There’s a movie scene where the characters are lamenting about the fact that whenever they discussed their relationships it was always to complain. And someone was like, “Well yeah – it’s because if your shoes fit you have nothing to say about them, you hardly even notice. But when they’re giving you blisters — that’ll ruin your fucking day.”
Or something like that.
And I was like — isn’t that funny? It’s so fucking true for most, though I find myself unable to shut the fuck about how adorable my boyfriend is. They shoe fits, but I want to shout it from the rooftops every day.
I wonder though – looking back at my own life – what IS more significant….giving or not giving fucks.
I feel like it’s the giving of the fucks. Where did I choose to give my energy and how did that work out (or not)? Because when I give a fuck and I give my energy – I remember.
I cannot keep track of the fucks I do not give because there are so fucking many of them. My M.O. is to give no fucks, so the fucks I do not give seem far less significant.
One striking example of giving a fuck that changed the shape of my world was the beginning of my relationship with Kris. He was a goddamn mess and I just gave so many fucks. The first year of our relationship was so hard and there was so much shit to unpack and purge and rejigger. I remember thinking how funny it was that I never questioned doing it.
A friend was over last night and she has been dating a guy for only a few months. He has mental health issues and she was telling us how they had broken up and gotten back together yet again and how he was getting help for real. It’s hard to have lots of experience with that – me with my mother and Kris with his exwife – and stay neutral. Because the truth is, with mental health – it’s the journey of a lifetime. There isn’t an end point of “getting better” like we seem to fantasize about. And it sounded like that’s what she was doing. Fantasizing about a moment when he would suddenly be “all better” and this would “never happen again”.
Stay with him because you’re committed to the journey. Not because you’re waiting out some movie script ending.
So the sort of knee-jerk advice is to say – get out now. Get out now before you invest years of life. You’ve only been dating for three fucking months. Go now before it’s too hard and too late.
But then I think about Kris. Granted, he wasn’t mentally ill and we had already been friends for some time. But there was some shit going down that first year and it never occurred to me to leave him. I just knew that he would overcome what he was going through, no question. I never weighed my options. I never wondered if it was worth it. I never labeled things being “too hard too early”.
And look at what that investment gave me.
A going-on-seven year relationship. Where I still have sex dreams about him. Where we apply for food stamps together. Where we never blame each other for how hard things have gotten lately. Where we still really like each other. Where the idea of us being better together isn’t even a question. Where we know that we’re going to come out on the other side intact.
My chiropractor keeps really surprising me lately. She’s just so genuinely interested and invested in my troubles as of late. And I wonder – why is she giving so many fucks? She doesn’t even know me. It’s not like we’ve been friends for years or something. She must see something in me that I forget is there.
Today she adjusted me in her second story office. I did not want to go back downstairs and out the main door because it’d mean I’d have to wade through a sea of cookie cutter assholes. The kind that masquerade as down home spiritual hippie do-gooders, but who in reality are just shallow mean girl bitches putting on a good show.
The type of women that use the word yoni. A word I could never get into. I always felt like a fuckin poser using it, it just never came natural and doesn’t resonate with me.
And like – what the fuck is the word “yoni”? It’s a sanskrit word. So why is everyone suddenly obsessed with a sanskrit word for lady genitals? Like – we’re not practicing hinduism. We’re not using any other sanskrit words or trying to learn the language. We’re not into other parts of Indian culture. So isn’t that the “cultural appropriation”? Another thing everyone is obsessed with finger pointing and blaming about? So with yoni it’s like -fuck the rest of the culture and language, we just like this one word.
I, for one, like the word pussy — which is also not a cool word. I’m “supposed” to say cunt if I was a real feminist. I’m supposed to take back the word cunt! It’s not longer a swear word or an insult, it’s the proper powerful term for a woman’s genitalia.
But I also like the word pussy.
And I think cunt is fucking hilarious as a swear word. It’s just such a great, snappy, one syllable word that is so easy to say. And take the brits for example, “cunt” is nothing across the pond. Cunt is practically a term of affection. They can say it on T.V. in a family friendly show, they practically greet each other saying, “How are you, ya fuckin cunt” Same with twat – it’s a very casual word over there. It does not at all have the same power as we give it over here. In the U.S. if someone says cunt it’s like everyone gasps.
On another note – I like the word vagina. I use it a lot. But if I was a good modern feminist, I’d use the word “vulva”. I don’t like the word vulva. It doesn’t roll off the tongue the same way. It just doesn’t. It doesn’t come naturally to me and I’ve got so much other shit going on that I simply do not want to divert any energy towards retraining my brain to use the word vulva just so an elite group of evolved feminists will think I’m on the level.
It’s like – the word vagina was “the word” for my mom’s generation, and grandma’s probably. Like – in the 50s and 60s – you couldn’t say vagina on T.V. You could barely even reference a woman’s genitals without being called obscene. And if you did, it was something like “Down there” or “hoo hah” or something silly like that. But then – in the 70s and 80s – you could say vagina. And saying vagina was really powerful. Which is probably why I like the word vagina because it was just the word of my time.
And now the fucking trendy evolved word is vulva. Cool! Use vulva all day long, awesome. Don’t micro manage what word I use. Just continue living your life.
Because in the future, it probably won’t be vulva. It’ll probably fucking be – we don’t use any goddamn catch all term for our bits – we call out all the individual parts. We say clitoris and labia majora and introitus. And those who don’t are lumping all the parts of the pussy into one and that’s prejudice.
You know what i mean?
So with yoni – it seems like it’s just another cute sounding word adopted by goddess culture obsessed white women who want to seem all deep and evolved with this rich understanding of sacred sexuality.
Some of those bitches downstairs knew me, some of them that didn’t, but all of them just want to make small talk.
I just want to get the fuck out the door.
I don’t want to be polite.
I don’t owe you a smile and don’t take it personally if I just rush out.
It’s none of your goddamn business.
So the chiropractor took me to the second story balcony where there was a spiral stair case that led down to the first floor deck and right out to my car. No front door, no first floor bullshit. She muscled the gate to the stair case open. She essentially helped me sneak out of that office and she gave literally no fucks about it. I felt like if I even said it out loud that I’d sound stupid or overly dramatic. But she didn’t give a shit. I had every right to exit that building the way I wanted and who the fuck cares what anyone thinks? I didn’t sneak out, I left via the entrance that I preferred.
No explanation needed.