I Offend People (Everyone)

My sophomore history teacher told me I couldn’t be a politician because I’d get stabbed. A year later my best friend stuck me with her pocket knife. The point here is that I am well aware, as is anyone who’s talked to me, that I offend people.

Here are some of the offensive things I’ve said:

  • Women don’t need to vote because their husbands can do it for them
  • Stop cutting for attention
  • Religion is a scourge upon the Earth
  • Dental health is a scam created by the government (to my orthodontist)
  • Yes, it makes your ass look big

This blog mostly offends my mother, which is entirely understandable, since I regularly insult her world view. We had a conversation about this once. She said,

“Fiona, I wouldn’t let someone come into our house and be mean to you about your sexuality, so please don’t make fun of the things I consider sacred.”

“No, but you do make me go to a church that could excommunicate me, which is worse.”

She didn’t like that answer. Now she lets me know beforehand when I’m not allowed to blog about something. She also writes her own blog to make fun of me. It’s pretty good, just not as good as mine, and I highly recommend it:

https://bigbahamamama.wordpress.com/2017/03/13/modern-sex-talk/

The most offensive thing I’ve ever done was write this essay in 10th grade English. I had to support or reject Transcendentalism, the most deeply flawed philosophy I’m aware of next to Veganism (okay that was a joke, vegans, chill) but I was only given Transcendentalist sources to provide evidence from. According to Transcendentalism, lack of access to information is morally incorrect, so I wrote the whole essay on why I couldn’t write the essay. My teacher initially gave me a 10% in every category, including spelling, and was not happy when I pointed out that she couldn’t actually take points away in some categories because my speling is ducking prefetc. After a lot of angry threats on both sides we had another teacher grade the essay. I got a D. Worth it.

This blog post is part disclaimer, part apology. I know I hurt feelings, and I really am sorry about that- not sarcastically sorry, but genuinely apologetic. I love my mom. I love Mormons. I even love my sophomore English teacher (sort of). I realize that I’m brash, brazen, and wrong about a lot of things.

But here’s something else I know: I’m worth listening to. My life is different than yours, so my opinion is different. I know different things and I understand them in different ways. My truth is worth expressing, even if it makes some people mad.

You’re worth listening to as well. If I offend you, whether in person or in this blog, let me know.

Thanks for reading. Here’s a fun picture of a cat.

Cat

I was going to just end this post with the cat, because who doesn’t like cats?? but I thought I should probably explain some of my above statements. Because I want at least one blog post that doesn’t need to include a trigger warning. So, to clarify:

  • Women should absolutely have the right to vote, as well as the right to proper healthcare and a president who isn’t a rapist
  • I self-harm, and am seeing a therapist about it, which I firmly believe is the right course of action for most people. If you cut, or are in any other way in danger because of mental health, there’s a crisis textline ( it’s great because you don’t have to call people!). Text CONNECT to 741741
  • Many religions do a lot of good things, but I’m embittered about the Mormon stance on women and LGBTQ rights
  • Dental health is a scam. No excuses for this one. Braces are ridiculous
  • A big ass is not necessarily an unfortunate thing *hums Anaconda by Nicki Minaj*
  • I don’t actually like Nicki Minaj.

There. If you’re going to be offended, be angry at my taste in music.

Advertisements

I Turn 18

I didn’t realize how weird my family was until I learned that most siblings don’t give each other hickies. In my defense, it wasn’t incest, Winnie just likes biting people. Here’s a picture:

i-turn-18-image

This week I turned 18, so to celebrate I’m looking back on some of my favorite childhood memories. I’m the oldest of four, meaning that I occasionally guide the madness. My favorite example of this is when we played Titanic. Winnie and I tied three-year-old Tess up in blankets and lowered her off the edge of our bunk bed into a lifeboat made out of pillows, but she kept falling so we’d have to start over. Eventually I decided that it would work better if we put her in a laundry hamper, then let that down with jump ropes, but Mom came in before we could try it. After that, our house had a new rule: no throwing Tess off of bunk beds.

My house has weird rules. For example, since Mom is Mormon, we can’t have sleepovers and we can’t cuss. But it’s totally fine to stand on the table while playing freeze dance. Also, my little brother can’t shoot people with his nerf guns, but Winnie is allowed to smother me with pillows. I’m pretty sure my parents have given up on Winnie and me ever expressing a shred of common sense. They’re still working on the other two, but Asher once snuck into our neighbor’s garage to play with his power tools, and Tess wears knitted vests over sweaters, so I’m not holding out much hope.

One important rule is Fiona Is Straight. I’m not allowed to come out to my siblings, because then Satan might tell them to be gay too. After a year of subtle messaging (such as me saying “I have a girlfriend”) Winnie figured it out anyway. This is great because she can now give me relationship advice, but bad because her advice is almost always “Break up with her. She’s ugly.”

“But Winnie,” I say, “I don’t date people because of how they look.”

