“Fuck the Committee!” (wherein I try to say that with a straight face)

What committee am I talking about? Well, I’m glad you asked. 

If you cringed when you saw the word “Fuck” and thought to yourself, “What has HAPPENED to her? Why must she use such vulgarity?” you might be on the committee. 

If you’d rave to me about how much you l-o-o-o-v-e my new nose piercing and then, with raisey-judgey eyebrows, ask my mom if she’s seen my nose lately, you might be on the committee. 

If you saw me walking down Cataldo yesterday and wondered how on earth I could possibly justify exposing the general public to the spectacle of my ass in Spandex, you might be on the committee. 

If you bolster your sense of self-worth based on your absolute confidence that you’re a much better mother/partner/daughter/human being than me, you might be on the committee. 

Here’s the thing: If you recognize yourself in any of those descriptions, don’t take it personally. Because it’s ME that formed the committee. I’m the one who placed myself under the scrutiny and judgment of this menacing assembly. And trust me, the members listed are just the tip of the iceberg. Here’s the thing I find most interesting about my particular committee: I’m the most outspoken and active participant. I think I’d be hard-pressed to identify any voice that is a harsher judge of me than ME.


I’ve decided that the time has come to disband this collection of assholes. That process starts today, with this post. This should rile things up around the massive conference room table at which they’re all seated: 

I like the word fuck. A lot. And use it often. 

I spend a lot of time in my room. I mean REALLY a lot of time. Like, it’s unlikely you’ll find me anywhere else in my house 90% of the time. (< That might be a conservative number.) 

I rarely cook. 

I enjoy an occasional adult beverage. (If, by occasional, you take my meaning to be quite often. Even daily sometimes. If, by sometimes, you take my meaning to be…I think you get the gist here.) 

Although I have not officially claimed the description “atheist” yet, I’m pretty darn close. At this point in my journey, I’m better able to articulate what I don’t believe vs. what I do believe. I don’t believe in a personal god. I don’t believe the bible (any of the multitude of versions of it) is inspired by such a god, or set apart in any valuable way from any other book. In fact, I think it’s been used in some pretty horrendous ways. I don’t believe it’s my business to tell anybody else who they can love, who they can marry, or what they can do with their body. Much less pass legislation concerning these things. 

Lest you mistake me for being incredibly brave for outing myself on so many levels, let me assure you: the committee is NOT happy about this. 

For every “confession” listed above, there is a plethora of explanations/caveats/apologies that I am having to fight tooth & nail against adding. Thus, the subtitle above. The me at the head of the table is laughing at the me who thinks she can say “Fuck the Committee!” and mean it. 

All I have to say now is “Fuck me.” Or should that be “Fuck you.”? I think I’m getting too Matrix up in here. To be continued…(for those with un-exploded heads who choose to remain.)