I am a woman who curses.
I admit it. Not only do I admit it, but it’s something I consider a source of pride. After all, not everyone knows that it is not only the word choice that is important, but the timing as well. Several uncouth youngsters, for instance, have been known to drop an F-bomb for every occasion, without realizing that there is a finesse that is required to make sure the words you use have the proper impact. Imagination is needed, as well as practice, to ensure that one uses the proper words in the correct context, to make the point you are choosing to make, in the way you wish to make it.
I consider it an art form. Not every sentence needs the F-word – though it certainly is the most flexible of all choices – because sometimes a simple and well-placed ‘Damn’ can do the trick. Some occasions call for one or two prime words, while other situations demand an all-out assault of everything you can think of, in every form imaginable. One must also consider the audience.
Calm down – I’m all about freedom of speech and letting your freak flag fly whenever you can, but sometimes, it is important to remember where you are, and who is around. Perhaps, a job interview or workplace is not the best place to be f’in this and f’in that. And just maybe, at church, you should not try to offend the entire congregation all at once, but rather save that joy for one on one, so that you can more thoroughly enjoy every little nuance of the interaction. And if something really truly offends someone, you can choose not to offend. Or choose to offend – but be aware of the consequences of that action.
I’ll never forget how appalled my mother was that I refused to curb my language around my young children. That, to her, was worse than the fact that I refused to refrain from cussing in public, either. Her preshush little grandbabies shouldn’t be subjected to my vile language. I had my reasons, and stuck to my guns – mainly, my children would learn it anyway, at least I could teach them when and where it was acceptable. And no one could deny how adorable my little baby girl was at two years old when she said “Stand up” in the middle of church, and it sounded exactly like “damn it!”
My kids were taught at an early age that there were mommy and daddy words, and kid words. When they were older, they could choose how they wanted to speak, and face the consequences for it. Until then, they would speak as they should, when they should. We never had a problem with them cussing at school, or in church – because they were less restricted at home.
Well, until they became teenagers.
Don’t get me wrong, my kids are still very aware that there are places they should be careful, and that they will face the consequences should they decide to ignore my advice. Where things get confusing, or easy to forget, is when one word or turn of phrase is deemed worse than all others. You can fuck and shit and damn and get a disapproving cluck but if you cross that thin little line, all hell breaks loose.
Here’s the thing: it’s about respect. You either respect your audience or you don’t. But it goes both ways – the audience either respects that you have a different point of view, or they don’t. We live in a world where everyone is so quick to get their panties in a bunch they forget that the world is full of two ways streets, streets that we all have to travel together. So you need to make choice – will you cater to your audience’s views, or stand firm in yours – or will you find some middle road where you can walk together?
I don’t have an answer. I slip at times too, and I’ve been practicing the ‘perfect’ balance for a very long time. (Yes. I AM OLD. Shush.) Mostly, I will cater to the audience. Sometimes, I simply cannot be bothered to give a fuck, because sometimes? My feelings need to be validated with the use of proper cursing and a fantastic F-bomb. I know that what is good for the goose is very rarely good for the gander, no matter how much it raises my hackles. I know that it is not a fight that can be won – nor should it be. It simply is what it is. And always, I know that it is my choice, and my consequence to bear.
My children know the same thing – even when they slip.
Lessons in patience:
Friend: Is it snowing?
Bobblehead: no – but it’s wiiiiiiiiindy! No snow. First time I can remember that on my (mentions it AGAIN) birthday (still not acknowledging the blatant bid for attention) there’s no snow. Sure it’s usually only a little, but still.
Me: (bite. tongue. bite. tongue)
Bobblehead: I hear they’re getting PUMMELED in Anchortown though. Just POUNDED.
She leaves. and my friend and I just DIE… Anchortown got all of a couple inches and it melted. We check, just to be sure – and sure enough – sunny skies up there. But ya know, the know-it-all piece of management loved perfection says they are getting PUMMELED with the snow.. it’s just POUNDING on them right now….
