Disclaimer: I’m divulging a good bit of personal information here that you may or may not want to know about me. Read accordingly.

I have written about this before but figured after some recent events that it may be time to go over it again. Some may have forgotten. Some may have never read the last one to begin with. And most really don’t give a shit. But I give a shit so, again, I’m going to re-cap.

In no way, shape or form am I a perfect person. I am flawed to the nth degree. I’m fairly certain God still loves me, though. My friends and family probably do, too and could certainly tell you even more flaws of mine than I’m about to list out (please try to refrain, though. My delicate psyche can only take so much right now.)

In no particular order (except for the end), here goes:

I’m highly impatient – “instant gratification generation” is what my mom likes to call it. I want what I want when I want it and tend to be a little bratty when I don’t get my way.

I have a temper. A big one. My late husband used to call me “The Hulk” – only he said instead of turning green I turn purple

Speaking of anger, I like to hold onto mine. I don’t forgive easily and I never fucking forget. And unfortunately, when I have been wronged, I will use said wronging in future arguments. Which, I realize is unfair and unhealthy, but it’s true. We’re also not talking about things about me that are good at this moment, so there’s that.

I use sarcasm in place of real feelings and emotions. I deflect all things with a solid dose of inappropriate humor. And I rarely take anything too seriously.

I loathe cleaning. I would much rather pay someone to do it than do it myself but that brings me to my next flaw…

Humans terrify me. They make me so nervous most of the time. I don’t like to call people, businesses, places or things. I hate to ask for help. I’d rather just figure it out myself. On this subject, I also care entirely too much what people think of me. Although, the older I get, the less shits I give. So there’s one on the positive side. Sort of.

I pee in the shower. Ew. I’ve also peed in pools a time or two or maybe more. Double ew. I’m also not afraid to pee outside should the need arise and there’s not a bathroom in sight. Side note: this summer I was a wee bit hungover at my kid’s baseball game (mom win), I’d downed 3 cokes on my way to the game, not realizing there were no bathrooms at the field. Had to pee, obviously, and ended up in the back of my car with a gatorade bottle. My pee comes out like a 1984 sprinkler head, so the gatorade bottle was none too helpful. After peeing on my hand, floormats and everything but the gatorade bottle, I found my youngest son’s hydroflask with the wide mouth opening and peed in that (and that’s how you win at momming.)

I’m kinda vain – which seems rather contradictory given my proclivity to pee nearly anywhere. But there you have it. I love clothes and makeup and doing my hair and making myself look as good as I possibly can.

Here’s another ew – I flush my tampons down the toilet. Apparently that’s a no no. But I do it anyway.

Sometimes, especially here lately, I let my kids play video games for far too long while I watch some kind of television show that shouldn’t be on in their presence. Hence why I let them stay on the video games. In a different room.

I constantly lose the tie thing that goes on a loaf of bread.

I’m never up on current events as I don’t watch or read the news. Well, sometimes I read the news. But mostly I just skim it.

I don’t walk my dogs nearly often enough.

I spend way too much money on way too much shit that I don’t need.

I’m terrible at making decisions on little shit – like where to go for dinner or where to go on vacation. Things like that. Stuff that’s really important, though, I’ve got that pretty well down.

I am way too competitive at way too many things. And now my children are just like me. Hell, they have competitions to see who can eat the most green beans, which, let’s face it, is a win for everyone.

Sometimes I drink too much.

I can be loud and obnoxious (drinking or not).

I cackle like a hyena.

Sometimes I’m super lazy and sometimes I’m on the go way too often.

I still sleep with a blankie. Like a toddler.

I bite my fingernails. I often forget to cut my kids’ fingernails. And toenails.

Sometimes I eat my feelings. Although, here lately, I have very little appetite. Which is concerning in itself. Because I used to really, really love food.

I am on my phone far too often, which is actually a good thing, because if not, it may have been way too long before I saw my name on a very popular social media site followed by the words “is a whore”. That’s right folks. Someone very publicly called me a whore. And thank the fucking Lord above that I happened to see it within a couple minutes of posting and could very swiftly remove myself from such a derogatory (and very untrue, might I add) post. Unfortunately, before it was removed, my mom saw it and a handful of friends (that I know of anyway) saw it. Thank goodness I’m not that popular, right?! I felt like I was in high school all over again. I’m nearly 40 (if we round up, like a lot). Why are we still name calling and tearing each other down? What in the actual fuck?

Mirriam-Webster defines a whore as “a person who engages in sexual intercourse for pay; a prostitute” or as “a promiscuous or immoral woman.” Ok, well I’ve certainly never been paid to have sex with anyone unless you think about marriage and the fact that I was a stay at home mom for a while, thereby making my husband the one who made all the money, thereby meaning he financially supported me and we had a pretty active sex life so maybe I was, in fact, a whore.

As far as the second definition goes, well that’s pretty laughable, too. Promiscuous is not a word I would use to describe myself, especially now. And believe me, I am willing to call myself nearly anything, if it is true. I am happy to share any flaws regarding me that you may or may not want to know. I am not scared of who I am. I have not performed any sexual acts in quite some time (unless we’re counting the sexual acts I may on occasion perform on myself but I don’t think that qualifies). I have not had any sexual acts performed on me in quite some time.

Now, I cannot say that I have not exuded some promiscuous behavior a time or 2 in my life. There was that time in college when I took Lauren Aponte’s boyfriend home with me for a one night stand and I only knew him as Lauren Aponte’s boyfriend, (even though I don’t think he was her boyfriend, she just wanted him to be her boyfriend, I don’t know, the details are fuzzy – I also didn’t really know Lauren Aponte, she was a friend of a friend of a friend and her nonboyfriend was quite hot). And afterward, we (my college roommate and I) referred to him as “get it girl” because, well, he said it a lot throughout the night. And got it I did. Anywho, that could be described as promiscuous behavior but did not make me a whore. I also used to make out with Dinty Moore Beef Stew (not actually the can of soup, though, just to clarify) every time I saw him in a bar my freshman year of college. I think his actual name was Denny but we always just called him Dinty Moore Beef Stew. Apparently not learning names in college was a thing for me. Is there a name for that? But we made out. A lot. Again, promiscuous behavior. Not a whore. Apparently I had quite a bit of promiscuous behavior in college. But, hey, who didn’t?

I dressed up as a slutty nun for Halloween one year. While poor taste for sure, it still doesn’t qualify me as a whore. I’ve been known to wear revealing clothing, especially when my husband was alive. He was a boob man, particularly my boobs, and he wanted to see them as much as possible. And I obliged. Whore? I think not.

And that leads me to my whole point. I have plenty of stories where maybe some risqué behavior happened on my part. Hell, I hope there are more risqué stories to come in my future, I’m not going to lie. But I have never been, currently am not and never will be a whore. I may not be classy. My sense of humor may be dark and sinister. I may be too forthcoming about my life and details nobody gives a shit about. And, hell, I may be a touch crazy. But I am not a whore.

Try to be kind. Try to mind your manners. Try to think before you speak (or type). And let’s try not to defame anyone’s character in the process.