To which Winnie replies, “Looks are the only thing that matter. Society defines who I am. This is why you have no friends, honey.”

The Fiona is Straight rule makes for a lot of fantastic puns. For example, my little brother likes shoving me into our coat closet. Last time he did this, I said,

“Can I come out now? Mom? Any thoughts on this subject? Is the world ready for me to be out of the closet?”

I love my family, and I tell them that every day. I often tell them sarcastically, like after they turned my name into a verb. Every time someone breaks something they’ve “fionad” it. Mom frequently fionas the dishwasher, while Tess fionas the glass plates. This is because I once burned a plastic plate on the stove. And melted a mixing bowl in the microwave. And set the smoke alarm off. Three times.

I should probably mention my dad.

I have a dad.

My point about my family is: blood is thicker than water. Meaning the original saying, “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”, meaning that the family you choose is more important than the one you’re born with. I choose the one I’m born with, forever. Until I go to college next fall.

I Have Excellent Luck With Cops

I sometimes have a difficult time following “rules”, which I like to refer to as “suggestions”. This occasionally gets me in trouble with the law. I’ve found, however, that it’s not very hard to make police officers like you- you just have to be a young white female and pretend you’re stupid.

For example, the first time I was pulled over, the conversation went something like this:

“I’m really sorry Officer. Was I doing something wrong?”

“Ma’am, do you know what the speed limit is?”

“Seventy?”

“It’s twenty-five, ma’am.”

“Gosh golly! I’m so sorry, Officer. I thought this was a highway.”

“This is a neighborhood.”

“Oops. Lol. Good thing I’m not black, right? Love your lipstick.”

This technique is actually guaranteed to work, as I have never been arrested. I did come close once, though. This past summer, my girlfriend and I spent a lot of time in the Man Cave ™ I made in the back of my car (for a step-by-step tutorial, see the previous post). We had a favorite parking lot and everything. Unfortunately, our parking lot of choice was attached to a public park, and it’s illegal to stay on government property after God paints the sunset. Or something like that. Also, when the cop found us, Miley had been drinking and I was out passed the state curfew. Oops.

So anyway, this cop is all “I’ll give you a moment to collect yourselves”, which I interpreted to mean “stare blankly into the flashing lights of the police car in order to induce a seizure”. Then he said,

“Your license, ma’am,”

and I said, “Yes I have one”

and he said, “I need to see it.”

So I handed it to him, but the lights were still flashing and suddenly I felt very, very sick. I doubled over on the asphalt, hands on the ground, heaving.

Have you ever had a seizure?

I haven’t either, actually. I have had a very kind police officer help me up and set me back in my car with a water bottle he produced from God knows where. Miley said afterwards that he must have a soft spot for gay kids, because she was pretty sure I was about to be arrested for drunk driving, and she’d have to explain to my parents why they had to pick me up from the station at two in the freakin morning. Personally, I was using words stronger than “freakin”. (They start with the same letter though.)

Here’s a picture of me with the cop. Miley’s there too, but since we aren’t talking anymore I had to blur her face.

fullsizerender

When I was younger, I was a staunch believer in the Mormon church, which has a lot of rules. Here are a few of the actual Mormon commandments. 

  1. Don’t wear tank tops.
  2. Don’t wear bikinis.
  3. Don’t wear skinny jeans.
  4. Don’t be mean to people.
  5. Unless they’re women. Or black. Or gay. Or wrong.
  6. Don’t drink hot drinks. This means coffee and tea. Hot cocoa is okay, because it isn’t caffeinated. Also, caffeinated soda is okay. But hot + caffeinated = bad.
  7. Always wear your magic underwear.
  8. Child abuse, rape and murder are punishable by excommunication. So is gay marriage.

Following so many rules for the first sixteen years of my life has had some interesting effects. For example, I now wear exclusively bikinis. I’ve gotten complaints from the school, and they aren’t very comfortable to sleep in, but other than that I’ve enjoyed my small act of rebellion. Another side effect of Mormonism is that, like all good Mormons, I know eighteen ways to make green jello. But because I’m a bitter asshole, I only make green jello that’s hot and caffeinated, and then I make my family watch me eat it. I’ve included my favorite green jello recipe below so that we can all be miserable together.

Probably the biggest Mormon rule I’ve broken is the “be mean to gay people” one. I’m actually nice to gay people. Well, I’m nice to gay women. I buy them coffee. Also, we kiss.

 

 

How to Make Fiona’s Fantabulous Green Jello:

  1. Die. Or kill someone. Whichever works best for you.
  2. Have a funeral.
  3. The Mormons will bring you green jello.

I promise, this works. It really does. Mormons have a thing for funerals.

 

*I change everyone’s name in my blog, unless given express permission. I myself have given myself permission to use my real name, which is Fiona Chai. Fiona Chai means “white life”, which is cool because it’s completely racist.