Talkin’ Dirty


Ever seen this?

Yeah me too.   I will readily admit my giggle of delight the first time I saw it referencing Jersey girl ‘tude.  Since then I have seen it applied to every, and I do mean every person. Wait!  I’m not done yet.  Every person…and I’ve seen it for every ethnicity, sports team, hobby, city, state, country, instrument, sexual orientation; so my nanosecond of smitten-giggle has now morphed into complete and utter disgust.

It would not shock me in the slightest to see..

I’m a Capricorn with Scorpio rising Norwegian Irish Italian mix gynecologist who likes dolphins and finger puppets and pretending I’m a werewolf and was raised by an Athiest mother and a Scientologist father/farmer who raises poodles in my spare time, divorced thrice times with three kids who hate me but they’re on honor roll and I have $103,000 in my 401K and I was born with

My heart on my sleeve

A fire in my soul and a

Mouth I can’t control

Oh how adorable.  So in an attempt to distinguish ourselves from the pack we have now been provided a shirt which will stand in as the uniform of conformity.  So I’m now to believe that there is not one variation in any of us that precludes heartburn, verbal incontinence and a misplaced internal organ?

I am seriously phresh out of phucks to give this week.  I cannot believe the levels of stupidity and celebration of mean that I am seeing.

I saw this shirt advertised again today and it just got me to thinking…

It’s almost a badge of honor to note that someone somewhere somehow something has a “mouth they can’t control”.  Let’s examine that for a moment.  A mouth you can’t control.  I have a mouth too.  Indeed.  I could make a sailor blush if properly motivated.  I, however, can and do control it – with laser precision when warranted.  I try to use that skill for the better.  I try to use that skill to lift up rather than tear down.  I try in my every day life to make people laugh, to feel their worth, to go forth from whatever interaction I had with them in some sort of peace.

It reeks of the whole freedom of speech debate raging around this week.  Yes, indeed, we can say and do all sorts of things in the name of “freedom of speech”.  I could walk up to a complete stranger and rip them to shreds in front of their children.  I could call them a syphilitic slutbag and skip away and that, in point of fact, is me exercising my right to freedom of speech.  But I also have to accept the consequences of that freedom.

I have a difficult time abiding by nastiness doled out just for shits and giggles.  I believe in karma.  I believe in holding doors open for pregnant women and old people.  I believe in telling children that they are magic in human form.  I believe in telling my husband how very precious he is to me.  I believe in honesty.  I believe in self-deprecation, not because of some esteem issue, but because getting too big for your proverbial britches is usually what causes your downfall.  I believe in not making excuses but accepting responsibility for your own choices and actions.

I’m helping my daughter raise a little boy who is simply surrounded by mean.  His classmates call names at each other at four and five years old.  It’s mean.  There is a massive battle in my town over a potential mosque and the words tossed around like confetti are mean.  Life is mean.  Our world is turning mean.  Our president shoved someone out-of-the-way to get the to the destination first.  It’s mean.  A comedian thought a photo shoot holding up a severed head of our president was funny – but it’s mean.  And before someone flies at me with the laundry list of Ted Nugent and company – they’re mean too.  And we embrace the mean.  We also make excuses for mean and misguided.

I’ve been referred to as a badass for most of my adult life.  It’s a perception that people have of me.  I think it has something to do with being able to handle myself in a multitude of situations.  I am that badass.  I’ll admit it.  Being a badass, to me, isn’t defined by a lack of control or empathy.  It doesn’t mean that I show up to every fight I’m invited to.  It doesn’t mean that I enjoy hurting people or have a score card of who I threw down on.  Truth be told, that number is fairly small.  Being a badass means simply that I can handle whatever is being thrown down on me.  I don’t roll over nor do I attack.  I stand my ground in whatever capacity dictated by the situation.  But at the end of any given scenario, I digest what happened.  What started it?  What ended it?  What was said?  Was it deserved?  Was it necessary?  Was it productive?  Did I take ownership of every part that I was responsible for?

I believe in all the dirty words that seem to slip in to oblivion in modern times






Anything else frankly makes me tune out.

Peace out week.



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