Being a bitch is more than reacting to a situation. It is taking charge and laying it out there, honestly and bluntly. OWN it. LIVE it. After all, being a "bitch" is a lifestyle.
www.bitchisalifestyle.com
Mondays. Mun-fucking-days. They all suck, but what sucks hairy elephant balls? This muthafuckin' Monday. I was on my way to work, running on time (about 10 minutes late) as usual, and listening to some soothing tunes (Eminem) when I started getting irritated at the asshole in front of me who wouldn't pass despite being in the passing lane. This blocked me in on the far left lane and my exit to the right was coming up. I was a couple of car lengths behind the fucker with some douchenugget riding my ass so hard I thought he should be paying me for the privilege. When the numb nuts in front of me finally figured out how the gas pedal works, I was about to miss my exit. I sped past him, switched lanes and made my exit just in time. Fuck yeah! Fist pumping and feeling the Eminem rhythm, I rapped along like a fucking white rapper prodigy. Soon I heard sirens and realized it was NOT coming from my stereo. Son.of.a.cuntard.bitch. Are you fucking kidding me? Wouldn't you know I'd get the cop with an ego hard-on so big you just know he's either:
A) pissed that he didn't get laid before his shift or
B) furious about his pinky dick and has to act like an asshole to make up for the maggot-sized appendage he jacks off between his finger and thumb.
He was one angry little man, head barely clearing the bottom of my SUV's window, yelling about how I should have pulled over ON THE EXIT RAMP of an interstate rather than waited to pull over in a spot I felt safe in. Had I done that both my car and his would have been straddling the nonexistent shoulder line: "Sorry officer, I'd rather not have your torso get chopped in half by a semi and blood sprayed over my newly washed vehicle, and ruin my fuckin' holidays."
He also didn't like when I politely asked what the fuck I had done to get pulled over. With spittle flying from his mouth like a rabid dog he berated me for not having the sense to know what the hell I had done wrong. Remember the part where some goddam asshat was nosing around my tail end like he was trying to get the courage to ass rape the tail pipe of my SUV? It was this angry munchkin in his unmarked patrol car. Sorry sir, are you upset that I was blocking you from passing? Because it was the fault of the fucktard in front of me. The raving Oompa Loompa was not amused. He stalked back to his patrol car with my license, his little bowlegs making it appear the baton in his ass was moving further north into a more uncomfortable position.
He was gone for a little while, intimidation tactic I presume, so I had cranked up some Eazy-E "Boyz N The Hood" and threw down "Cruising down the street in my 6-4, Jocking the freaks, clocking the dough" when my chunk of a midget stalked back over. Judging from more pleasant scowl on his face he either realized this Bitch has zero points deducted from her driving record or he wanked one off in his car. Can't say I'd blame a muthafucka...I'm pretty fucking hot, even in my license picture.
Officer Munchkin gruffly informed me that he was letting me go with a warning. I smiled and said "thank you sir" while reaching for my license. With one more attempt at asserting his dominance, he told me to say it louder and like I meant it. Hold.the.fuck.up. Say WHAT? I just stared at Officer Jackass until he let my license go.
I'm grateful the asshat didn't give me a ticket. But I don't care what fucking color your uniform is, I'm not your whipping dog and I certainly will not allow you to get your rocks off by acting like you're better than me. Welcome to my muthafuckin' Monday, Bitches.
After having my vajayjay and ass hair savagely ripped out with a quick Brazilian wax, I went through a drive thru for lunch. I was feeling pretty sassy, as one typically does when relishing in a hair free cooter, and immediately after placing my order the Lily Allen song "Fuck You" came on from my iTunes. I cranked the volume up and pulled up to pay.
Shaking my ass to the beat, I rolled down the window and handed over my credit card singing the chorus "fuck you, fuck you very very muu-uh-uh-uh-uch." The shocked look on the worker's face snapped me back to reality of what was coming out of my mouth.
But with zero fucks to give I hit the arrow on my steering wheel to crank that muthafucka up even more. I just hope like hell that my ZFG attitude didn't result in some herpes-infested ass clown rubbing the meat patty over their crusted lip, causing me to wind up with an STD. If I get mouth herpes I may very well give a fuck.
Some people crochet, creative Pinterest assholes create artsy fartsy crafts, others scrapbook. And others think of the most douchey thing they can do to make a hobby a new form of ‘art’. Have you had the pleasure of viewing the video of a performing arts woman who knits from her twat? Well, be prepared to feel enlightened. Kidding, prepared to be stunned. And grab some bleach because you’ll need it for your eyes after viewing this.
