I actually wanted to call this post DIPPING MY TOE INTO THE
CESSPOOL OF POPULAR CULTURE, but this nazi blog would not let me do a strike-through in the title. Thanks A LOT WordPress.
Due to recent events in my whacka-doodle life, I have been on a bit of an anger rampage. It’s like I took the road rage off the road and into every other area of my life. Maybe it’s because I’m not driving much at all these days due to my house being pretty much within walking distance of everything, which is great, but alas, I have lost my road rage outlet so it is now seeping in to other areas.
The word(s) MOTHERF***ER seem to flow out of my mouth with extraordinary ease. Last night the batteries went dead in my DVD player remote. So I called it a MOTHERF***ER. My black skirt was totally wrinkled this morning, so I couldn’t wear it to work. You know what my black skirt is? That’s right. A MOTHERF***ER. The beep on my new microwave oven is so loud that it was yelled at as well. And the light that turned red right as I was about to cross? It was a MOTHERF***ER too.
I said to my co-worker yesterday, “I wish I was a guy because if I was a guy right now I would punch a wall, but I’m not so I won’t because I really don’t want to hurt my hand. I have to go to this party tomorrow night and a cast just won’t match my dress”.
He said in a placating tone (after staring at me wide-eyed for a moment deciding whether or not security might need to be called), “Well, that’s why women were created so that at least 51% of the population wouldn’t be morons who go around punching walls.”
I said, “That’s kind of you to say, except that now I think I want to just punch you instead,
He tucked in his hand spun Italian uber cotton shirt and said, “Have at it, Sister”.
And I thought about it for a moment. But really, the thought of hurting my hand and hindering the chances for my
non existent concert pianist career made me walk away. And I’m thinking about taking up knitting. Someday. So.
Anyway, do you ever get that way? When you just want to put on some steel toed boots and kick the shit out of some
onething? Or ride a motorcycle really fast to a dive bar, take a shot of whiskey after shoving your way through the biker crowd, turn around and roundhouse kick some giant leather-chapped, bandana wearing biker dude to the floor while shouting, “Take that MOTHERF***ER”!
Or is that just me?
I’m trying to figure out what a better alternative would be than a bar fight. A pillow fight? One of those inflatable Bo-Bo the clowns that pop right back up after you hit them? The batting cages? A pinata?
I actually had pinata fantasies last night. I tried to take the Zen approach and thought; Hey! Pinatas are a great tool for dealing with anger in a healthy way. You get to experience the anger, and get out your aggression and by moving through it you are then showered with a big Zen candy prize while fairies chant “Ommmmmm”.
WHATEVER. I think I’d rather have the MOTHERF***ING bar fight.
What do you guys do to release anger?
Maybe I need to start driving again…????
PS: Yes, I realize the title of this post has nothing to do with what is actually in the post. The fact that I could not do a strike-through in the title brought out my suppressed road-rage, so there you have it. Thus, DIPPING MY TOE INTO THE POOL OF POPULAR CULTURE: PART TWO will actually deal with the subject the title implies. I’ll bet you can’t WAIT! Until then please try to stay out of my way, for I am decidedly un-Zen and may roundhouse kick the crap out of you while you are innocently waiting for your caramel macchiato (whatever the F that is) at Starbucks. Have a nice Day! 🙂
PPS: I just used my blog to vent my frustration with one person to the WHOLE ENTIRE cyber-world. Oh well. It’s better than clocking my co-worker.
PPPS: Tomorrow I am going to the new Harry Potter movie and that makes me happy. I love that MOTHERF***ING boy-wizard. He kicks ass.