The C*ntslap

Id' like to begin this post by making a [semi-useless] confession:

I swear like a dirty sailor. "Mouth of a trucker" has been used to describe me quite often. Along with 80% cooler than anyone you'll ever meet.

This is all true.

It's not that I think I'm a total bad-ass [even though I am, clearly]. It's not that swearing makes you "cool". It's that I find swear words to be HILARIOUS. Don't ask me to explain why but I love to swear, and I love it when other people swear. It makes my heart do back flips and my stomach giggle.

It's hard for me to pick a favorite curse word. I find myself thinking about this randomly while I'm driving or involved in a hideously boring conversation. My belief is that there isn't a perfect swear word. So, I have yet to pinpoint a favorite. PLUS you can combine different curse words together and that's just plain magical. In fact, that's what I appreciate the most about swearing. Combining swear words means that the possibilities for swearing are almost endless. I know the joy it gives me is endless.

In my youth, the only word I would NEVER say is the dreaded "C-word". I guess I considered using it a little too below-the-belt [in more ways than one. ha.] As the years went on, I grew to accept the C-word, but I understand that some people consider it to be vile. In my opinion, it's just a word. Example: cunt is to vagina as dick is to penis. Also, I think it's unfair that people throw the word "dick" around freely, calling people anything from dicks to dickbags; but they shy away from calling someone a cunt. Seems a little lopsided, if you ask me. I feel that if you can call someone a dick, you should also be able to call them a cunt.

See what I'm getting at? It's just a word. In fact, I believe it is the most effective curse word ever. Let's be honest, when you swear at someone today, they aren't rendered speechless like they would have been in the 40s. [and vice versa. when was the last time someone said "fuck off" to you and you went home and cried?]. People hardly bat an eyelash at words like "fuck" and "god damn whore." I find the only word that stands the test of time and usage is the C-word. As soon as someone drops the C-bomb, you KNOW they mean business.

As an avid reader, I fully realize that there are innumerable words in the English language; and I'm limiting myself by using curse words so often. I'm sure that some people think less of me because I choose to use "derogatory" words over "approved-for-the-general-public" words, but this is who am I and those people can piss off.

Now that you fully appreciate my love for swearing and curse word combos, I'd like to tell you about the cuntslap.

Believe it or not, I suffer from pretty severe road rage. Actually, I suffer from idiot rage, but this post isn't about idiot rage. It's about the origin of the cuntslap so I'll skip all the idiot rage details and focus on one aspect of it: road rage. I cannot stand it when people need to come to a semi-complete/complete stop before making a right turn. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY. Seriously, unless you're at a red light, a stop sign, or there is a pedestrian, you do not need to come to a complete stop to execute a right turn. Jesus TITS.

One evening, Husband was driving us home from PetCo [where we spend all of our money spoiling our two dogs. I have no shame.] You know you have bad road rage when it affects you as a passenger. I wasn't even behind the wheel, and this other driver sent me into dino-bear mode instantly. We were traveling around 55mph-ish, which is the speed limit on route 11. I'd like to mention that the person in front of us was a total dildo. We had been following her for several miles and for some reason, she could NOT maintain a constant speed. She would randomly hit her brakes because the car 75 yards in front of her tapped theirs. Completely useless. Anyway, this jack-off slowed down, prematurely in my opinion, and then proceeded to come to a nearly complete stop before making a right turn.

My annoyance was reaching critical mass. Suddenly, I shouted in exasperation, "OH my GOD. I will CUNTSLAP you!" Husband and I instantly looked at each other with complete wonder in our eyes. Cuntslap?! what is THAT? It was so organic. The word came out of my mouth before I even realized it existed. It was incredible. One of the crowning achievements of my life. I'm sure you'd agree.

After several minutes of hysterical laughter, Husband asked me what exactly a cuntslap is. I'm guessing by now, you've developed a lot of mental visuals. Allow me to explain. A cuntslap is similar to a bitchslap, but more intense. It's more insulting, too. To be completely specific, a cuntslap is when someone is being a cunt and/or actin' a fool, and you need to slap them to put them in their place. Like I said, it's a lot like a bitchslap [which is to slap a bitch when he/she is being a bitch]. It is most certainly NOT this:

Go forth now and use this word freely. You're going to love it.

