Here Comes the Bitch…

 

Hi everyone. Sorry it has been a while since my last post. I have been volunteering my services to the Hilary Clinton presidential campaign and learning Mandarin. But actually, I have been doing nothing and couldn’t be happier. Recently, after only four death threats and one failed attempt to join Raya, my boyfriend proposed. I’m getting fucking married and it has catapulted me into a Bridezilla/Basic Bitch/ Existential life crisis.

While this is arguably the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me except for the time I bought something at Bloomingdales and talked my way into exchanging it at Neiman Marcus (and people think I have no talent). Since I have started planning I realized I am haunted by basic brides that have resurrected before me. Is it possible to plan a wedding and NOT be a self involved, fluffy haired, asshole? I fucking hope so. People get married and think they become the epicenter of the universe. The harsh truth is, no one gives a real fuck about your impending nuptials except you and like 8 other people. So while you hold people hostage like the fucking Taliban and ask whether they prefer ivory or eggshell, remember to stay self-aware, step away from pinterest and embrace these truths.

Just because you have solidified a life partner, does not mean you are the new authority on eternal happiness. Getting a Zale’s cushion cut diamond wrangled on your phalange doesn’t give you the right to judge your free spirited slutty friends. We get it. You have found the love of your life. Maybe your friend’s love of their life is a bag of Chex Mix and her Valtrex prescription.

Not to be a Debbie Downer but statistically almost 60% are destined for a second marriage or maybe a Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell situation. So while your ironing your white button down polo shirts for your extremely basic engagement shoot, remember that before you express pity for your single friends that you have to clean underwear that is not yours for the rest of your life. Live and let live.

Getting hitched does not mean you have to start dressing like a midwestern substitute teacher who collects potpourri and ceramic figurines. I know people that could have been the spokesperson for Vegas attire. Bandage dresses (kill me), platform pumps and a clip in synthetic weave that could start a wildfire. Magically upon matrimony, they start dressing so “Churchy” and complaining about a heel height of a fucking tic-tac. Really bitch? You lived in hooker heels (#madeinchina) for a decade – don’t try.

If anything, you need to get sluttier after “settling down”. Just because you are on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t check out the fucking menu. Newsflash… guys have penises. Penises are fueled by testosterone. Testosterone makes men into primal animals. Animals that subconsciously WANT and NEED men other than themselves to want to bang their future wife because then they feel like they have a prized possession. I am not saying women are possessions just calm the fuck down, it’s a METAPHOR. The sooner bitches understand this biology, the sooner we will truly run the world.

Despite my grievances, I am SUPER excited to navigate the bitchy bridal rapids with a bedazzled life jacket, Dramamine (or Xanax) and an unsigned prenupt as my sail.

Bennifer

Today is the worst day. I can’t remember feeling this melancholy since Jessie Spano almost overdosed on caffeine pills on Saved by The Bell. I take celebrity couples really fucking seriously. Perhaps I am a delusional closet romantic who stupidly thinks marriage is forever and everyone shits rose petals but I am more deeply affected by a celeb break-up than those of people I actually know.

This morning my whole world was turned upside down as I was eating my “fuck my bikini bod” Belgian waffle and perusing Huffington Post. I almost choked when I read the headline announcing Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garners divorce. This hurts me in every cell, organ and orifice. WHY? They seemed so normal and wholesome. The only silver lining is that there may be a Bennifer resurrection, which would make all my wildest dreams come true. Can you imagine a Jenny From The Block 2015 remix with Ben in the new video? It’s basically the only thing keeping me sane at this point.

Thank God the Gays can get married now, we need them to drive up our countries marital success rate. Gays were BORN to plan weddings; swans, chandeliers, chincy appetizers, embellishment. Duh.

640_ben_affleck_jennifer_ga

Ben, I will stepmother Violet, Seraphina and Melon or whatever the other ones called with ease. Call me babycakes. While this is difficult for me to comprehend, a bitch must remember not to cry cause it’s over but smile because it happened. BUT if John Krasinski and Emily Blunt, Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan or Aaron Paul and whoever his hott wife is break up… I am going to kill myself and that’s a promise.

