#KimExposedTaylor

There are pop culture milestones that change history forever. Last night the world received a metaphorical edible arrangement in the form of Kim Kardashian vs Taylor Swift. As a squad reject, I have very personal feelings about Taylor Swift. I would rather hang out with ISIS than attend one of her holiday weekend barbeques. I am not thin or rich enough and I doubt she would be cool with my JonBenet Ramsey jokes.

As we all know, Taylor Swift is a nice girl. I have always struggled with the term “nice”. Nice is a behavior not a personality attribute. Just remember there are people who say Osama Bin Laden was NICE. I value authenticity over bullshit pleasantries which is why this story vindicates me so.

As we all know Nina Banks from Father of The Bride 2/ Jenny Humphrey aka Taylor Swift has been very vocal and self-righteous over Kanye West’s “Famous”. She gave a enthrallingly basic/victimized/ babysitters club Grammy speech jabbing at Kanye and insisting she was blindsided by the song. Innocent little cat lady. All the while Kanye West has INSISTED Taylor knew about the song. Pablo let the incident die while he was off taking a pair of scissors to a Fruit of The Loom sweatpants for Yeezy Season 5 until last night when Kim “Harriet the Spy” Kardashian Humphries West exposed T Swift with the light of a trillion Lumee cases.

Kim didn’t give us a cryptic tweet, suggestive caption or a magazine pull quote, she gave us kold hard evidence. That snapchat bomb was epic as fuck. I have never been a Kardashian fan, I find them incredibly uninteresting and tired. Except for Rob, what a strapping young sock mogul. I am kidding, he is the WORST. I must admit, Kim is my favorite.

I like to imagine Taylor Swift was home baking gluten-free banana bread, doodling in her Burn Book, watching yet another Friends rerun and manicly staring at herself in the mirror brushing her smug bob. Then her phone rings (Blank Space is her ringtone) and all hell breaks loose. She starts assaulting her housekeeper, takes a knife to her mattress, screams bloody murder and grits her teeth at her 38 cats while plotting her retaliation. She calls Karlie Kloss to see if with all of her “coding knowledge”she could take down Kim’s snapchat. Ironically, Karlie doesn’t ACTUALLY know how to code (side note: if you aren’t privy to Koding with Karlie please look into it, living for models pretending to be nerds and burger enthusiasts – stfu).

So instead, further perpetuating the victim mentality, Taylor responds by saying she didn’t know he was going to refer to her as “that bitch” and feels violated by being recorded without her knowing. Really? Remember when you professed to have no idea about Kanye’s song and there is a fucking VIDEO of you encouraging creative liberty? Bitch please.

The reason people dislike Taylor is because she seems void of authenticity. It started with the faux suprise everytime she won an award “what? me? no way! I can’t believe it. I am such an underdog!”. Then she took a big preaching shit all over Amy Poehler and Tina Fey after they made a miniscule joke about Taylors dating life. Instead of shaking that shit off (HELLO its an award show, if you get to do what you love and make millions of dollars doing so you can take a joke) Taylor shifted the narrative to feminism and voiced her concern for “pitting women against eachother…” shut the fuck up.

We can’t forget about Nicki Minaj pointing out that all MTV VMA nominations were in favor of slim women and Tay Tay made it ALL about her only to reconcile for an opening performance together. Ugh. Then most recently, Taylor willingly preferred and agreed to have a psuedonym as a writer on “This is What You Came For” and then oh so skillfully manipulated the narrative that she wasn’t getting proper credit. HUH? I just can’t.

Word on the street is that Taylor has a potential lawsuit against Kimye for releasing he phone call/ recording her without her permission. Unfortunately I know the extremities of these privacy infringements because I was almost sued by an emaciated busboy/ DJ (#PumpRules) but luckily he is too poor to prosecute. Taylor, bitch to bitch, if you choose to press charges not only will you have the rhythm of Gumby with Parkinson’s, you will also be a total narc. Darling, you are kinda a nightmare dressed like a day dream.

 

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The George Clooney Factor

Most of my existence I have said people “can’t change” because I never have. I was an obnoxious, over indulged, sparkle loving, over the top yet undeniably endearing mess my entire life. As I have gotten older and wiser (not) I have realized that I do believe people can change. Which brings me to Exhibit A: George “hot as fuck” Clooney. For those of you living under a rock or who “don’t care about celebrities” (shut the fuck up #elitist) Mr.Clooney the notorious bachelor and  perpetual commitment phobe is … engaged. While many of us are saddened by this news, I truly feel we should celebrate this insightful and emotionally liberating display of growth. This shocking news proves my theory that when paired with the right counterpart, people can change. Just ask Chaz Bono. Some of you might be crying right now after painfully realizing that you weren’t the right person to change someone you love or loved. When I met my boyfriend he wore DC sandals and thought sharing hotel rooms on group vacations was “fun”. Now he would rather wear a gutted raccoon on his feet and wouldn’t dream of putting me in a situation where you have to play rock paper scissors over who has to sleep on the rollaway bed. As people (especially women) we inherently want to be the Marissa Cooper to our very own Ryan Atwood. For those of you who don’t get that, it is an OC reference. Although we dream of pulling the bad boy out of Chino Hills and transformimg him into OC’s finest man meat with a Range Rover at 17 and a newly found moral compass it doesn’t always go down like that. And we all know what happened to Marissa Cooper.