How Safety Man Bahb Almost Killed His Whole Family

You've recently "met" my parents via my last blog post. Because I didn't want to overwhelm you with facts about Bahb and Big L, I decided to mention one of the most important aspects of my father's personality separately.

It is a widely known fact that my father is a freak for safety. He drives safely, he bikes safely and he hunts safely. He hardly ever drinks. He's never smoked a cigarette in his life, and he rarely does anything without reading the rules and regulations. He's extremely technical in his approach to anything. [He's an engineer. It's in his blood.] You might say he's overly cautious. We say he's just Safety Man Bahb.

As children, Sisters and I were not allowed to run around outside without shoes. Firstly, I'm severely allergic to bees. Secondly, our feet would be dirty and when we tore through the house like little demons looking for Zebra cakes, we'd get mom's clean floor all "shitted up." When we BEGGED Big L for flip-flops, my dad axed the debate with a simple, "you'll fall on your faces down the cement steps outside." I'll have you know that I did indeed fall down the cement steps outside. WHILE WEARING SNEAKERS. I wasn't even trying to do any awesome ninja stunts. Typical.  Naturally at the start of my epic fall, I was concerned about the outcome. As my body was flipping around and scraping off the steps, I realized that I was rocketing down those cement steps wearing SNEAKERS and so Bahb's argument was null and void. I was ELATED.

Sneakers, flip-flops, bare feet...those cement steps were a death trap for children and Bahb knew it. What he was unprepared for is that with this little tumble of mine, I realized sneakers could not keep me safe. So if sneakers could not keep me safe, why not be more fashionable? Surely Bahb would understand my desperate [and somewhat logical] need for flip-flops now.

Directly following my elation, the pain set in. Of course, I screamed and slobbered for rescue as I trudge up the Cement Steps from the Seventh Circle of Hell. Bahb applied copious amounts of iodine and peroxide to my wounds. I vowed not to cry, but I couldn't control myself. I concentrated on my "let me wear flip-flops Dad" speech. In hindsight, I should have taken a more professional approach, but I was a child and so it came out like this: "but DAAAAAAAAAD, I was wearing stupid sneakers so it doesn't matter. I can wear flip-flops outsideeeeeee! I fell down the steps in SNEAKERS. lemmewearflipflopsssssss." He didn't say anything. I sensed victory was near. Then he looked me in the eye and said "If you were wearing flip-flops, you'd probably be in the hospital." I was crushed and bleeding...and my hands/legs and arms were on iodine fire. To make matters worse, my dad also applied approximately 5600 band-aids to the flesh wounds all over my legs. Not only did Sisters tease me relentlessly, but the neighbor boy said I looked like Michael Jackson:

He was right.

We were never allowed to ride bikes in anything but sturdy sneakers, and we were NEVER allowed to wear jellies. EVER. [I'm still slightly bitter about this.] The reason for Bahb's disdain for jellies? "If you kids stepped on a sharp rock or a nail, it would go right through those cheap pieces of crap; and you'll end up in the hospital needing a tetanus shot to the foot." That is a direct quote I received at K-Mart while arguing with Bahb over the purple jellies I was DYING to have. I lost.

As you just learned, Bahb always proceeds with caution and takes the safety and well-being of his family VERY seriously. This is completely unlike my mother who made her kids and the neighbor girl [with promises of doughnuts] trudge through the blizzard of '96 to get a Dunkin Donuts' coffee. [This is completely factual and will be covered in a different blog. In fact, my mother's love for coffee needs its own book.]

During my last trip to Texas, my parents surprised the whole family with a Sunday Funday Boat Day on Lake Texoma [super gorgeous, HUGE lake. get there.] We opted to go in the morning to avoid spontaneous combustion due to the insane heat factor [see How Cockiness Almost Killed Me]. Because there were so many people going, Bahb decided to rent a pontoon-style boat. We boated around to a clear area and started tubing like maniacs. As Bahb got more comfortable at the helm, tubing became exponentially more fun. Big L biffed it once, lost her water shoe and took about 15 minutes to swim back to the tube even though she was approximately 3 feet away [we're not strong swimmers by any stretch of the imagination.] As lunchtime drew nearer, we stopped at a small island to eat and explore. I take exploring very seriously and did my best Dr. Livingston impression as I walked around the island. The lake was getting busier and busier with other Sunday Funday-ers. All of this fantasy island romping and exploring had to come to an end, and I was sorely disappointed. I really enjoyed island life and could see myself opening a tiki bar on the new The Isle of Farley. I think Husband and I would do very well there. Everyone needs a drink before, during, and after Boat Day.

