Thursday, December 19, 2013

Girls, Girls, Girls

I remember at around this time last year I was practically pooping my pants with excitement in anticipation for the new season of Girls. This year there has been no excitement and very little poop. In fact, the trailer for the new season has been out for weeks and I only just bothered to watch it a few minutes ago.
The first season of the show was funny and relatable and that is what I enjoyed about it. Yeah, I thought Lena Dunham was kind of annoying but I thought she was annoying in a laughable way. However, after watching the second season I realized she was actually just annoying in a totally annoying way. Not to mention all of her annoying friends are, well, annoying.

Also, my impression was that this show was supposed to be a "more realistic" version of Sex and the City. Lena Dunham stripped us of the myth that STDs are nonexistent in (highly) sexually active females. That was great. I liked that. But that was basically the extent of her myth killing. Apparently, even today, people still believe that a person can support themselves in Manhattan (and with no roommate) just by working in a coffee shop. (Part time, I am assuming, considering she is seldom at work).
Instead, she is usually spending her time fucking Patrick Wilson on a ping-pong table. And here I thought Lena was trying to making things realistic for us. That just gave false hope to every basic bitch (myself included) that we too will some day make love to Mr. Wilson on a ping-pong table, or anywhere for that matter (a pool table will work fine). Quit playing games with my vagina, Lena.
Patrick Wilson will never like us. The sooner we accept this fact, the sooner we can get on with the healing process.

Let's see, what else happened last season? Marni banged that gay dude, Shoshanna cheated on Ray (who the fuck cares? Ray is annoying), Adam discovered that Hannah is the only girl who is into the kinky shit that he is into (Call me, Adam, I think I know of someone else), Jessa got a divorce and disappeared, Marni and Charlie fucked and made-up and, oh, Hannah has OCD (but don't we all?)

The final episode disgusted me with the unnecessary romance. Marni and Charlie live happily ever after and so do Hannah and Adam. If I wanted this bullshit I would watch Dear John. Like fuck me, that shit is disgusting.
In case you have cared as much as me and are just getting around to watching the new trailer:
As usual, the trailer includes the obligatory white-girlisms that we have grown so accustomed to. Too accustomed, in fact. I am pretty sure all of us can just go ahead and write the script for Lena Dunham. There was the whole "I am okay, I may not seem okay and I may not be okay now, but I am like okay," speech which seems to show itself in every season with one or two words switched around.

I think I am just over the concept. Privileged, entitled, white females who feel miserable because of their insatiable need for affection, drama and things.

I have my own privileged, white, female life to be miserable about, thank you very much. I do not need yours, Leenz.


Sunday, December 15, 2013

Fresh 2 Death

Over a year ago, I wrote a post about my perfect funeral. I spoke in depth about all of the things that I required on my special day. Well, it is a damn good thing that Nelson Mandela went before me because his funeral inspired me to make my fiesta THAT much better. It is going to be PERFECT.
I want at least 4 fake interpreters at my funeral. In fact, I demand it.

Thamsanqa Jantjie's performance at Nelson Mandela's funeral was basically the equivalent of me standing in front of an audience in China, as an "interpreter," and just belting out "CHING, CHONG, CHANG, CHING" over and over. Pretty fucked up. Right?

The dude's defense was interesting. He claimed to of had a schizophrenic episode during the ceremony.
Been there, done that, sir.

I mean, honestly, who has NOT claimed to have schizophrenia after you royally fuck up something? I did after I lost my ninth grade debate. No one fucking believed me!

I think what is most curious (and ridiculous) about the whole story is that this was not the first time Mr. Jantjie stumbled over his signs. Apparently the same thing went down years earlier and he claimed that the same thing went down.

I think we all have the same questions:

A) Why, after fucking up the first time, was he hired for such an important gig? If I had known that this is how you move up in the world, I would have been fucking up a lot worse and a lot more often (if that is even possible...)

B) Does this gentleman even know how to speak American Sign Language? I mean, I am Italian, so hand gestures are basically half of my speech but... I would not necessarily say I am fluent in sign language. Maybe this guy was feeling very Italian that day and got confused? It could happen.
C) If it was a schizophrenic episode, like he claims, and he saw angels flying around, why did he not just sign "hey guys, I see a bunch of bitches flying around. I am a little weirded out. I think I'ma bounce." Instead he just magically forgot how to sign everything?! And why does it always happen right before he needs to interpret an important speech?! How strangely convenient!

