Sunday Blog Chatter: Excuse Me, Do You Mind If I Cuss?

I know it's Sunday.

I know it's unlike me.

But I just wanna cuss.

You know. Like a sailor's mouth cussing. Flinging words nobody ever heard of.

Flip-flopping the vowels and spitting out the consonants and smacking some verbiage around blogland. Wash-my-mouse-out-with-soap wordy dirds.

Yep.

That's what I think I'll do.

Cuss.

Here goes.......

Did ya hear it?


Damn. I can't even cuss on my own blog.

I want to make a pencil skirt post but I don't feel like laughing. I have a perfectly silly one I wrote just a day before the burglary. I nearly got arrested in the local toy store trying to get a story and snapping pictures behind a pink feather boa. It'll have to wait. Can't do it. I need to be a curmudgeon for a little while longer. Do you mind? I'll wax silly Monday morning and let fly some Sunday words. But not today.
Today I wanna cuss.

I'm T.I.R.E.D.

Of washing clothes, of scrubbing sinks (I can't seem to stop scrubbing things) of thinking about locking the door and forgetting -once again - if I locked the door.

Already tired and it's only been four days since my house was robbed, since my dresser was ransacked, since my toaster was smattered with nasty cigarette ashes. Since I nearly had a heart attack from hyperventilating. Since I became a twenty-four-seven roller coaster of emotions in a pencil skirt. O.U.T. O.F. C.O.N.T.R.O.L. Don't you wish I'd stop talking about it? I know you do. You're just too polite to say so.

Only four days since the embarrassing display of can't-catch-my-breath and answer the nice policeman's questions because I want to throw up. I turned down a date tonight because I don't want to come home by myself after dark. Can you believe that??

You would think I'd be over this by now! Don't you wish I'd stop talking about it?
I think I already said that. It's the holidays. Time for cheer and bubbly things in bottles.


I'm not ready to be bubbly.
But I think I might could drink.

I've written two philosophical posts about the experience, sorting through. The meat of the matter. The "lessons" I learned. Oh please. They still sit in the queue. It's only been four days. The only lesson I learned for sure is to never leave the house again without setting the alarm. Nope.

Just wanna cuss.

"But Mimi," said the voice of conscience, "what will people think?"

When have you ever known me to hold back? I don't think I'll start now.

So I'll just blow a big old huge awful vile vocabulary word not fit for human consumption all over the page. You don't mind. Do you? Here goes....

Will somebody teach me to cuss?! This is stifling my healing.
Is there a class I can take somewhere?

Every time I start the letters get all jumbled up into new words and I say things like ....OH crip! Shuck! Famn! and my personal favorite....."hellfashit" which came rolling out when I stumped my toe this afternoon. I should be able to cuss better than that. I have a college degree for Heaven's sakes.

I think the thieves stole some of my vocabulary!!!

My mother is calling five times a day to see if I'm alright. Bless her heart but that's enough in itself to make me curse. When I was a little girl she used to say, "That's enough to make a preacher cuss!" when something went wrong.
Where is that preacher when I need him?

And you wanna hear the funniest thing? The one thing that MIGHT help me get some sleep was in the first drawer in the kitchen right underneath the Tylenol bottle. The Xanax. The prescription I kept for emergencies still full of 28 pills (one I took before a colonoscopy and the other after a trauma-induced Match.com date) and guess what?
They stole the Xanax.
And now I need it. Bring it back!!!
I think I can cuss now.
Excuse me.

The Day After Christmas ~ Bloggingham In Shambles
What I Learned In The Last 48 Hours About Thieves