Anyway, Bahb told me I couldn't stay on the island and so I begrudgingly boarded the HMS About-To-Be-Destroyed.  Bahb navigated us back to open waters. If I understood "knots", I would try to estimate how fast we were going, but I'm not qualified in sea speeds. Let's just say that Bahb was a little overzealous in his acceleration considering the wake created by the other Sunday Funday-ers. We all saw a rather large wake headed our direction at lightning speed and to my sheer and utter surprise, Bahb went for it. He made some sort of battle cry sound and then we hit the wake like a bus hitting a building, which resulted in The Great Wave of Lake Texoma.

Everyone in the front of the boat was absolutely pummeled by water. Sister K was nearly sucked off and under the pontoon boat. She sustained some serious bruising and other minor injuries. The rest of us were drenched and terrified.

As you can imagine, Safety Man Bahb was highly upset with himself. In a shocking moment of spontaneity, he neglected to think about the difference between a speed boat and a pontoon boat. A speed boat would have no issue slicing through a wake like that. A pontoon boat? Not so much. My immediate concern was for my digital camera that was completely submerged in water. I quickly got over that when I realized that Sister K took a serious spanking from The Great Wave. My secondary concern was sinking. Our little vessel was taking on some water from the Wave itself as well as the residual water shooting up as we bobbed around in Son of Wave [the love child of our pontoon boat and The Great Wave.] I'll have you know that one of my greatest fears is drowning. It just seems so horrible. Fortunately, we didn't sink; but we did break the little gate on the front of the boat.

We laughed it off as we docked the boat and gathered our belongings. Safety Man Bahb talked about it for days, shaking his head in disgust. This whole situation will only perpetuate his maniacal faith in safety precautions. It is my belief that something traumatic like this happened early in Bahb's childhood, which is why he clings to safety precautions and follows rules and regulations strictly. Either way, we all survived.

Bahb and Big L

I have briefly mentioned my parentals before. Merely mentioning them is the same as completely undermining who they are. Due to their sheer awesomeness, I felt that dedicating a post to Bahb and Big L is the best way of honoring them via blogosphere. I also thought it appropriate to share with you why I am the way I am and how I came to be [figuratively of course. I'm assuming that y'all have received the birds&the bees memo.]

Some of you are lucky enough to know Bahb and Big L. I hope that one day all of you will meet them because you simply will not believe the stories I'll be sharing with you [and they are exceptionally fun to be around]. In order for you to put a face to with the name, I have drawn an exact replica of them:

Cute, right?

I was a jerkface and played the "I'm a teenager and I'm full of angst/rage" card like a champ. [this is the only time in my life that I sucked at being me.] I do regret behaving this way, but life's too short to wallow in regret and the past. PLUS being a teenager is synonymous with being up your own ass, hating on "the establishment" and wearing a less-than-flattering outfit [I have yet to graduate from the 'outfit phase'. any time now puberty, any time.] Onward and upward.

Bahb, Big L and I had some pretty serious battles during my youth, but now I've come to view them as my friends, confidants, and most importantly: the people I call when shit hits the fan. Now that you understand how important my parents are to me, you'll be able to fully appreciate their appearances in my blogs.

My father is notorious for spending countless hours and energy embarrassing his children. Sisters and I were haunted by the lengths that Bahb went to to embarrass us in public places. [At the time, I was mortified daily by him and refused to walk anywhere near him in public. Now I realize how magnificent of a parenting tool "embarrassment" is. If I ever have children, God help them.] Fortunately, Bahb wasn't too inventive when I was a kiddo. His imagination kicked into high gear when Sisters 1 and 2 were in their teen years. By this time, I was in college and completely over being embarrassed by other people.

Example: one fateful trip to the mall resulted in the creation of a superhero identity that I'm CERTAIN Bahb will never let die [the reason I'm certain is that this happened several years ago and he still engages "Operation Pimp Walk" freely.]

Disclaimer: I was not witness to this gem. I was told about it through Big L's hysterical fits of laughter.

While shopping with Sisters and Big L, Bahb rolled up his pant leg in "typical gangsta" fashion, turned his Cabela's baseball cap sideways and followed Sisters around with a severe limp. He calls this little maneuver his "Cool Man/Pimp Walk".