Bachelorette Recap

Andi gets shit started on the hometown dates by heading to Milwaukee. Sick moves Nick. What the fuck is up with Nick and his obviously rented family members? This is like the poster family for contraceptive pills and condoms. That little buck-toothed, polka dotted, hair bobbed beezy with her list of questions. Never wanted to punch myself in the face more with that cheesy ass music and LYFE lessons with Andi #LAWLS. Oh Bella, John Robert powers called and wants their client back. Nick is sitting on the couch with his real mother dropping major waterworks get your shit together you worm. I’m just not that into you, your 57 siblings and your selection of outlet mall outerwear #cutescarfgirl

Next up Andi goes to meet Chris the fucking “farmer” in IOWA. “There is a difference between being excited to be here and living here” no shit. I had mentally blocked Chris out of my potential finalist roster because a) he’s a farmer and b) he’s from Iowa. Although I must say he totally won me over on his hometown with his house and rented plane. I mean it’s nothing to doodle in your diary over and tractors give me anxiety but whatever, I love a man with real estate. #sickvestbro AWWWW a picnic in the dead field! Am I having a quarter life crisis or am I actually starting to grow very fond of Mr. Red State “What would I do here?” Valid point Andi. Then they head over to Chris’s families house and I was pleasantly surprised. Who knew they could have such an affinity for statement jewelry? I literally became sexually excited by Chris’s sisters pearl/ swarovski combo. Chic bitch. Iowa here I come.

“Finally we are in my hometown of Tampa and I am so pumped. I can’t wait to show Andi off!” #douchebag. Is anyone else super anxious by Josh’s energy? He literally makes me lust for a sedative. Why have they spent 15 minutes talking about Josh’s little brother Aaron? Are they banging or something? Next level confused. He better be hott. Well.. that was wishful thinking. WHY THE FUCK IS THIS WHOLE HOMETOWN ABOUT FUCKING AARON AND HIS POTENTIAL FOOTBALL CAREER?! Are they hoping that some Coach is a closet Bachelorette fan? IF I HEAR AARONS NAME ONE MORE TIME IM GOING TO RIP OUT ONE OF JOSH’S AWKWARDLY LARGE TEETH AND SHANK MYSELF WITH IT.

Andi meets Marcus in Dallas and takes her to some rapey nightclub. Sounds like a great romcom plot line. I used to think Marcus was so hot but after that vakakta Village People number I am left with serious uncertainty. They go to meet with Marcus’s dysfunctional family (what are there issues exactly, can someone clue a bitch in?) His niece gives them some janky party favor bracelets and Marcus cries outside to his brother. I can’t deal with this shit. Sometimes this show gets so fucking dramatic I feel like it is going to prompt an early menstrual cycle.

Wait… why are they hanging out at Chris Harrison’s home? God I hope that’s a rental. Clearly ABC isn’t paying him enough for this. Then Chris tells them all about the death of former contestant. I mean… this seemed incredibly unnecessary and exploitive AND made me cry. Not what I anticipated during my 4 hours of guilty pleasure Monday evening television.

Now I am totally depressed and totally in need of a refill. Marcus gets the boot which makes me even more upset that she didn’t let that fratty douche Josh leave so he can go back to Tampa and make out with his brother Aaron.

 

 

Guys Bitches Should Ban

The Ego-Maniac: This douche usually drives a brightly colored sports car and lives with his head up his own asshole. He undoubtedly owns a black leather sofa and insists you take your shoes off before you step foot on his janky ass white plush carpet in his unimpressive West LA apartment. He believes he is the hottest, most successful and intelligent guy he knows and even being affiliated with him is a luxury. May or may not refer to you as “arm candy” and name drops like a mother fucker. He is the guy that insists on trying the wine before ordering a glass, twirls it around and then makes some douche commentary about the “vanilla undernotes and nutty after taste”. He may or may not wear a gold chain and eye fuck anything with a pulse and exposed femurs all intentionally in front of you just so you know how “desired” he is. Adversely, you could end up with the intellectual ego-maniac who will spend hours discussing society conformists and insisting that Martin Scorsese is a total “sell out” all while peering at you through nonprescription eye glasses like a loser. Get over yourself. Relationships with an ego-maniac usually consist of pretentious conversation, professional put-downs and seriously misguided confidence. These men tend to have small brains, small experiences and very small pee-pees.