Deep down this is just a battle with our own ego to prove to ourselves that we are special enough to have someone change for us and give us that emotional validation… which seems pretty pathetic. We rip ourselves apart wondering if we were prettier, smarter, skinnier, more athletic or digestively functionable (me) if things could’ve worked out. It’s a vicious cycle we are all guilty of without reason. So now as I sit on my balcony sipping my bloody mary, tanning my pastey upper thighs and pondering what made this particular girl have a man emphatically quoted saying he will never marry, put a ring on it.

After extensive analysis I have drawn the following conclusion. You can be the smartest, most beautiful, interesting and kind woman in the world. It doesn’t mean George Clooney, or anyone else, is willing to change for you. This seems obvious, liberating and slightly depressing all at the same time. I often think about past boyfriends and desperately hope they spend hours cyber stalking me, clutching and sniffing a forgotten piece of my clothing and cursing the day they let me go. Much to my dismay I am pretty positive this isn’t happening. But fuck, a girl can dream. Did I have some shrivel of hope that George Clooney would fall in love with me, take me yachting in Lake Como and put a 7 karat Neil Lane ring (#nosidebaguettes) on my finger? Yes. You may call this type of thought process delusional, I prefer to think of myself as incredibly optimistic.

The truth is people change, things go wrong, shit happens and famous Bachelors get engaged. The beauty in this is that life goes on and we can find solace in accepting that many of these factors of compatibility are far beyond our control. This is what we call a silver lining bitches. George, congratulations on your upcoming nuptials and just so you know when your fiancée is 50… I will only be 36. Kisses.

 

Best Bitches – Lisa Vanderpump

For those of you who have been living under a rock or don’t keep up with me on social media (shame on you) something truly remarkable happened yesterday. Everyone knows how casually obsessed I am with the Real Housewives franchise. I am not the slightest bit ashamed, think my obsession has no merit on my intelligence and tell anyone who disagrees to go fuck themselves. You think you’re so fucking intellectual because you watch documentaries and The History Channel? Try spending an hour doing character analysis at one of the Housewives lavish dinner parties –now THAT is mentally stimulating television. Why are they in gowns? I thought they hated each other? Who was texting whose husband? She hates Jews? Not exactly mindless television. This shit is rough.

I think it is safe to say each of the Housewife franchises has a Queen Bee. Nene runs the A-T-L (plop). Tre holds shit down in Jersey #freetre. Vicki is the OG of the OC. Ramona and her pinot grigio rule the big apple. No one gives a fuck about Miami and Lisa Vanderpump is clearly the queen of Beverly Hills #checkmatebitch. Yesterday morning was a doozy for a few reasons. Firstly, I hit a pedestrian – it was more of a love tap then an actual a full on hit. I have said this multiple times… pedestrians do NOT have the right away in my world. Secondly, my Caviar of the month club got delivered. Why do I belong to a Caviar of the month club? It’s called entitlement issues people. To be fair, I only opted for the 3 month package because I am not a pretentious asshole. Lastly and most importantly, Lisa Vanderpump tweeted me. (pause for reaction) She saw a picture of my to die for son Leo and sparked a full on conversation. We aren’t talking a one hit wonder. Like a LEGITIMATE dialogue which then moved to direct messaging. Direct Messages on Twitter are basically like exchanging social security numbers. She asked if I could bring Leo into Villa Blanca and let her know when so she could meet us. At first I thought she was just being cordial but then when I received a FOLLOW UP message at 6pm last night after 6 hours of no contact I knew this was serious business. To say I almost went into cardiac arrest would be putting it mildly. So after years of watching Bravo religiously and passionately, my dreams are coming true. Next week I will be going to Villa Blanca to meet one Mrs. Lisa Vanderpump. Upon these plans a million to-do’s flooded my head. Should I ask to interview her for my blog? Who do I bring? Should I pretend I am British? And most importantly WHAT THE FUCK WILL I WEAR? My cousin Joanna had similar concerns and told me I needed to “look chic” like I was planning on going in a halter top from fucking Bebe. Bitch please, the only person that respects statement accessories more than Lisa Vanderpump is yours truly #duh.

I believe in life all good things start with a vision board which is why I have my 4 outfit choices direct from my closet for all to see and judge. Please vote for the look you like best in hopes that Lisa will give Pandora the boot, adopt me and wear a tiara to my wedding.

LISACOLRibbet collage

I will obviously be documenting our sacred union. Please help a bitch out and let me know which outfit is worthy of Lady Vanderpump. You should know that my dog’s new fame has not gone to his head. He is super unaffected by it and still mingles with local neighborhood dogs and eats socks #humble.