Friday, October 15, 2010

Language Warning (Seriously)

This time the bitch did not catch me quite so unprepared.  Well nothing happened yet but I know it's going to.  And how do I know that?

Let's see...first of all I had trouble sleeping last night, despite a fucking fantastic dream about Jax from Sons of Anarchy and his proclamation that I am the greatest and a life time member of the MC (that's Motorcycle Club people; I'm so up on the lingo).  Anyway, why Mother Nature (who really, do you think it's a female? It seems only a male would make us suffer this much) feels it necessary to deprive a hormonal woman of sleep is beyond me. 

Anyway, hormones + lack of sleep= Me crying in the kitchen this morning, completely unprovoked; which = confused family.

I couldn't stop.  I wasn't full out sobbing or anything, just crying.  Just tired and fed up with being me.  My mornings are chaotic and it wears on a girl after awhile.

Then I pulled myself together and was having a sort of pleasant morning, despite the gas and bloating and decided to check in on my other blog (Driven) where I found a comment I did not appreciate.  The first of it's kind.  Which I suppose is maybe good because doesn't it say somewhere that you haven't really 'made' it until someone doesn't like you?

Well, here I fucking am; I've arrived.

I guess this person is a big fan of Jersey Shore and took offense to me not liking it, but further to that, is upset I watch Biggest Loser and 19 Kids & Counting.  That in and of itself did not bother me because whatever, different strokes for different folks.  What pissed me off was this person asking when I was going to "get over" Mother Truckers.  And then didn't have the balls to post their name.  Which, in my opinion, makes them an honest to God Motherfucker. 

Have I mentioned previously I don't do well with criticism?

I like using Mother Truckers because it's less offensive than the former and I have a couple of friends, in particular, who I've never even heard use the 'f' word and so it's out of respect for them.  Which is my choice because, and I may have mentioned this before, IT'S MY FUCKING BLOG.  Now some of you are asking why I'm so worked up about this and to just move past it and who cares what that person thinks.  To that I say, did you not see the title of this blog and read the first paragraph?  I'm hormonal.  So that + generally sensitivity to criticism = can't stop thinking about it and want to lash out irrationally.  And so here we are.

I published the comment because it's not actually offensive and everyone gets their turn to speak their minds but seriously, use your fucking name a-hole. 

So now I will sit and stew about this for the remainder of the day.  Or at least until I go for lunch with the girls and then to work where I'll undoubtedly become increasingly bitchy depending on how the day goes.

Here's a fun fact:  if you are out and about and happen to be in a retail establishment of any sort and someone asks if they can help you?  They are doing so because they have to.  And to be courteous.  You acting like someone just asked to fuck you up the ass?  Is not okay.  A polite: "No Thank You" is really good enough.  Oh, and the employees are not responsible for how things are merchandised.  Keep that in mind too.  One more thing, if out and about and shopping, and this is just a general request as a person, not an employee of anywhere, please find a shirt to wear that does not expose your navel.  Especially if you are a man who weighs roughly in the neighborhood of 250-260 pounds and your abdomen (it is not a 'tummy' or 'belly' in this instance) is hairy.  That's fucking gross.  Nobody wants to look at your navel.  It's not a belly button because belly button denotes cuteness.  That is not cute. It's fucking revolting.  My navel is nothing to write home about either which is why the only time it is ever exposed is in the shower and even sometimes then I feel I should cover it with a wash cloth. It's been through four pregnancies.  Not. Pretty.  Again, this is why I wear a shirt that is in tact, all of the time, but especially when I LEAVE THE FUCKING HOUSE.


That was for you "Anonymous".