be a fucking lady

Don't swear.

Don't be rude.
Never drink too much.
Be respectful.
Use a moderate tone of voice.
Be neat and tidy.

Be nurturing.
Be forgiving.
Be sympathetic.
Be sweet.

Be a fucking doormat.

I am not a huge feminist. I don't want to stop shaving my legs to prove a point. I don't want to burn my bra (have you seen my tits? someone would lose a mother fucking eye). I like high heels, make up, the color pink and crying with S Mclachlan about all the poor puppies. 

But I read a comment today, from a woman not much older than me: I am so embarrassed because nice girls just don't talk like that, they don't even know those words.

And for the millionth time in my nearly thirty years I thought, we are still teaching our daughter's that. We are still teaching our daughter's that they have to conform to be nice. They have to conform to be respected.

I won't sit here and lie, I can't write this from the perspective of a girl who worries about being a nice girl. I write this from the perspective of a girl who was born with her fucks broken. I write this from the perspective of a girl who's done some shit, said some shit, been judged for all that shit. I write this from the perspective of a girl who's made more mistakes in thirty years than some people will make in seventy. I write this from the perspective of a girl who will accept you just as you are, messy, loud, weird, broken, and crude. I write this from the perspective of a girl who has lived.

I don't have a daughter, but the son I have, I am trying to raise to find a girl who lives. I hope someday he brings me home a badass bitch with a potty mouth who makes a good dick joke and laughs at farts while she's drinking vodka sodas with her tattooed mother in law. 

We do our daughter's a disservice when we put them in a box. Break out, bitches, we have cookies and vodka on the dark side and all the fun.

I went away....

I went away for a while, I don't think I was ready to commit to a blog, not full time anyway. Though if you ask most of the dudes I have dated they would tell you I can't commit to shit (though if I could commit to shit, I'd still be with one of them).

I am ready to start writing, mostly because I think my brain might implode if I don't get some of this shit out. It has been building up for nearly thirty years, and at this point its like an internet browser with 700 tabs open, you know, like the one where you got a virus and it just kept opening windows because you were watching porn on your parent's computer, when you were 15, and then your dad walked in. Oh, that was just me? Well anyway, I digress, what I was getting at is that I hope this blog will serve to help me close some of those windows.

I basically have something to say on like every topic on the planet so there won't be a theme, unless, the terrifying inside of Megan's brain, including but not limited to unicorns (both the horse ones and those dudes you never see in real life but on every dating sight), glitter, rainbows (especially the rainbow flag because I love to piss off the bigots), slide shows, shiny things, random words, disjointed sentences, and crafts I really want to do, but can't because they will end up half done and cluttering my kitchen table.

So, if you are still with me, join me, please, on this magical journey (without the school bus, I am still working on finding one that flies). There will be beer, booze, sex, profanity, tangents, some name changing to protect the innocent, and political opinions that would make most republicans shake their heads.