January tends to be the most depressing month in my opinion. The weather sucks, the holidays are all over, and year after year sometime around January 6th I’ve given up on whatever absurd New Year’s resolution I’ve subjected myself to. Oh, I’ve had some doosies…eat more Kale, eat less desserts, perfect my Daffy Duck impersonation during sex, regrow my labia, declare myself a pirate on my 1099, slay my enemies. You know, the usual stuff.
When I hit my mid 30s (for the 10th time) I decided to abandon the resolution craze and adopt a YO attitude. What’s a YO attitude you may ask? Well, my Spanish teacher would appreciate my use of pronouns but I’m talking about my Year Of…
Three years ago instead of another soon-to-be-doomed resolution (seriously, who could watch all 8 seasons of Charmed in a row) I decided to dedicate a year to a specific goal. To keep me focused on that goal, I decided to give it a catchy name, I figured if it sounded fun then maybe I’d keep up with it no matter how bad it was…like Cop Rock. My first “YO” was my Year of Fear. This was the year when I would do all the stuff that scared me to death. I’m not talking about skydiving, eating spiders or having Boom-Boom with the lights on. Like my husband majestically walking out of the cold ocean I’m not afraid to start small and work my way up. I decided to say yes to things that my first instinct was to say no to. I started simple with parallel parking and brazenly moved on to buying long hanging earrings even though all I’d ever wear are studs. I hated public speaking so I jumped at the chance to speak at my daughter’s elementary school graduation. To be fair (and mildly brag) while on vacation I jumped off a cliff into a swimming hole, I’ve swung on a trapeze (fear of heights…check) and sped down the side of a mountain on a trail bike (that wasn’t a good idea, I broke my shoulder in 2 places but let’s move on).
Two years ago, in very non-Cop Rock fashion I wanted to continue with my Year of Fear, but I modified it and created the Year of Me. This is where I say “yes” almost always to pleasing myself. When I told my husband about my plan to please myself he started immediately stocking up on batteries (you know what I’m talking about ladies). While I can’t fault his logic (and the batteries turned out to be useful), like a high school’s boy search for the G-spot he was way off base. I was thinking more along the lines of getting regular massages, saying no to PTA committees I didn’t want to join and saying no to family events that in the past I felt obligated to attend. I started reading again (as a mom, I almost forgot that there were books without pictures and didn’t rhyme), knitting the ugliest scarves (that’s all I know how to knit), and dropping the toxic people in my life. I didn’t turn into a complete narcissist and there were some things I still had to do even though I didn’t like it…my yearly colonoscopy, emptying the dishwasher, crazy wild “A” game sex on my hubby’s birthday and Veteran’s Day (he’s a Veteran, but sometimes I think he was just in it for the Veteran’s day sex…he’s a planner). Sorry hubby and kids, but I put ME on the top of my priority list for 2017.
So here we are, hip deep into 2018, my third year of YO. I’ve learned to embrace my fears and put myself as a priority so when you mesh the two together you obviously get The Year of No Fucks Given. Let me explain…I’m tired, obviously as a mom I’m sleep-deprived but I’m talking about being TIRED. I’m TIRED of always doing the right thing, TIRED of being the bigger person and I’m sure as shit positively EXHAUSTED by not sticking up for myself at the risk of someone else’s feelings.
So here’s a little slice of my 2018…there’s a guy I know and he’s super creepy. And by creepy I mean if I was to hear that 20 dead hookers were found in this guy’s basement my first thought would be “hmmm…thought the number would have been higher”. He’s also got a little Family Feud era Richard Dawson in him and likes to kiss hello every female in his path. It doesn’t matter who it is…85 year old grandma, the cashier at the bagel store, young hot mom in Kohls and especially a MILF extraordinaire like me. To make matters worse, when he goes in for the kill he turns his head trying to plant one on the mouth (ugh, it’s just as horrifying as it sounds).
So for years I’ve been enduring the sleazy cheek-kiss, I got wise to the head turn early on and compensated for it. I would change my route so I didn’t run into him, some women have feigned a cold and other women have pretended to be on the phone when they saw him…but no one ever stopped him, no one ever told him no. Now, you can pass judgement and say “Oh I’d never”, well if I was sitting at my computer braless in a pair of 4 day old pajamas I’d say the same thing. The first few times you’re caught off guard and then it just becomes too awkward of a situation so you just put up with it. As women, I think a lot of us were raised to take the figurative “hit” before we made another person uncomfortable.
- “You can’t say that, you’ll hurt her feelings”,
- “Oh there’s no sense in making a scene, he doesn’t mean anything by it”
- “I know he’s creepy but go give your uncle with the rhinestone eyepatch and smells like garlic a hug and a kiss, you don’t want to make him feel bad”
I’m here 24/7 busting my ass trying to raise 2 warrior daughters and I don’t feel comfortable telling some low-budget lothario to keep his mouth off of me? There’s only one mouth I want anywhere near me and it sure as shit wasn’t this guy’s (and honestly the cheek is pretty low on the list of where I want it). So in my Year of No Fucks Given I decided that awkward or not, this shit had to end. The next time I saw him, he leaned in for the attack and I put my hand up in front of my face and said, “Please stop, the kissing makes me uncomfortable. Just say hello”. He looked shocked but then accepted his fate. This public kissing booth was officially closed.
So here we are almost halfway through the year and you must be asking “Ellen, what’s your point? I’m almost through season 3 of Charmed and don’t have a lot of time to kill reading yet another of your inspiring and hysterical stories.” (Oh thanks! That’s so nice of you to say)
Fair question, well some of you may remember late last year I declared that 2018 would be the year that I would start killing it on Living Clean and Dirty. Well, that resolution (like my plan to really give that Melrose Place reboot an honest try) lasted about as long as my interest in a conversation about Bitcoin. Life got in the way of my best laid plans and while I can’t regrow my labia and I’m probably not going to end up being a pirate it’s not too late to get my Living Clean and Dirty juices flowing again. So this is me letting you know that I’m still here fighting the good fight and trying to be a better me. There’s still plenty of 2018 left and a lot of living clean and dirty to experience and share.
And for any haters out there who would like to break my balls about not posting enough new material this year, please write me at my new imaginary email address None@Fucksgiven.com