 If you knew how skinny Bahb's ankles are, you would pee at least two drips at this visual.

He enjoys the "Canadian Tuxedo", chewing tobacco, and problem-solving. He spends most of his free time embarrassing his family, regaling anyone who will listen with stories from bear camp, and watching hunting televisions show during which he likes to mimic turkey calls, deer calls, and any other mating call he finds appropriate to the species being hunted at the time. I grew up listening to this and being persuaded by promises of hot chocolate or ice cream [depending on the season] to go "deer-spotting". For those of you whose fathers were not avid outdoors men, deer-spotting is the act of driving around the countryside for hours looking for deer and other wildlife with a GIGANTIC spotlight that my dad SWORE would blind you if you looked directly into it: "One million lumens, Shawns. It will burn your eyes right out of your head."

To this day, my deer-spotting abilities are unparalleled. I know the difference between a male and female deer mating call, and I recognize the scent of deer piss [Tink's is bottled deer pee available at your local game/fishing supply store. I love that they call it TINK'S. Absurd.]

Big L is not a hunter and only goes outside for extended periods of time for three things: smoking, tennis, and hiking. I should mention that "Big L" is a misnomer. My mother is extremely petite, which is in direct correlation to her food of choice: triple-shot nonfat lattes, Capri 120's, and any toasted coconut doughnut that Dunkin has to offer. Also, she never stops moving. ever. This can only be explained by the gallons of espresso she ingests everyday. Big L practically vibrates from room to room and when she does walk, she's a quick little thing on a serious mission.  It is a known fact in our household that if Big L is laying down, something is HORRIBLY wrong.

Don't let her smallness fool you. Big L is a powerhouse. She can pivot faster than you can outrun the reach of her bitch slap, she will run your ass all over a tennis court, and she is prone to zombie-like behavior before 8am on any given day. Observe:

She also has a unnamed disorder [this is not scientifically proven. yet.] that causes a failure in the synapse between words and speech. To help broaden her vocabulary, she has taken to writing words she has trouble pronouncing or does not quite understand the meaning of in the back of her ever-present address book, complete with phonetic breakdown and brief definition. One of her first entries was "weimaraner" and more recently, "Sasquatch."  Now that she's living in Texas, she's been adding Spanish vocabulary. Too adorable for words, really.

Big L is completely Type-A when it comes to organizing and cleaning. She's not overly sentimental and more importantly, abhors clutter. When I was a child, she often went into my room and threw away anything that wasn't put in its "proper place." This might seem harsh, but she did give me fair warning, and I was lazy at the time. She rearranges the furniture every few months and is never satisfied with the paint color on the walls. It's common knowledge among friends and family that Big L is obsessed with ceramic birds and angels as well as wire birdhouses [decorative only]. In real life, she hates birds. [I know. It makes zero sense, but it's all true.]

Both Big L and Bahb are talented craftspeople. I'm fairly certain this is where I get my craftiness/artistic vibe. Bahb was raised as a bricklayer before he put himself through mechanical engineering school. Now he builds lasers and crazy things that help your iPad and iPhone do what they do best. Big L is a surgeon with a hot glue gun and has great taste in lamps. She's an obsessive doodler when she talks on the phone and Anne of Green Gables is one of her favorite series. [both book and tv].

They're also goofy, loud, and adventurous. Their best trait is that they laugh at themselves. A LOT. It wasn't always this way, but as all of us kids are getting older, Bahb and Big L are learning to cut loose.

Well, those are my parents in a nutshell. If you meet them, I hope you'll remember this blog and start a conversation with them.

Tough Life Decisions but Only After Coffee

I know, I know...three in less than 24 hrs?! What's wrong with Shawnsie? Not a single thing. As you'll recall from an earlier post, I often get carried away. I tend to be slightly excitable, which is why it's a terrible I idea to taunt me with a surprise. This is a completely factual reenactment.

So yea, I get carried away [slightly].  The reason I'm SO jazzed this morning is that I had an epiphany. In fact, it JUST happened. I'd like to thank a very fashionable and talented friend for pointing out that I was losing myself in petty bullshit. I'm grateful for your big mouth and big opinions.

