Profane in the membrane

My parents give me grief about being “educated” but using profanity, asking if that’s “the best I can do,” and “can’t I find a better way to express myself.”

Well, first off, fuck you.

But also? I’m a writer/editor, like, for money, so accurate use of language is kinda my thing. And there is no more accurate language for the world we’re currently inhabiting than a constant blue streak of every swear word I know, and likely some I don’t. I’m grateful I found Archer, because I don’t know how people CAN express their feelings effectively without saying things like “son of a shit-snackin’ whore.” SO glad I learned that one!

Plus, I’m sorry, WHO let me have the George Carlin and Denis Leary albums at age 12? Pfft. This is on y’all.

I already know I’m an asshole.

This is one of those times I’m AWARE I’m an asshole. You don’t have to tell me. Cool? Cool.

My father emailed all his daughters to wish us a nice holiday weekend and he said, for the first time ever in my life, “Love you to the moon and back,” and instead of feeling touched and all a’squish with love, MY jackass brain went, “What the fuck does that even MEAN? Why is this a thing?”

In my defense, I’ve been seeing that phrase everywhere lately on, like, inspirational framed posters and shit and wondered the same thing. I guess I just get extra pissy when it’s aimed at me.

I mean no offense if you use this expression. I’m just on marketing overload with it, and I have questions. Like…why the moon? Why don’t you love me to Neptune and back? That’s some cold shit. Wait…is Neptune farther than the moon? And then, see, I have to realize how little I remember about the solar system and now I feel stupid. Your love reminds me I’m stupid — THANKS.

Can you love me to Italy and back? Bring me some gelato while you’re out.

Subtext Messages

Therapist: “So, if you’ve been able to decide you don’t care what your family thinks about your life, why can’t you apply that thought process to your romantic relationships, rather than reading War and Peace-complex subtext into every interaction?”

Me: “Ummm… because my family are Birthers, and the people I date are not, so it’s not that simple? Divide my bill into minutes — I want a refund for that question.”

Don’t even try it — Jesus knows you’re petty.

During Easter dinner conversation, my aunt said political protests are pointless because, “The election is over. These people just need to move on with their lives.”

Um, BITCH, you’re still salty about some shit my mother said about your potato salad in 1987, so you better hope the new healthcare plans cover legs to stand on.

No, thanks, I only eat air and cognitive dissonance.

My family, over the course of one 4-hour gathering: “Look how fat Aunt So-and-So got. And her husband’s no better, he’s about to keel over any day, he’s so big … Look at that woman on TV, she’s too heavy to be wearing that dress … Have you ever seen that show, My 600-Pound Life? So disgusting, I’d just stop feeding them all that junk if I were their caregiver … Hey, Smug, do you want some kielbasa or some cheesecake?”

Ummmmm… CHRIST the fuck, no. My surprise that I made it through life without an eating disorder is oddly filling.