The only thing we should be grateful for is that Obama WAS NOT the one who hired this numb nut for the occasion. For just once we can blame someone else for blatant stupidity besides our own president. Just this once! YES!!!!
5 second dance party commencing...

Okay, everybody settle the fuck down now! The dance party has officially concluded. Now it's back to me. At my funeral I would like four different interpreters, all of which, must be fake interpreting the entire time. All four separate languages should be completely massacred so that the person is speaking absolute nonsense. No one can know what is actually being said. Although improvisation is required, the person speaking "American Sign Language" is encouraged to draw inspiration from Nelson Mandela's funeral.

Also, I would like to include a photobooth. This way, President Obama and all of the other important celebrities who will be attending my special day can fulfill all of their selfie needs.

In all seriousness, this whole thing pisses a biddy right off.  It is bad enough that those who were watching the presentation that were deaf did not understand a goddamn word that was going on, but the bigger picture is even more disturbing. It is the fact that no one even knew (or cared enough) to check up on this fake interpreter. That, my good bids, is disconcerting. Still, in the year 2013, our culture cares very little about those who are differently abled and while some of us who are not deaf can shrug if off as a stupid mistake to laugh about, others will continue to be misunderstood, isolated and forgotten by our society.

Thamsanqa Jantjie, fake signer, and diagnosed numb nut (and to those who hired him), I think I speak for all of deaf culture that you are all buttfaces. Here is a sign that you may understand:

Much LUV 2 my haterZzZ

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Happy Fucking Holidays

If you are reading this post then I guess it is safe to assume that you lived to see past Black Friday. Some were not so fortunate, including a cop who was dragged by a bunch of rednecks with a car outside of a K-Mart.
Can I hear an "oink, oink," ladies and gentlemen? But in all seriousness, what a drag for that po-po. Pun not intended... but actually intended.

Or how about the people who were trampled by a stampede of obese mid-western morons running to get their 25% off deal on Walmart brand jorts. Why pay ten dollars for them when you can pay $7.50? What a steal. Oh yeahhhhh!!!

Anyways, I completely avoided Black Friday. Being the intelligent and slightly tech-savvy individual that I pride myself to be, I decided to do the majority of my christmas shopping on what the kids these days call "the interwebs." That way I could have one window open ordering things on Amazon, one window for stalking my ex-boyfriend on facebook, one window for stalking my fuck buddy on facebook, one window for reading "Song of Myself" and another window catching up on some missed pornography (or what the kids call, porno). I am a millennial after all. What else are we good at besides completing five different tasks at once mediocrely?
So why do people insist on this nonsense of waiting in line the night before? All that work to get a toaster half price? The only time I wait in line is at the DMV (now that I mention it, fuck the DMV as well) and Chipotle. Fucking love Chipotle.

Also, when people refer to the "holidays," they almost always are referring exclusively to Christmas. We have been taught that the "politically correct" way of referring to Christmas in a country that is supposed to not be religiously affiliated, is "Happy Holidays!" However, let me ask you this: when was the last time you saw someone light up their house so abrasively with menorahs and Hanukkah lights that it made you want to slit your and everyone you know's wrists?
My point being, no one gives Hanukkah two fucking thoughts. And if you really think about it, Hanukkah is ten times more practical and useful. It seems wasteful and glutenous to open eight presents all in one morning. Is it not better to stretch it out? One gift a day for eight days? Not to mention the fact that latkes are fucking ridiculously delicious.  Hanukkah food far surpasses the traditional Christmas ham.
Can I hear another, "oink, oink?" On a related note, the competition between Hanukkah gelt and chocolate advent calendars persists. As we speak, many debate as to which is superior in delectability.

But no, when people say "Happy Holidays," they really are saying Merry Christmas. And if you are Jewish, no one gives a flying fuck about your holiday. It is those bitches who say "Merry Christmas" who are the honest ones. Oh and Hanukkah bushes do not exist. Stop trying to make it happen.

