It's Whatever

a deep, cleansing exfoliation of the thoughts, with a hint of mint

what the feck? July 30, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 6:50 pm

cursing just doesn’t do it for me anymore.  when i was little, my mom put such fear into my soul about uttering a swear word that the 4 times i did say one from the age of 0 to 17, i would confess my utterance to her later, usually already crying before confessing to her in the hopes to soften her heart and lighten the fuckin’ blow.  cursing was rare in my house, but there was one night, contradicting my mom’s usual “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned (by her potty-mouthed, cussing, verbal-vomiting daughters),” where mom lightened up and gave us a curse word free-bee.  i used mine quickly. “AW, SHIT” i said, proud and confident in my choice of wording.  my sister, however, made her way upstairs, into her room, and confined herself to her bedroom for ten minutes to think about how to use her word wisely.  in the eleven years we had been alive, we had never been given an opportunity like this, and we may never be given one again, she thought.  down she came.

                  “aw, would ya look at that?” she asked.  we looked.  her shoe was in her hand.  “i got SHIT on mah shoe!”

Genius.  pure, 11 yr old, well executed genius.  i was so jealous.  she had cursed AND talked about poop. 


nowadays, however, cursing ain’t no thang… in fact, i curse too much.  i use “fuck” so much these days that i sound like an angry ‘ole man who can’t stand them fuckin’ kids and their god damn music.  and when i really AM angry, no one takes my fucks seriously.  it’s almost become an addiction,  a habit that i can’t stop because it’s become such a big part of my lindsey lexicon.  how would i communicate if i couldn’t call my girls my “bitches.”  how else am i supposed to express my disgust at getting wet paint in my hair while re-doing my bedroom yesterday without yelling a “SHIT.” 


i gave up cursing for lent once.  i felt it would be the hardest thing for me to stop doing, and it made me a more creative person.  cursing doesn’t even MEAN anything anymore.  when someone’s yelling or ranting on TV about something or at someone, and they’re “fuck you” this and “you’re an asshole” that, i’m not impressed.  what does it mean?! the best anyone can come up with is “copulation with YOU” or “you’re an anus”?!?! who the EFF cares.  oh, how hurtful, you equated me to the part of the body where feces exits.  ruined my day, ya did. 


i started to wonder this morning where cursing came from.  who in our human history woke up one morning and said “ya know what… i like the way f-u-c-k sounds.  sounds hurtful.  rebellious.  gonna go tell someone to fuck themselves, and then they’re going to take serious offense.”  who gave these words these powers?  i read this article:  Evolution of Profanity  and didn’t get a damn question answered.  i mean, i understand what the curse words mean, but why those words, and why does anyone care when someone calls someone a bitch? oh, i’m a girl dog? well i’m already a girl, so i can only be 1/2 offended.  i understand all the negative connotations that come with these words, but don’t you think there are better ways to use our words for insult?   and WHERE did the middle finger come from?  why not my ringy finger? why not my toe? who deemed the middle finger to be synonymous for the “sex-YOU” word?  was the pointy finger too useful for pointing?  the thumb was bitten in shakespearean times to show defiance and disrespect.  if i did that to someone today, they’d tell me to stop biting my nails and to be a lady.  dumb mothafuckas.  PEOPLE WHO HAVE SEX WITH MOTHERS.  god for friggin’ bid.


when i watch shows like jerry springer, which i watch quite often when i find myself unemployed or feel the urge to watch other people ruin their lives by sleeping with their cousins and tell the world about it, i can’t believe how much people hide behind cursing instead of getting to the meat of the matter.   so jose may have slept with your daughter.  he’s only her stepfather.  what’s REALLY bothering you.  that he’s a son-of-a-bitch?  i don’t think so.  what’s his ma got to do with it?  you really just want to feel loved and secure.  say it, don’t spray it.

you know what would hurt worse than any curse word?  a real personal attack against your looks or character.  “you’re a bitch” only hurts for a second, until i realize that i’m not.  “you have overweight issues”… now that would really force me to curl up into a ball and eat a cookie.  “go to hell” wouldn’t make a tear appear on my cherub cheek.  i CAN’T go to hell, i’m still alive, silly.  “you’re not smart enough for med school”… jesus.  they’re right.  i’m probably NOT smart enough for med school.  what am i smart enough for?  midlife crises, please. 

take a look at some classy gents using classy words to put down some really classless peeps.  feel the sting.  and avoid shit on your shoe at all costs.


GM, Chrysler, and Ford… where do they get off July 22, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 3:40 pm

speed kills


speedometers.  man’s answer to the small penis.  merrium webster defines it as “an instrument for indicating speed.”  i’d say.   but what, praytell, is so terrific about measuring a speed THAT WE CAN’T GET TO.