While devouring two cups of coffee and a delicious bowl of cereal, I thought about Friend's suggestion. "She's so right. So, so right" I thought as I shook my head. The more I mulled it over, the more I realized that I can't let someone who's simply critical of me ruin the spirit of my blog! That's just absurd! After all the dialogue [I use this term loosely on her part], I suddenly came to the conclusion that Mrs. Peacock cannot be reasoned with and unless she's willing to provide constructive criticism, I have no use for her petty jabs. I admit that I had fun returning the favor [I have a big mouth and big opinions, too], but Friend saw the dangerous downward spiral I was being sucked into. I'll call it a Whirlpool of Negativity, Loathing, and Stagnant Pee Water. This is where Mrs. Peacock lives. Sad, right?

After her rant about Husband and where he keeps his balls, I realized that no one is safe from her scorn. She stepped into the ring spewing hot verbal diarrhea at me, but now she's aiming for Husband and friends. NO FUCKING WAY. Much like the mother lion [me] over her darling cubs [you], I felt the fierce protect-defend-kill instinct erupt in me.

Anyway, after this post, Mrs. Peacock will have to stew alone in her own Pee Water. This is my promise to you my friends: I'm not playing splishy-splashy with her ever again! It creates small fissures in my heart to do this, but I'm changing the comment settings for Look Ma, I Blog! Hopefully, this will encourage everyone to become members of the blog so you can comment, criticize, and question freely without worrying that a certain Anonymous someone will try to suffocate you in her Pee Water. [siiiiiiiiiiiick.]

I completely understand any hesitation with regards to becoming a blog member. [You might want to rethink it, though, because I'm considering sending out some sweet Members Only jackets. Not the "new vintage" ones either...the straight up 80s version. Sehhhx-y.]  You can also follow Look Ma, I Blog! via the Facebook page instead of membering up. Two forums for open discussions! Hooray!

So, guys and dolls, now we can get back to business...the business of enjoying life and poking fun at myself, situations, and of course, obnoxious people [who doesn't like that...honestly.]

P's and Q's

As I've mentioned before, Big L taught Sisters and I the importance of the whole "please" and "thank you" routine. So, I'd like to take a brief moment to say thank you to Anonymous for contributing to a HUGE spike in page views. 

Since Mrs. Peacock took it upon herself to offer up some much needed criticism in the most constructive and useful way possible(not), I've had more traffic to Being an Asshole Parts 1 and 2 in the past day than I've ever had in such a short time frame. [define irony.]

This is great news. I'm thinking about making some t-shirts. I'll be sending them out via carrier pigeon to save on postage [hope you don't mind] so order them while their HOT!

Due to the overwhelming amount of questions, comments, and jokes at Mrs. Peacock's expense [hey, you put it out there honey], I thought I should share the latest and most helpful comment from her. I literally cannot wait until tomorrow. You guys are so adorable. If you were squirrels, I would definitely not eat your babies.

Out of concern for my readers, I feel that I should clarify a few points of interest for all the other Anonymous Commenters....firstly, thank you for taking some time out of your day to read my blog. I hope it afforded you a few minutes of humor. If you didn't like it, I promise I won't stalk and harass you until you acknowledge me. Deal?

Secondly, I'm truly grateful that you chose to contact me separately to introduce yourself and discuss a particular blog. I think this is the part that Mrs. Peacock's brain can't wrap around. Not everyone hides behind anonymity to "protect the innocent"...[by the way, i'm still not sure what this means. Husband thinks it's chocolate-covered baby fingers she hides in her purse next to her ex-husband's balls]. Our conversations assure me that Mrs. Peacock is woefully devoid of humor as everyone else I've ever been contacted by has found something funny, ridiculous, or that "oh-so-true" moment in one or more of my blogs. It makes my heart flip around like a dolphin in heat.

Thirdly, don't let miserable Mrs. Peacock stop you from commenting anonymously. I think she's upset that Husband and I used our super sleuth skills to discover her true identity. [Too bad Tim Curry wasn't involved. He's a bad ass.] Although I'll always encourage you to introduce yourself, I completely understand if you'd rather not officially leave your name. 

Enough of the sappy moments, right? 

To Anonymous:

Thank you for all the page views and continuing to prove that being an asshole is totally unacceptable. Big L would be embarrassed for you and your mother. I hope you continue to enjoy the "train wreck" [although it is slightly worrisome that you derive amusement out of terrible accidents like train wrecks. Have you considered counseling?] I'm sure everything you do has cosmic meaning and touches the lives of people in a wonderful and selfless way. High-five.