Do not even get me STARTED on the forever overrated New Years bullshit that every year I put up with.

Okay, you got me started. New Years is a mean joke. It is just a fancy excuse to make losers (like me), who have no friends, feel like absolute poop on a Triscuit cracker. Last year I spent New Years making out with my German Shepherd (well she licked my face a lot...) The year before I made out with a guy who, coincidentally, had an uncanny resemblance to a German Shepherd. They do say girls are usually attracted to guys who look like their dog. Do they not?
Who knows what this New Years has in store for me! I am thinking big things. I am thinking maybe I will buy some sprinkles for that gallon of ice cream this year. Whipped cream may be pushing it though.

Happy fucking holidays!


Monday, December 2, 2013

The Working Class

Paul Walker's death got me thinking about something important, something deep, something bigger than us all. As you may have guessed, it got me thinking a lot about hot people. Paul Walker was, indeed, a member of the hot people tribe. He left way too soon. I did not even get a chance to fuck him for the first and last time...
I was forever robbed of that passionate, tender love making. That is a burden I must bear for the rest of my waking life.

Rest in Peace Paul Walker, but this brings me to my main order of business. This brings me to this idea of "hotness." What exactly it is, what exactly it means and what exactly the ramifications of it are. We live in a world that values hot people above all else. Who cares if you are smart? Who cares if you are kind? And who the FUCK cares if you have been to space? The answer is: absofuckinglutely nobody. Unless you are in the boner making business you are virtually useless.
I have noticed something very interesting that is very close to me, something that is something that is very near and dear to my heart. I am talking about the struggle of the average looking biddy. I consider myself a slightly below average looking biddy, (and on the rare occasion when I choose to brush my hair, I'd say I'm an average biddy) and let me tell you, it ain't all sunshine and rainbows. Let me put it to you in words that you may understand. I like to compare it to economics. For the purposes of simplifying this complex, ground-breaking idea, let's just say that society is broken up into three classes. You have your upper-class, aka, your rich, privileged motherfuckers. You have your middle class (commonly and rightfully referred to as the working class) and then you have your lower class bitches. You know, poor people.
Now, our society obviously values wealth and those that are rich get whatever they damn well please. The rich stay richer and all of us make sure of that. Capitalism, bitches. Then, there's the lower class. Although they are in an unfortunate economic place, many do pity them. That pity (or what our society likes to call "charity") is seen in programs such as welfare or food stamps. It is basically the reason why rich people are able to sleep at night in their comfortable beds while homeless people sleep in the cold, on a park bench. Rich twats clear their conscience by throwing them some pity dollars and perhaps a loaf of bread for Thanksgiving. However, the working class? The working class does not even get that pity party. They get jack shit.
Yeah, that's right. They are like a hamster on a wheel. Just working and working and seeing little to no profit. This is exactly like the hotness hierarchy. The hot biddies get to bang all the dudes they want because, well, they are hot. The ratchet biddies, on the other hand, at least get the pleasure of a couple of pity fucks once in a while. No one pities the average to below average looking biddy. We are invisible. We practically do not exist.
In bars, no guys even look our way. Who needs a fucking invisibility cloak when you have small boobs and are as bland as piece of fucking wonder bread? To get any sort of action we need to do serious work. We need to make ourselves seem ten times more interesting than we really are ("Yeah, I, like, only listen to, like, underground music. I doubt you've heard of it.") We need to make ourselves seem ten times less crazy than we actually are ("No, I've never mailed a decapitated squirrel to my ex-boyfriend. That would be crazy.") And, above all else, we need to wear thirty times more make-up than everyone else ("Yeah, I just put a little mascara on. I like to keep things natural.")
 The truth of the matter is, no one will ever hear the average looking biddy's story because no one gives two fucks. Our story is not sad enough or happy enough to be heard. We will go on living in the shadows of biddies who are either more fortunate or less fortunate than us. *Sigh* I just hope one day that we too will be shown some pity.

If you feel bad for me: text/call/Facebook OR worse comes to worst, hit me up on my Myspace (I'm under the username: Iamnotokay).


