Thursday, April 28, 2011
I don't drop the F-bomb on my blog. Have you noticed? The absence of this Queen Mother of all dirty words probably hasn't occurred to you if you aren't one who frequents biker bars, the visitation room of the county jail or the girls' locker room at your local high school. I'm guessing the average person is watching "Dancing with the Stars" more often than reruns of "Pulp Fiction" on cable, so hearing the F word is probably few and far between...unless, like me, you read Mommy blogs. What? Yeah, in case you didn't know it, an entire legion of stressed out mommies has declared The F Word to be the new black, which means that once again, I’m the dork who doesn’t fit in with the cool kids.
Now, don't get me wrong. I’m no choir-robe-wearing preacher's wife – far from it, actually. I have been known to use the F-dash-dash-dash word plenty of times in texts and personal e-mails when I'm trying to get my point across with force or make a joke with someone who knows me well. As a person who grew up hating Tipper Gore and her PMRC (a group of patronizing Senators’ wives who blacklisted music with language they deemed inappropriate in the 80’s), I will fight for your right to cuss like a jilted, drunken sailor with an ingrown toenail, but beyond the occasional “hell” and “ass”, I’m just going to pass on the foul language. Apparently in doing so, that makes me about as edgy and cool as Pat Robertson, but this time I'm willing to be a Mary Ann in a world full of Gingers.
I started reading blogs about the same time I started writing one because I wanted to know who else out there was laboring under the misconception that folks (with brains) were actually interested in reading a stranger’s stories. That is when I discovered there is a sub-culture of women who seem to be on the brink of insanity (or murder) simply by virtue of the fact that they gave birth at some point in their life and are now nearly out of wine. Maybe I’m just tired of grown women with kids wanting so desperately to seem like they are still the frat house sweetheart, funneling Miller Lite and doing Jell-O shots in a micro mini-skirt skirt that offers up a butt cheek peep show every time she bends over to puke. When did it become all the rage to chat up your neighbor in a language that sounds like it was picked straight off a Chris Rock comedy special?
In today’s Mommy Blogger world, it seems that there are only two categories of Moms: Lame and Badass, and if you aren’t telling your kids to “get the F out of the house so Mommy can get her drink on” through vodka-soaked breath, then you can’t be in the club. I get that parenting is hard. I get that Moms frequently get no respect for the never-ending work they do, but is it really necessary to announce in front of God and the World Wide Web: "So f'ing glad it's Friday so I can get totally sh!tfaced and pass out, then sleep late while the little F'ers feed themselves cold cereal"?
I will openly admit that, in the beginning, I really did think these expletive-laced blog posts were hilarious. It was comforting to know that I was not the only seriously lacking mother on the planet, but the more I read these stories, the more haggard, boring and completely lacking in imagination they became. How many ways can you write about getting f'ing drunk and not doing f'ing housework? And why is everyone who is not on board with the F-bomb Festival called an uptight f**kwad? To quote a writer friend who has one of the funniest f-bomb-free blogs around, "Cursing does not take the place of decent writing." Unfortunately, in a world where celebrity skanks are idolized and everyone types in text language, I think we've forgotten what decent writing looks like (not that I think mine is anything to brag over).
I guess I'm destined (doomed?) to be the Bill Cosby of the blogosphere. I consider it a challenge to figure out how to tell a story that doesn't look like a minefield of F-bombs. Honestly, I'm too tired to care about being edgy, and I never was cool to begin with, so not being a badass mommy will just have to suffice for now. I do have a bit of advice to the Foul-Mouthed Mommy Bloggers set though: Get a Thesaurus.
***steps down off the high horse and walks into the sunset...***