WHY DOES A SPEEDOMETER GO TO 120+ WHEN THERE IS NEVER GOING TO BE A TIME WHEN I CAN DRIVE THAT FAST. sure, you might find yourself in the occasional oopsy-whoopsy situation of “oh shit, my water just broke, none of our phones work, there’s construction on 295, and this baby’s coming whether you like it or not “<– classic cliche that always gets my heart a-pumpin… but other than the water broke, baby’s head is crowning situation, or other classics like “i’m chasing this punk and making a citizen’s arrest” moment, when in the freakin’ hell will i be able to go over 80 miles per hour.  also, after i cross 80 miles per hour, how in the hell am i supposed to control this bad boy of a honda accord.  i demand answers.  shouldn’t my car come standard with a police siren if this be the speedometer feature?  sure, it might be possible to push it to 140, but when would i ever need to do that? why put it there? it’s the vehicular dick tease that i’m not in the mood for.


my boyfriend’s answer to this 9th wonder of the world is a simple “well why not.”  my answer is, “well why not, let’s be single.”  don’t give me bullshit, people.  i want answers.  and until someone comes up with a good reason as to why my car has the option to go faster than a speeding bullet flying at the man who gives me vague “well why not” answers to shut me up so he can listen to B101 easy listenin, i’m not going to drive my car.



cvs.. what does it stand for? and why can’t i get enough of you. July 15, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 3:16 am

yeah yeah 

 today, i went into cvs and bought deoderant, because when i was getting my dress altered for nicole’s wedding, i saw a look of  judgemental horror on the little asian’s face, and when she ran to turn on the air conditioning, i remembered “ah, yes, i haven’t showered for two days”… and that my mom left for the shore three days ago, taking the deoderant that i steal from her daily.. with her. then i bought detangler, (kid’s, because their brand is the only one that doesn’t hurt, because God and johnson & johnson like children better than they like me) to tame my viscious, split ended, tentacle-like hair piece.  and i bought herbal essence shampoo and conditioner, because i’m worth it. or because the bottle was red, and it appealed to me.  or because i can. because i can. *

what does cvs stand for?   california van society?  cats versus satan? Canyou eVer leaveherewithoutbuySomething?  i yahoo questioned it, and it says “consumer value store” by some sillynoggin’ who says “i know because i work there.”  what a dream job. stocking press on nails one minute and post-it-notes the next. “do you have a cvs card?” – WHO DOESN’T. and the 24 hour ones… open for whenever i have an itch to dye my hair at 3 AM or fall off of a step at the bar, sprain my ankle, and need my pain meds filled before the alcohol wears off.  sometimes, when i’m scared to go home in the middle of the night because the house is dark and my mom isn’t there to protect me from masked murderers or my “my buddy” from 1985   my buddy my ass  that comes to get me when it’s angry… i drive to cvs and hang out for an hour until the sun comes up. it’s not a joke. cvs doesn’t have time to joke… only time to meet the customer’s demands.

i also bought a magazine, some sour patch kids, my birth control, some rope, 99 cent recession nail polish, developed some pictures, purchased a local high school tshirt, bought some matches to burn said tshit in an anti-“the man” act, and walked out with a circular because they’re free and it’s my god given consumer right.


*i didn’t buy all of that. but i will.. one day. and when i do, i’ll be a more complete american … nay, human being.


zachary ty brian… i thought you were dead. July 13, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 1:58 am

i’m watching some tv movie about asteroids and christopher lloyd and the girl from the practice who was the slutty secretary… or better known as stefanie tanner’s rebellious cigarette smoking bff on full house (of hoes) and who comes out of the shadows of the b list actors but the oldest fake son of tim the tool man taylor.  zachary ty brian.  the eldest son of the wacky tacky blow-it-up-or-bust handyman looks aged.  his eyes are worn out.  his skin looks like the skin of some aunt bea out there in arizona baking in the sun while wearing a mumu that matches the pink flamingo on her lawn; he looks soulless.  could it be because he misses his brother randy?


in conclusion… is jonathan taylor thomas gay?



Tampon Tutorial July 12, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 4:38 am

today, while waiting outside a wachovia atm to get my life savings of $20 for a trip to baja fresh, i found an unwrapped tampon in my purse.  my boyfriend, who was sitting next to me, innocently staring out the window at a bird, or at an old person escaping from the local nursing home, seemed like he was in need of a little education.  so i gave him one.

“do you know how to use one of these?” i asked him.  i then showed him something that no other woman ever has. and ever will.

i had jeans on, of course. i never withdraw money, or show innocent bystanders how to operate a tampon, without them.

shaun seemed to appreciate the lesson, his face in awe at the fact that you simply insert it, inject it, go on with your life, and then forget about it 6 hours later and bleed all over his mom’s couch.


i let him keep the demonstration T as a souvenir of our love, and to remind him that my V is the only V he should ever learn from.