P.S. The same hierarchy applies to diddies (male biddies). I did not forget you poor, somewhat-fortunate souls.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

The Return of Sluts

For the past couple of days, articles written by a certain fellow who goes by the pen name Tuthmosis have been gracing my Facebook feed. This quality gentleman writes for a blog that is called "Return of Kings." In case you do not know of it, if you read their information about their website, they describe Return Of Kings as a blog for "heterosexual, masculine men. It is meant for a small but vocal collection of men in America today who believe men should be masculine and women should be feminine."
Ladies, gentlemen, Taylor Swift: prepare to be wowed by the genius that these masculine men bestow on us. For far too long we have heard the voice of the un-masculine man and the un-feminine woman. These poor men had their rights stripped of them and their voice taken. Well, now, now they are reclaiming what is rightfully theirs. 

Anyways, back to Tuthmosis (which not so cleverly was taken from the name of the third king of Egypt's 18th dynasty). The first article I read by him can be viewed if you click the link below:

Tuthmosis makes the claim that dating women with an eating disorder is the way to go. But hey do NOT get it twisted, he makes it absolutely clear what he is defining as an "acceptable" eating disorder. Although "obesity is in most cases, also an 'eating disorder,' this list doesn't apply to emotional eaters, food addicts and fatties with no self control." Okay, good, I was nervous for a second there that he was giving us ignorant advice.

The first reason why Tuthmosis advises his fellow kings to date a girl with an eating disorder is because  "Her obsession over her body will improve her overall looks."

Oh yeah, no kinks in that logic. The more work done, the better! Joan Rivers is absolutely glowing.

Reason #2: she costs less money.

Uh, binging costs a lot of money. Two gallons of ice cream a day adds up, my friend (she probably is buying the pricey kind too, especially if she is used to fine cuisine). I do not know what kind of cute, cheap eating disorders he has witnessed but he is sorely mistaken. 

Reason #3: She's fragile and vulnerable.

"The case has repeatedly and persuasively been made that an inflated ego and an unearned high self-esteem are among the most unattractive traits in a girl." He is so right. What the fuck is wrong with these girls having confidence and self-worth? Disgusting and selfish.

"An eating disorder often translates into the direct opposite: a girl who’s modest, fragile, and vulnerable. Instead of having to constantly wrestle with a difficult and obnoxious girl, you’ll be dealing with a tastefully insecure girl, who’s eager to please, and wants nothing more than your approval." Yes,  a girl who eats nothing but a raisin for two days and then binges on a bag of oreos and a gallon of oreos is perfectly, tastefully insecure. They are never irritable and annoying. They are not exhaustingly desperate for approval 24/7. Sounds like a fool proof plan, Prince Tuthmosis.

Reason #4: probably has money of her own.

In all seriousness, this is a fair assumption. Eatings disorders tend to fit under the umbrella of white girls problems. I will throw him this bone.

Reason #5: She's better in bed.

"It’s a well-known fact that crazy girls are exceptional in the sack." Ummm, if this was true, I should be practically magical at fucking. There should be pixie dust coming out of my fucking vagina. I am an actual maniac. Girls with eating disorders, he claims, have "just the right cocktail of pent-up insecurity, neuroses, and daddy issues to ensure that your whole building knows every time you’re beating it up." Aw, he's a romantic at heart.

A few days later I ran into an older article that he wrote to assist his fellow masculine men in order to spot the "sluts" in the crowd. After giving us a small, classy anecdote about allegedly fucking some girl he met on the internet, he gives us a list of warning signs.

Here are his cues. My biddy thoughts are in italics, obviously.

1. She has tattoos. Even if it is a tattoo of JChrist himself?

2. Piercings outside of the traditional earlobe placement. That's basically everyone I know. Cool.

3. Has "slut face." Uh oh, do I have it? How do I get rid of it?! Is there some kind of procedure for this shit?!??!?!?! HELP!!!!

4. Cusses a lot (especially fuck, pussy or cock). Fuck.

5. Not ticklish. Hold the fuck up. I am the most ticklish motherfucker around and even I would call myself a raging whore.

6. Broaches the topic of illegal drugs (even marijuana) without prompting. Guilty.

7. Has big tits. We were born this way, baby.

8. Shows excessive skin for weather conditions. How else are we supposed to maintain our tan?

9. Has extra body hair (arms, sideburns, girl-mustache) and/or low speaking voice. Nothing wrong with some corn-rowed arms.

