To be honest? If you can’t be an adult and handle a list of brutally honest opinions or “truths”, then don’t even bother reading. And if you’re going to find the instant need to defend your own perception of each of MY honest opinions… well don’t. Write your own blog post and speak your own mind. And also please know that I just don’t care. I’m vomiting chunks of my mind onto my blog and I don’t need anyone trying to clean up my messes. Cool? Great.
So. To be honest…
- I don’t want to fucking wear black to represent women uniting, “finally” standing up for themselves, or finally speaking up, or whatever. I also don’t want to wear pink to represent breast cancer awareness; Or red for AIDS awareness; or purple for suicide awareness; or rainbow for gay-pride awareness; or puzzles for autism awareness; or green for leprechaun awareness. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. It just means I refuse to follow these stupid bandwagon trends. The color of my shirt will NEVER find cures or stop sexual harassment or help leprechauns grow any taller. WHO started this nonsense? Is there really any actual “unity” just because ya’ll decided to wear black?! Oh fucking please. Sit down. Shut up. And don’t tell me what to wear. You don’t own me.
- Don’t lie to yourselves. Only people directly affected by- or people who are somehow related to someone directly affected by- the shameful things that happen in this world give a damn. And I mean like genuinely give a damn even after you subtract the trending tweets, hip memes, and with-it hashtags from the equation. It’s all about the likes and the reposts and the attention with people these days. It’s all a facade. People are sadly….opportunistic, attention-hungry douchebags who “support” whatever is popular to support for the day. Seriously, it’s no wonder I’m antisocial. #AntisocialLivesMatter #LetsAllWearNOTHING #phukyotrends
- I do not CAREEEE who the President is. Like, ever. I don’t give a shit if it’s Kevin Hart, Oprah, Ben Stiller, or a fucking lesbian transvestite half-donkey from Portland who wears crop-tops and collects bobby pins for fun. I. DONT. CARE if and when it’s discovered that the President is human and gets a blow-job; or if the President listens to Lil Wayne and eats pink cotton-candy while rollerblading in speedos during his spare time. Seriously- I don’t fucking care. Just get the job done and make America real again. Fuck GREAT. How fake are we?! REAL. We need REAL. If ya’ll want an error-proof thing running this country you better start whipping it up in a lab.
- If I had the opportunity to LEAVE the city of Miami, I would do so in a heartbeat. I’m so sick of this shit. I’m over it. I’m sick of the traffic, the nasty people, the anxiety-attack-inducing food courts in the mall, the Walmart mayhem, the endless commutes to work and back, the bipolar weather-tantrums where one day Mother Nature is all sunny and blue skies and all “I woke up like this” with a fresh iced latte on deck and her mascara on point and then the next she’s a raging hormonal fucking psycho-bitch seeking reckless revenge on her cheating boyfriend who just referred to her as his “side-bitch” when all along she was convinced she was his main-bitch and now she’s just a puddled, muddy-grassed, slippery-street, accident-causing, depressed AF wet mess ruining lives. Just UGH!
- There are certain things in life that don’t make any kind of sense to me. Decaf coffee for instance (whattt??!). Limits on credit-cards. Credit scores- as if the quality of my entire time spent on this earth and my access to heaven will end up being based on my credit score. Judgement day will require an Equifax report. Also, CVS and Walgreens literally across the street from each other. Can’t we all just agree to disagree and stick to different sides of town?! I mean I always feel so torn. I just need fucking shampoo. Why do I have to choose?! Why are you stressing me out?! Also? People who follow you around in boutiques and do not let you LIVE. I feel like I stole something and already got caught even though I would never do such a thing.
Except that one timemoving on. What about restrooms that don’t have sound-proof doors and walls? I’m sitting here in the lunch room at my job, literally listening to the peaceful, melodic sounds of a doctor’s urine as it lands in a toilet a few feet away. Literally. Can we get a radio installed or something up in this bitch?! Gross.
- I question “perfect” couples. If you haven’t been through hell and back, then it’s still not “official”. Don’t even play. Relationships- REAL ones, are far from instagram-perfect. I love my fiancé. He’s my high school sweetheart. But we are both human and we have both made mistakes. I was once chased down by cops and a helicopter because he made me lose my fucking mind to the point of almost-prison/mental institution time. And I’ve thrown his clothes in mud. And we’ve separated before. And I’ve threatened his life while he sleeps and tried to get him to sleep-confess shit a countless number of times. We play-fight so hard sometimes it either ends in sex or not speaking to each other at all for a few days because I’m still angry AF about my thigh-bruise. We disagree on our parenting techniques and I go on strike whenever I’m ASKED to cook or do laundry or any kind of labor because you don’t own me, asshole. But I’m going to marry him because he drives me crazy, and I don’t deal well with boring, predictable situations. And because it’s not fake. Because he’s my best friend and I accept his flaws as he does mines. You can think whatever you want, but I say- to each his own. So fuck you, Barbie and Ken wanna-be’s.
- There are things we just can’t force in life. We can’t force love, or longevity, or acceptance, or compassion. We also can’t force friendship. Especially in the workplace. We can’t request or demand people to “like” one another. We can’t force people to mingle if they don’t fucking want to. Keeping it professional is one thing, but making it mandatory to be someone’s buddy- well? You got me fucked up Susan. I mean do you know what happens when you try to force excessive pressure into or onto something? It explodes. Or cracks. Or breaks. Not pretty. I’m telling you.
I think I’m done here for now. I’m sure I’ve managed to push enough red shiny buttons that are labeled “DO NOT PUSH” .
SPEAKING UP is apparently the cool thing to do right now but I’ve doing this since before it became hip and Kardashian-worthy so whatever.
What are some your truths or honest opinions about anything right now?! Take the mic and stand at the podium of life and make it your bitch. “TIME’S UP”. (See?! I can support shit without color-coded clothing to make a point.)