This is just a sample. A teeny tiny and mostly amusing one – and I didn’t even touch on the bobbleheading… *headdesk* I don’t know how much longer i can take this. Good thing my mommy taught me not to say anything if I can’t say somethin’ nice… too bad I’ma bite a hole in my tongue by the end of this… Hahah!
Guess who’s getting married! Yup, ME! I know, I know, i swore I’d never do it again, and here I am, giddy as a school girl! It’ll likely not be till later this year or next summer – but! I’m getting married!
Sooooooooooooo! MUUUUUUUUUUUUUCH! PLAAAAAAAAAAAAANNING!
I’ll post a picture of the ring as soon as it’s back on my finger – need to get it resized It’ll be here in a week. SO EXCITED!
So, I haven’t written in a while – not that I haven’t had anything blogworthy to post, oh no, but more so because I’ve become busy living life, again, instead of writing about wanting too. You see, I met a man.
Ok, not really MET him, because I’ve actually known him since he was four years old, since my mama was his preschool teacher. (Yes, I’m older than him. Not by much. Shhh.) He works in the Subway at my Walmart store and we reconnected…
And then we CONNECTED.. if ya know what I mean.. (hehehehe)
So he came over one night after he finally got out of a shitty relationship, and well, he hasn’t left yet. That was almost two months ago (and, as the joke goes, that’s how i got my LAST husband. Hm. Addictive, ain’t I? Hehehe) So we moved the important stuff in first, and then his other stuff, and I rearranged the bedroom so we didn’t have to crawl over each other to go pee in the middle of the night (though there’s fun in that, too. hee) and we settled in.
And that’s where the story REALLY starts. You see, he has this lovely large…
…tv, and we wanted to hook it up, and he said as we were moving him in “Don’t let me lose these – they’re the screws to the tv. Very important!” and he tucked them into his pocket. The Girl, she convinced him to put them into an envelope, which he showed to me and said again “Don’t lose these!” And I nodded and went back to WoW. Cuz I’m a nerd. Shush.
THEN! For the past, oh, month and a half or so, it’s been things like: “Where are those screws?” and “Well, if your mom hadn’t lost the screws..” and so on and so forth. All in good fun of course, but I was seriously wracking my brain to figure out where I’d put the mothereffin SCREWS. They were NO where, and worse? I didn’t remember physically TOUCHING them, so couldn’t put together any frame of reference as to where they might be! I remembered where he was standing when he showed me the envelope then….
I felt SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO bad!
Apparently, I had lost the screws.
Tonight, he comes home, and at some point decides to look in the TV box to see if they’re there. I would have laughed SO much – but alas, no screws. None. Then. Then he comes into our room, and picks up his laptop case… and shuts it.
Oh yes. HE HAD PUT THEM IN HIS LAPTOP CASE. Which means no – I had NEVER EVER EVEN TOUCHED THE BLOODY SCREWS! And He gave me hell for almost TWO MONTHS! And I felt genuinely BAD about the lost screws and HE HAD THEM ALL ALONG!
Oh, I’m gonna get SOOOOOOOOO much mileage from this one! HAHAHAHAHAHA! IT. WASN’T. ME.
PS: already got dinner and dancing promised to me… what else do ya think I can get? Heheheheheheheheh. oh and..
PPS: I’m so telling his mommy on him tomorrow when we visit! HAHAHAHAH
THIS. is why I love raising teenagers.
So, the pup was in my room when I went to the bathroom, looking for something – and the following conversation occurred…
Me: Get ooooooouuut!
Her: Why, what do you think I’m looking for?
Me: stay outa my porn drawer! (cuz I’m classy, dammit)
Her: I’m not in your porn drawer. I’m looking for something. You said I could try your thingy!
Her: You know – the fuzzy thing that vibrates..
Me: Again. STAY OUTA MY PORN DRAWER.
Me and her sister: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Her: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT!
For the record, she meant the slippers that PepperMist got me for Christmas. And? She says they’re not near as fun as they sound.