knows I enjoy me some tittays as much as the next chick, but it’s not for me. Something to think about, eh?
So I urge you—choose an interesting avi and KEEP IT for as long as you can stand. Make little alterations if you must to keep it interesting, but don’t change it altogether. And if you DO decide to put some boobs in your avi, be ready for the pervs to @ reply every tweet you send—especially the sexual ones.
Oh, Adele. I love this woman; her voice, her je ne sais quoi, her lyrics. They don’t always make perfect sense to me, but I FEEL them, you know?
My sister writes all these emo-angst poems and song lyrics and I’m envious that she can just…FEEL so many emotions. I couldn’t write that shit with a gun to my head (not without sounding sarcastic). When I’m sad I’m like “Fuck, I’m sad. I need a donut,” but my sister can write, “You never got me, you never will, I’ll be the mist in your dreams, the fog in your brain, the reason you sometimes cry in the rain” or something and she’ll feel so much better afterwards. Like something has been released. Nobody even makes her do this; she writes these huge long poems of her own volition. In sparkly notebooks, no less!
I actually wrote that myself. Am I an artist now? No, I should think not. I can’t listen to more than one Florence and the Machine song, or Feist or Ellie Goulding or Fiona Apple. Too much emotion for me. I like a raw beat and maybe a random word chanted over and over again. Let’s keep those emotions locked up tight and just bounce our heads or maybe wave our hands around like we’re on acid. That’ll show how tough we are.
I am a stand up comedian and the least favorite child of my family. This has given me much material to work from and I hope you learn to enjoy the darkness that resides in the depths of the cesspool that is my mind.