I don’t make apologies for being me. Once upon a time in my life I did. I attempted to conform to an idea, a perception of who I should be. That’s bullshit. I won’t apologize for my flaws either. And I am very flawed.
I’m the take it or leave it sort. I’m a hypocrite. On occasion I will even lie. I’ve probably sinned 12 times already this morning. My kids are eating processed crap and watching the television. I have a sink full of dishes and laundry on the floor. I don’t tell my mother I love her enough. I don’t tell my sister I love her enough. I haven’t kissed my husband in days. But I have copped a feel or two.
Sometimes I laugh at things I shouldn’t. Sometimes I fail to cry when I should. I like to buy things, anything really. I dress like a stripper. I like strippers. They deserve more respect. I have an unnatural love for lemon meringue pie. I pee with the door open. But I won’t fart in front of my husband. I like tits. I wanted tits. I bought tits. I like the sound of my own voice.
I hold grudges. I think letting things go is hippy bullshit. Being pissed off suits me. I don’t like dogs or cats. I try to convince myself I do. They are much cuter from a distance or on pants. Speaking of animals I want Sarah McClachlan to fall off the face of the earth. I make little lists in my head of people I wish I could send hate mail to. But that would require an effort and stamps. I listen to bad country music no really bad like Rascal Flatts bad. I also have J. Lo on my iPod.
I tend to not follow through. I am perpetually late. I blame my children but generally it is because I hit snooze 10 times. I forget things that don’t pertain to me. I can’t take anyone with an infinity symbol tattoo seriously and I have a vagina tattooed on my arm. I use bad language. Really bad language all of the time. I’m too strict and at times not strict enough. I think you suck. But I still like you. Well not all of you. Some of you are on my hate mail lists.
I want you to stop making apologies. I want you to stop beating yourself up. Guilt is bullshit. Sure you can’t right all wrongs. You get to just live with them. It is how you live with them that matters. Stop being a pussy. Just be you. It will be okay. Or it won’t. But at least you had some balls. And not the saggy kind but the firm proud I’m about to bust a nut kind. I’m not sure where I’m going with that. I did mention I was vulgar right?
Cat pants ftw -Samantha Osborn