To Blowhards & Douche Nozzles

May I propose a toast!

Recently, over a romantic Friday lunch, my husband and I decided that in order of least to most assholian, douche nozzles ranked highest with d-bag jackasses in second and blowhards rounding out the mix.

I love him.

A balanced life includes wicked sarcasm, uninhibited judgment and the ability to fire off an unrelenting rant where you say all the deeply inappropriate, horribly unacceptable, despicably deplorable things no one should ever say.

Ahhh… feels better.

For me, this is the necessary first step to self-empowerment.

It is usually preceded by a period of hopeless, helpless, self-questioning, self-doubting defeat. In this state, I am quiet (which a lot of people probably appreciate) and emotionally flat (not so enjoyable).

But, if I can eek out even a thread of pointiness, it’s like a removing a big, fat splinter. Feels good. Feels powerful. And it is. Anger is wildly empowering and remarkably, unexpectedly useful! Especially for being such a negative frowned upon emotion.

What the world needs now is love sweet love, right?

Well, yes, BUT, the only way sometimes to get to love is through the tunnel of anger.

People tend to avoid the tunnel for various reasons. They are afraid it will collapse on their heads. The traffic, once you get inside, can be unbearable. And, there are DO NOT ENTER signs posted everywhere.

So, it’s not exactly the most desired route, BUT, without it, the love sweet love part is, how to say, a little bitter. Like the dark chocolate you buy to be healthy that is 90% cacoa and tastes like, well, horrid.

The trick is using the anger to clear the way for the same grand epiphany.

Usually I find the very reason I am calling someone else an asshole mirrors back, in the most irritatingly consistent way, how I am actually an asshole. I hate that.

Except that if I embrace my own inner asshole, the anger cracks into humor and then melts into love.

Arrogant, stubborn, know-it-all?

That’s kind of strong. But, okay fine, I get it. I can be a little opinionated (cue Leo and Finn laughing uproariously at understatement). And, occasionally dig my heels in when I feel strongly (cue Joe faintly smiling and shaking his head he has no idea what I am talking about).

It takes a certain kind of self-aware bravery that I can’t arrive at unless someone else unknowingly gets to be the asshole first. When I am in that initial state of defeat, that same admission would come from a place of flawed, failure, not empowered acceptance.

There’s a certain underlying grace in the act of calling someone an asshole.

Perhaps an unanticipated assHOLYness.