I had a minor meltdown last night. And by “minor meltdown,” I mean the kind that involves lots of irrational yelling and a few curse words, followed by locking yourself in the bathroom with your phone and a box of Girl Scout cookies. That kind of meltdown.
I could go on and on about the causes of said meltdown (minor or otherwise), but basically it boiled down to inappropriate allocations of fucks to be given. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: There are only so many fucks a person has to give. If we give too many fucks about too many things, we eventually come up empty. We lose our shit. We scream and cry and lock ourselves in the bathroom with cookies and/or a bottle glass of wine.
Every once in a while we need to take stock and make some adjustments to our fucks-giving budget. There is, indeed, an art to the IDGAF attitude. Sometimes we need to go a little KonMari on our fuck-giving bucket and get that shit under control. I mean, there’s only so much time a person can spend locked in a bathroom with cookies and wine.
I’ve written before about my IDGAF resolutions, but here are a few more things I have decided that not to give a fuck about:
Locking Myself in the Bathroom to Eat Cookies
Not losing your shit takes a lot of effort. A mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do. And sometimes that means polishing off an entire sleeve of Oreos or supporting your local Girl Scouts. Don’t judge.
Losing My Shit
I’m a fairly laid-back person. I try to keep it together most of the time. I take deep breaths, and let a ton of shit go. But there are some days that are such epic shitstorms of assholery that a box of cookies, a barrel of wine, and a vat of essential oils are just not going to cut it. Try as you might to stay calm, you’ll get constipated on all the bullshit if you don’t let loose. Every once in a while, you just need to scream “Fuck this shit!”, punch a few pillows, slam a few doors, and epically lose your shit. There’s nothing wrong with getting a little dramatic and emotional now and then, and I’m done feeling guilty about it.
Speaking My Mind and Harnessing My Inner Badass Bitch
I’m a self-professed people-pleaser. I want everyone to get along. I want people to be happy. I’m nice AF and would be perfectly content to sit in a circle holding hands and singing Kumbaya all the time. But you know what — sometimes you have to let out your inner badass bitch out and speak your fucking mind. (And it feels good!)
Social Media Bullshit
The internet is a toxic cesspool lately. Between the humblebrags, #SoBlessed, evangelizing, MLM groups trying to sell me shit, hateful assholes, and the good ol’ fashioned douche lords, I sometimes feel like I need to put on a Hazmat suit when I turn on the computer. Behold the unfriend and unfollow buttons. They are beautiful things, especially for mastering the art of IDGAFness.
Look, I’m sweary AF, and that isn’t going to change. Swearing is part of who I am. Telling me to stop swearing would be like telling me to stop drinking coffee or wearing leggings as pants. That shit just ain’t gonna happen. Reminding me to “talk like a lady” will only be met with a loud sigh and eyeroll and maybe even the middle finger. CTFD, pearl-clutchers. There are far worse things than a well-timed F-bomb. I am smart, gentle, and kind. And I swear like a motherfucker? Big fucking deal.
I give up. Laundry, you win.
My Kid’s Messy Bedrooms
I’m a wannabe minimalist whose MO is basically to ignore the influx of stuff into our home until I lose my shit and decide that the only solution is to start our house on fire. But since we actually do need a place to live, I’m going to start with just closing the door to my kid’s room and pretending that it doesn’t look like a Nike outlet store and Pokémon card factory exploded inside.
Being a PTA Mom
Look, I volunteer my ass off. I’m a political and social activist. I’m president-elect of my freaking church board, for fuck’s sake. (And yes, I go to a church that doesn’t give a fuck about swearing.) I give a shit ton of time to a shit ton of causes near and dear to my heart, just not the PTA because it’s simply not for me.
I’ve long since come to terms with the fact that, as a woman of a certain age, I’ve got wrinkles with the occasional massive pimple. Such is life. But the most recent addition to my facial woes: chin hairs. And those babies sure do get out of control fast. One day my skin is as smooth and hair-free as a baby’s bottom, and the next day I have five dark black hairs so long they are starting to curl. But instead of lamenting the fact that I’m sprouting hairs in all kinds of bizarre places, I’ve just started carrying a pair of tweezers with me. If for some reason, I can’t rip those suckers out immediately, at least I can stroke them while I devise my plans to take over the world with all of the time I’ve freed up by not giving a fuck.
Being a Cool Mom
It takes a lot of effort to stay up-to-date on fashion trends, lingo, and new music. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Well, I don’t have time for that. I’m still not completely sure what “bae” means, and don’t even get me started on “snatched,” “on fleek,” and “hunties.”
Ideals of Perfection
Because perfection is boring AF. Hence, the need for an IDGAF attitude.