I’m an Asshole, You’re an Asshole, but I’m Probably a Bigger Asshole Than You.

It’s true, I am. Don’t believe me? Just wait.

I find myself sarcastic and cynical of everything and everyone. Little comments come out of my mouth before I even know they have been thought. Some times right at that moment, I am in horror over what I just uttered. Other times, it is later on when I am reflecting on the day that I discover my lack of thought when I chose the words that would become echoed through space. Right now Martin Luther King’s I have a Dream speech is floating about up there, along with my less than intelligent garble.

 Just now for instance, and I will allow myself here the chance to say what I really want to say, just now, a shitty red car with some badly painted name across the back windshield rolled by and stopped at the corner. Their music had as much talent as I have in my pubic hairs and it was so loud it rattled my windows and my ear drums. I wanted to yell un-lady-like things at them, I chose not too because I am sitting here writing this blog and I didn’t want to break my concentration. Now, where was I? Ah, yes…cynical behavior and words.

I have spent so much of my life minding my ‘P’s and Q’s, I finally reached a point in my early 20’s when I said “To hell with all of this, being gracious and kind is getting me nowhere. From now on, I am going to say what I want and have no shame. This is what ya get, if you don’t like it, we don’t have to be friends.” For the most part, I have done that. Now, as I am approaching my mid 30’s I am re-evaluating my stance. On one hand, I have come into my own. This certain amount of freedom I gave myself in my 20’s, allowed me to feel comfortable with real thoughts, what I mean is this. I no longer made excuses for people, no matter how loving and kind they may be or how close I was to them, I was finally able to see them and recognize their faults. Before, I would have made excuses for them, to make myself feel better about things. Sometimes it’s easier telling yourself a lie than admitting the truth, because if you admit the truth and it’s someone you really love and want to hold onto then you have to deal with what results from the truth. The truth is seldom singular, it comes with all kinds of add-ons. But that’s another blog entirely. Now, I am learning to accept the truth and the add-on’s, but not take such a hard “fuck them” stance, rather accept the things I don’t like and decide if it’s something important enough to freak out over. If it isn’t then I let it go.

By allowing myself to look at things this way, I also see myself more clearly. I was a prideful lady, still am to a large degree. I am stubborn, hot headed, logically challenged in a fight, and I judge people, like the person with the loud music in the car. In my mind they are probably Marlboro smokin’, white trash, medical card totin’  asses. And you know what? I have also played my music loud with the windows down, but in my mind, it’s okay because it’s “good” music. I used to smoke, not Marlboros but a cigs a cig. I have been on the medical card, I know what it’s like to work your ass off and still not be able to afford the medical help you need. I am sure my tattoos and ring dangling like a cows ornament from my nose tend to let folks think I am white trash and do not work etc. and so on.

So what’s this prove? I am a judgmental asshole.

All of my freedoms have shown me through my own embarrassment, what I don’t want to be anymore, what I want to keep and what I want to reclaim from my old self.

I want to be less cynical of the world around me. As I age, it seems it gets harder not be angry, not to be cold and unfeeling. I can see it moving in on my face in wrinkle lines that should show lines where smiles rest, not furrowed brows from stress and disgust. I’m searching for that fine line of loving the world and accepting her huge faults, but trying to move forward and fix what I can and let go of what I can’t, I guess like the serenity prayer. Kind of cheesy but there it is.

I don’t want to be the person I see myself becoming, pulling in the drive way and yelling at two girls for their dog peeing on my front lawn. Scared the shit out of them and myself, because even as I drove down the driveway I was embarrassed of myself, I wanted to find those two girls and apologize. I thought, “Oh no, I’m the scary neighbor lady!” I was like Mr. Nebbercracker from Monster House, “Get Off My Lawn!!”

Someone wrote and I read recently, that in order to be a good writer, you should write about what scares you and disturbs you, to write about what you dare not speak of. Well, I don’t have all of that down yet and I don’t know that I am a good writer but I suppose this little blog is a step in the right direction. Here, I write about one of my fears; becoming an old cranky lady who is angry at everyone and everything, some one who can’t find the joy in life because they are too busy being concerned about how others are living theirs.

Perhaps this blog is part two of my “angry bog”. It seems to go hand in hand. I can see the long bleak tunnel coming to a decisive point of darkness if I continue in this very angry way. So here it is,

Dear Lord, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can,  and the wisdom to hide the dead bodies of the people I had to kill because they pissed me off……

Wait…something tells me that’s not how that goes….



4 thoughts on “I’m an Asshole, You’re an Asshole, but I’m Probably a Bigger Asshole Than You.

  1. Ollie’s sick right now and I’m sure you’re recovering from your trip. But as soon as that’s all said and done you need to get your cranky ass over here and we’ll make brownies or something. That will fix it. Your blog will be sunshine and rainbows from here on out. Okay – maybe not and actually I hope not. I appreciate the passion and honesty in your writing!

  2. Seven years since I’ve had the pleasure of being in your company, and I still laugh and smile at what you say, like we talk daily. I sure love your Ms. Trunchbull ass and if handed a shovel would help bury the bodies. With all that being said, I too am trying to have more compassion for the fucktards that share our planet….it’s just so damn hard sometimes.

    • Helene! Yes, compassion is hard to find sometimes, especially when we think we are right! Ha ha ! I am so glad you check in on my blog, it’s random for sure and terribly spelled but I love that you check in on it. One day, we will talk face to face…looking forward to it. 🙂

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