That Time When My Mom Told Me To Stop Swearing On This Blog

So, my mom has this thing. This thing where she doesn’t ever want me to swear on this blog and sometimes she’ll send me emails telling me to maybe, you know, tone it down a bit and go back to being PG-13. But, I don’t know of this “time” in my “past” where I was “PG-13″ except maybe when I was a toddler, but even then, I’m pretty sure I was swearing as a kid, but I just didn’t know what the right words were. So, when I was saying, “Want doll. Goo goo. Ga ga,” what I really meant was, “Gimme that fucking doll now.” I was a hard baby. Clearly.

However, being the sweet daughter that I am, I told my mom that, well, things are going to change ’round the blog and that I was going to be swearing just a wee bit more. I warned her. I prepped her. I told her that I would be using the eff word at times and could she not email me please and tell me to not use this word? And she kind of told me there’s no reason to use it and yes, I totally agree, but it’s fucking fun to say and write. And, people tend to do a ton of things that aren’t technically necessary, so could I just have my swearing? I’m not passed out in a gutter somewhere with coke still on my nose spooning with a homeless man. At least, not this weekend.

And, what’s funny is that I’m with my dad and I’m telling him the story about how mom doesn’t like me swearing on my blog. I’m all, “What the fuck is up with that?” And he doesn’t know and he’s swearing and I’m thinking that I should be passing all my main life decisions by my dad instead of my mom because at least he’ll shoot me straight by throwing down the eff bomb every once in a while. I’m not sure if I trust people who can’t swear. Or who don’t swear. It’s unbecoming of them. And I like people who are becoming of themselves. Ya know?

No, you don’t know.

You know why?

Because what I just said doesn’t make any damn sense. So, unless you’re on some sort of acid that makes otherwise incomprehensible things all of a sudden, well, comprehensible, then, actually, can I get some of that?

Wait, mom, EAR MUFFS!

Damn it.

So, what’s the best part about this story is that we’re in my room (my mom, myself, and my younger brother) talking about the state of my blog. And my mom goes, “Why don’t you just use fruits instead of the eff word?”

“Um, because that’s weird, mom.”

“How about instead of f-u-c-k, you can say, ‘Oh, RIPE TOMATOES!’” WTF? WHO WOULD EVER SAY THAT!?

“What?”

“Think of fruit. You can say ‘fruit’ – like, FUDGE. FUDGE ICE CREAM!”

“THAT’S NOT EVEN A FRUIT!”

“You can even throw in a clam or two. Maybe some shrimp. Oh. CLAMIT! And instead of ‘shit’, say ‘SHRIMP!’ Just make a salad. A seafood salad swear word.”

At this point, I sort of lost it. I lost all ability to even function as a normal human being and I knew I had really gone off the deep end when I was starting to think that “clamit” wasn’t the worst idea.

So, now my blog is going to read like this, “Clamit, this banana day is a piece of pear.” There, mom, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? I SOUND LIKE BIG BIRD’S FUCKING FUCK FUCK ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASS.

Clamit. Clamit. Clamit.

flickr credit