Doesn’t that shit just make you want to rush out and order your own pair of veej mittens? How about a scarf? With that thing tucked under your nose you’ll be in rank pussy heaven.
A few things astound me about this new art craft and raised questions that I MUST ask:
How much yarn is needed in order to last the full 28 days, and most importantly how many rolls of yarn have been stuffed in that beaver in order to learn this?
How many hours a day are spent pulling threads of yarn from one’s twat in order to finish on the 28th day?
For those of you unfamiliar with yarn, I must inform you that it comes in a massive roll. Like, bigger than a footlong with several inches of girth. Holyfuckinghell how is it possible that she shoves a roll into her vag?? Seriously! How big is her twat that she can shove a roll of yarn in there?
How does it unroll whilst she's yarning her glorious splendor and wondrous creations? Geezus I know how much it hurts to pull out a tampon sometimes, how it scrapes my uterine lining and makes me feel like the walls of my vagina are being sanded from the cotton. WTF does an unwinding spool of yarn feel like?
How many pubic hairs have been weaved in with the masterpieces? I know you noticed the dark bush hair that didn't match what's on that cunt nugget's head.
If I were to order one of these creations, would it need to be a heartfelt order? Could I order some twat glove liners for my Dickhead so his digits stay warm? Must I tell him his fingers are pushed inside a vulva creation? It’s not like he hasn’t had his fingers in a twat before….
Do the creations smell au naturel? Does the beaver weaver douche between spools of yarn so each creation smells its best?
Does the portion of said scarf or yarning goodness that spurts forth from her inner loins during her days of profuse bleeding sell for MORE money or LESS money?
Even with all of these thoughts churning in my mind, I will admit I was actually disappointed after watching the video. I thought for sure this genius was actually knitting from her vagina, not just letting the yarn fester in her taco town before pulling the yarn from it. I was prepared to be amazed and speechless with hopes she’d knit a fucking owl hat or a flower or some shit. When I pressed play I thought to myself, "Self, YOU need to be able to spin wool with your vaj. That is the next level in greatness. You need to become a master beaver weaver.” Alas, my disappointment is great and my disgust borders on “would someone really pay for artwork from my uterine lining?” and “what kind of fucked up kinky bitch is this and when did she escape the mental institute?”
Everyone is doing that number thing where they list off things you may not know about them. My friend Jennay of What I Really Meant to Say decided to do her own thing where she listed things that you may NOT WANT to know. Her list of 7 things was fucking awesome so I'm going to see if I can top it. My number is 8:
I like to pop pimples. There's some satisfaction in getting the hard white thingy out or pushing out the puss until it bleeds. I'll pop mine and I like to find them on Dickhead's back. Sometimes he may not really even have one, but I'll try to pop it anyway just to hear him cry out like a pussy.
I have a fake toenail. The real one was ripped out by a rowdy little fucking kid when he barreled through a store door, which I was entering. My beautiful pedicure was on display with gorgeous new sandals. My big toe was caught by the bottom of the door, ripping the nail and nail bed free of my toe. So now I have a fake one that I have to get filled and replaced just like fake fingernails.
I do Kegels every other day. Doing the exercise turns me on. I'm pretty sure my vajayjay muscles are strong enough to pick up a bowling ball.
Taking a shit is an event for me. I hole up in the bathroom with a book, iPad or my phone. Sometimes I text updates to friends on how it's going...or not going. A particularly raunchy shit fills me with pride and I like to let my closest friends know.
I got my first glimpse of porn at a slumber party in 2nd grade. My friend proudly showed us what she caught her older brother watching. It was pretty disgusting. I'm fairly certain that was the first time I saw Ron Jeremy and afterward I thought all men were hung like a donkey.
When I make a sandwich the mustard has to be on one slice of the bread and the mayo on the other slice. My cheese has to be on the same side as the mayo. If you make me a sandwich where the mustard is touching the cheese then I won't eat it.
I really enjoy picking my nose. I always have and always will. I have never eaten a booger though. If I don't have a tissue to wipe it on then I'll roll it up and flick it.
I seriously heart REO Speedwagon and Wilson Phillips. Go ahead and judge me. I don't care.
Now you know 8 utterly un-fascinating things about me. Feel free to share your weird shit, too.
Little
Shit, Baby Shit and I were on the floor where I was reading a book to
them. Apparently Baby Shit found the book boring because she got up and
started marching around, playing with dolls and doing some more
marching. I was focused on reading the book, and the racket she made
became that droning noise in the background that parents associate with
another child talking but block it out.
