Hootie & The Blowfish Suck

Also, we've noticed that your smile is 13% not wide enough at all times. Image from training.rltgo.com

Daily Post prompt: Think of your blog as a mirror: what does it reveal? Consider your blog name, theme choice, design, bio, posts… what does every element tell you about yourself?

I haven’t done one of these prompts in a while because I’m lazy and, well, I’ve been busy trying to get my dog to take a crap on the lawn, but this one piqued my interest.

I don’t often think about how you see me, mostly because I don’t care. Yup, you read that right. I don’t care what the royal you, i.e. the world at large, think of me. I don’t particularly even care about how I see myself since my opinion is a little biased.

Do you have any idea how hard it was to get here? To be able to say those words and really mean them? It was a lifetime struggle, but I made it here on top of who gives a crap mountain, I planted my flag and I’m staying king of the hill, dammit. Or queen, I guess. Yes, queen of who gives a crap mountain. That’s me.

There was a time, most of my life actually, when I cared all too much. I would pretend to like things I didn’t like. I bowed to the crowd. I faked it because it was easier and because I did not have the gumption to stand up for myself and say, fuck no, I hate Hootie & The Blowfish and wish they would explode along with all the awful noises they make.

I really, really hated that band–they came to represent everything I hated about my life–but I pretended I didn’t care one way or another because it was easier. It meant I didn’t have to say what I actually thought since I was very bad at that. I sat in cars, bars and houses where their awful watered-down excuse for music was playing, trying not to smash the stereo with the hammer that miraculously appeared in my hand in a blind Hootie-induced rage. Fuck Hootie. Fuck them in the ear with a hammer.

My rebellion from the conservative Catholic company I worked for started small. I began painting my fingernails purple, blue or green. After a month or so, I was told that my nail color was unprofessional and that only pinks, reds and nudes were allowed from now on, even though I never dealt directly with customers, and purple, blue or green were still alright colors as long as they weren’t on fingernails I guess. They changed corporate policy just for me. How thoughtful of them.

Also, we've noticed that your smile is 13% not wide enough at all times.  Image from training.rltgo.com
We’ve noticed that your mandatory all-the-time smile is 13% narrower than some of your coworkers. Please, try harder for the good of the team. And, Morgan, go change that yellow tie. It’s unprofessional. Can’t you be as gray as everyone else?
Image from training.rltgo.com

Of course, this workplace rebellion coincided with the bitter end of an abusive relationship. I was tired of hiding strangulation marks on my neck with scarves. I was out of excuses for the black eyes and knocked out teeth. I was done with my personal life and with work.

I realized that I just didn’t give two shits anymore about any of it. I started saying what I really thought. I no longer let it be inferred at the very conservative misogynistic family business that employed me that I was a Republican conservative who loved golf and Hootie. I came out as a liberal and figuratively gave them the finger. I got a tattoo. A tattoo! She’s clearly a terrorist! I was laid off not long afterwards. They claim it had nothing to do with my views. Yeah. Their unemployment and severance was what allowed me to move to California. Still, fuck them.

When I moved to California, I got knuckle tattoos specifically so that I would never be tempted by money to take another stifling corporate job like the one I suffered in Boston. After my last bout of pretending, I refused to be bottled up anymore. I am me, for better or for worse, wherever I am, whether it be at work, with my friends, out in public or on this blog. I say what’s on my mind always. Sometimes, it still causes friction, but I don’t care.

So, yeah, I don’t often think about how you view me. The way I see it, you come here because you can relate or I make you laugh or you are just really bored. In any event, you get all of me. If you read this blog, you probably know more about me than some of the people I know in real life, like all of my coworkers, since not caring still hasn’t made me any more social and I don’t go about telling everyone my life story.

You get the sad, the angry, the funny, the tormented and the terrified. All of it is here. All of it is me. You get me flayed out and raw like delicious sushi. I don’t fake it ever. I hope you like it, but if you don’t, you’re welcome to go away. This is my home and I’ll do as I please. I’m not hiding behind Hootie ever again.