The Wife Hunter: Worse than the guy who never has a girlfriend is the guy who ALWAYS has a girlfriend. A clear indication that he can’t be alone, is emotionally dependent and probably loves frozen yogurt and light wash denim. This guy is like a modern day unicorn and an emotional slippery slope. In a sea of noncommittal, game playing and egotistical “fish”, the wife hunter is often a breath of fresh air and can delight a patient fisher. Is anyone following this weird aquatic/dating metaphor I am trying for? Me neither. So after eons of dating a bunch of dumbfucks that sweep you off your feet and then leave you sitting in a white night gown waiting by the phone and flickering the lights a la “Fatal Attraction”, you meet a guy that not only calls you regularly but ALSO wants to be Facebook official, introduce you to his parents and starts sharing his favorite baby names and dreams of coaching his son’s basketball team with you. Some may find this romantic, I find this unnatural and one major #redflag. There is no romance in that type of relationship… you are simply a birth canal and a counterpart to one seriously tacky white polo shirt wearing holiday card.

The Umbilical Cord Atachee: You should always look to how a guy treats his mother. It is the easiest indication on how he respects women and will eventually treat you. However, a guy that still is being breastfed at age 26 and has his mommy pick out his outfit is not ideal. Momma’s boys are tricky because you will always be compared to that bitch and your brisket will never be as tender, your laundry folding as precise or your breast milk as thirst quenching. It’s gross, exhausting and makes the guy a huge pussy. Guys with healthy and well relationships with their mother? Great! Guys who have their mother in their profile picture and facetiming before bed? Creepy as fuck. Bottom line, you’ll never be his #1 so head for the hills. Bye Felicia!

The Underachiever: There is nothing less sexy then a guy parked with his fat ass on the couch watching television in his pajamas during office hours on a fucking weekday. It doesn’t matter if you are a part time MILLIONAIRE because it has nothing to do with finances. If you are lazy in your professional life, you will be lazy in a relationship. Men who are not passionate in their career, are not passionate in a relationship. This is pretty fucking simple. Success is not defined by financial gain, it’s just about doing SOMETHING/ANYTHING productive and goal oriented. Success is necessary for men to feel like MEN. Whether or not you are volunteering, coaching a high school sports team or CEO of a fortune 500 company men who are passionate about something and actively pursue those passions keep them content and prideful. Waking up at 11:30am and watching 6 hours of television a day is not a career it’s a death sentence to a life of disappointment and no ass. Work ethic and passion are the best assets a man can have. Now get to work bitch.

The Boy Who Cried “Bad Timing”: The best example I have for this situation occurred last Friday. I was on the precipice (big word) of a holiday weekend with my boyfriend to a destination that boasted very high temperatures and days poolside in a bikini. Anyone who knows me knows my digestive system completely shuts down on vacation and to prepare for any and all travel I need to go on a strict pre-vacation constipation diet which includes easily digested noodles, veggies and chicken broth. I can go from Giselle to Octo-Mom in a matter of 2 undigested meals so this preventative act is a must. So last Friday, the day before we were leaving for vacay I had the sudden and passionate urge for an In n Out cheeseburger. It was 9am and I found myself in bed salivating and googling pictures of cheeseburgers animal style to prep my palate. I thought maybe if I went through a 300 picture google image SLIDESHOW I could quench my craving but instead it just made me ravenous. Now obviously shoveling a cheeseburger (or 3) down my throat at 9 am before I go further engorge myself on vacation would most definitely classify as “bad timing” but the heart wants what it wants. I got in my car at 10am waited a half an hour to be the first bitch in the drive thru line and had 2 ¼ animal style cheeseburgers all before 10:45am. There is no such thing as “bad timing” unless you are leaving for a trip to the moon or going in for a sex change the next day – guys are by nature territorial and possessive. Look at male dogs, they piss on anything and everything to claim what’s “theirs”. Not that you want a guy peeing on you but metaphorically you get the gist. Therefore, if he wants to date you, he will. If he doesn’t, he won’t or will conveniently chalk it up to “bad timing”.

The Control Freak: Like that hillbilly hooker Miley Cyrus once said, “I can’t be tamed”. Girls who date guys who tell them what to wear, what to cook and how to behave etc clearly can’t make their own decisions. I once dated a guy who literally asked me to stop wearing so much jewelry and sequins and said I would look “so much hotter in a plain little black dress and simple heels” um…. Go fuck yourself. I wanted to say “you would be so much hotter if you stopped speaking, breathing and had a rope around your neck you over controlling little fucker”. After that comment, I put on 87 pieces of jewelry and rocked an outfit only a gay man or Helen Keller could love. Sequins on rhinestones on studs on feathers. It was a clusterfuck and I worked that shit. Quality men should love you for whatever makes you “you” and not what their testosterone fueled perception thinks you should be.

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.