Dickhead
came out of the kitchen and asked if I was listening to what Baby Shit
was saying. Of course not, but I tuned in at that. The droning noise
became.... "Sonovabitch! *stomping feet as Baby Shit marched*
...SonnnnovaBITCH! ...Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp*
Dickhead
and I stared at one another with our eyes bugging out of our heads. Of
course Nana walked in on the loudest "SONOVABITCH!"
I covered my face with the book and tried to smother my giggles. Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp*
Little Shit kept trying to pull the book down and finally asked me if I
was laughing because the book was funny. That threw me into a giggling
fit.
"Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp*
Dickhead finally
distracted Baby Shit and the Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp* train
ended. When I lowered the book and uncovered my face Nana was glaring at
me. WTF? Like I'm the only one that says 'Son of a bitch!' in our
household.
Nana: "Well, she sure does have some colorful
language. Just the other day I said 'shit' and who do you think repeated
it?" Another glare.
Me: "Well, shit, if you stopped cussing all the damn time maybe my girls wouldn't have the vocabulary of a fucking sailor."
Baby Shit: "SHIT!" Of course that earned me another glare.
In related news, I've already opened my first wine bottle of the day.
I was
sitting on the shitter after sneaking in the garage after work, minding
my own business and trying to DO my business when I heard a shocked
Tween yell "You can't say that!" to Little Shit who immediately burst
into tears complete with uncontrollable sobbing. Then I heard the Tween
trying to shush her only for the volume of sobbing to increase to an
uncomfortable level - like a goddamned siren.
Fuck me. My peaceful, toilet clogging shit needed to be put on hold.
Like a responsible mom I pinched the loaf and headed into the living
room to determine what the problem was.
All hell was breaking
loose when I interrupted. After shutting everyone up I asked the Tween
what the problem was. "SHE said a VERY VERY bad word!" The Tween accused
and crossed her arms smugly waiting for me to flip my shit. I looked at
Little Shit who was glaring daggers at her older sister and looking
like she wanted to rip her head off and crap down her throat. Whoa! My
toddler looked E-V-I-L. After some coaxing Little Shit finally told me
what went down.
"Tween said we were going outside to play on
the swing set but she wouldn't go outside because she was playing her
iPad. I kept asking really nice, mommy. I asked really nice." Cue the
big eyes tearing up from Little Shit and an exasperated sigh from the
Tween. "So I told her we needed to go and tried to grab her iPad and she
pushed me so I grabbed her and said..." at this pout Little Shit juts
her chin out and stands her ground like zero fucks are given "let's
fucking go!" At the look on my face Little Shit's zero fucks attitude
falters..."is that bad mommy? I heard you tell daddy that earlier."
I'm in my room now with a bottle of wine and a straw, coping with the circus I live.
The
Tween was searching her bag for Chapstick while we drove to meet her
dad. As she applied it she looked at me and said, "I don't think guys
should put Chapstick on in public. It's really disturbing. They need to
do that in private."
This surprised me so I asked why she had a
problem with Chapstick and guys. It's not like we were talking about
guys wearing lip gloss or lipstick. "Well this one guy at daddy's church
applies his Chapstick during service and he's all like <mimics a
loose woman trying to be sexy by applying lipstick>."
I
busted out laughing and told her that wasn't fair to all guys that one
man's technique grossed her out. The Tween rolled her eyes at me because
I obviously didn't get it.
When we met up with my ex-husband
and were discussing upcoming events for the Tween, she interrupted us
and asked, "Daddy, don't you think guys shouldn't apply Chapstick in
public?" I started laughing at his perplexed look and gave a brief
explanation.
Then, he looked at the Tween and said, "If a man
wearing Chapstick bothers you then I better not tell you what I did last
night while playing a game with a group of [church] friends." Of course
the Tween perked up at this and, knowing my bible thumping ex and his
hypocritical tendencies, my interest was also piqued.
My
ex-husband proceeds to tell our daughter that a challenge in the game
was for him to kiss someone else playing, but not his spouse. (What the
hell kind of game were they playing??) Rather than kissing one of the
other women playing and upsetting his own wife, he decided to kiss one
of the guys. The Tweens eyes were bugging out of her head..."OMG DADDY!
You kissed a GUY?!?"
He confirmed he did and then explained he
kissed the guy's neck...near his ear. What. the. fuck? Did he really
think that was better than a quick peck on the lips or the cheek?? A
kiss on the neck is pretty intimate. Then the ex-hole floored the Tween
with, "In hindsight I should have taken the point deduction rather than
do the kiss."
It was obvious this disturbed the Tween because
she pulled me to the side and whispered furiously to me. As we headed
back to the ex-hole I pulled some lip gloss out of my purse and asked if
his boyfriend prefers cherry or mint flavor. The Tween thought it was
funny....the ex not so much.