10. Associates with confirmed sluts. My friends are all confirmed. They even signed contracts. They are deeply committed to sluttery.

11. Shows interest in girls, has "hooked up" with girls or claims to be "bi-sexual." I am tri-sexual, myself.

12. Is currently, or at some point, in a sorority. I think you are mistaking twats for sluts.

13. Has traveled alone, or with only girls, to fuck fest locations (e.g. Jamaica) Is Jamaica the fuck fest capital of  the world? I thought it was Maine!

14. Was a cheerleader in high school. Meh, I'm bored.

15. Went or goes to a known party college (e.g. Arizona State, USC, UC Santa Barbara). They should call them slut universities.

16. Lost her virginity on the younger side (15 and down). PHEW, I lost it on my 16th birthday. I'm in the clear!

17. Likes tequila or party drugs (e.g. Extasy/MDMA). Margaritas rock my cock.

18. Is "friends" with DJs, promoters, or other small-time pseudo celebs. When you blow them, they let you in for free. I don't see the problem.

19. Is an artist, or a wannabe "model" who has done "photo shoots."  ( . Y  .) look at my bewbs.

20. Broaches the topic of sex first. So what's your favorite sex position? I am partial to the butter churner, personally.

21. Has a bad relationship with her father and/or has divorced parents. My dad is so annoying.

22. Describes herself as a feminist or with any of its jargon ("pansexual," "demi-sexual," "cis-gendered"). What is cis-gendered? That sounds fancy.

23. Has an even, nice tan that she maintains. Tans are so goddam slutty.

24. Hair dyed a nontraditional color (e.g. blue). That is the ultimate slut move.

Tuthmosis, dear, I respect your right to speak. However, pardon my slutty language, I think you are a pussy. You are writing under a pen name so basically anyone with a vagina does not run to your house and torch it.


HAPPY slutting my good sluts.


Sunday, November 17, 2013

Ten Coffees a Day...

Keeps the doctor away? I feel like I can not leave my cute little canopy bed without hearing something about HEALTH CARE these days.
It just might be the biggest boner kill of all time. But be careful, your health insurance may not cover that Viagra. Last night's boner may have been the last one you will ever enjoy so I hope you made it worthwhile.

I think I am in the same boat as many other twenty-three year olds. I am not quite sure I understand what exactly is going to happen to my health insurance when I turn twenty-six. Until then, I will remain blissfully ignorant and spend as much time as possible frequenting the doctor's office. Paper cut? Callin' up the doc. Stomachache? Expect a visit or ten.
My doctor's office already has a special chair dedicated to me due to many years of what they claim to be "hypochondria." The one and only diagnosis that I will refuse to accept. As a side note: why do these numb nuts continue to not diagnose me with diabetes? They are so goddamn stubborn and selfish.

Changes in health insurance are enough to make any HEALTH AWARE (not hypochondriac, contrary to popular belief) individual absolutely bat shit crazy. Will I have to pay for this stupid Obamacare? What is Obamacare? Will I get a full time job in time? What will I have for dinner tonight? Why doesn't Ryan Gosling like me? So many questions, so little time.
I have decided that in light of us all losing our health insurance, it was my job as biddy queen to devise a set of tactics to survive what may be a health care-less, hopeless and prozac-less future.

1) Refrain from sexual activities of all kind.
Even masturbation. The risks are just far too high. Sex leads to pricey things like sexually transmitted diseases or even worse... pregnancy!!!!!! You need to be saving your pennies for the inevitable day we are all diagnosed with cancer or ALS. We do not have time for these hip little diseases like chlamydia and genital warts. Get your fucking shit together and keep it in your fucking (discounted) pants. Why no masturbation you ask? BECAUSE I SAID SO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2) Refrain from doing drugs or drinking alcohol.
Yeah, drugs and alcohol are kind of awesome but you must stop using right this very instant. You can not afford to crash your car while you are high on molly (AGAIN), let alone the emergency room fees. You can not afford to get a liver transplant or the chemo therapy you will require for the lung cancer. Not to mention you will not be able to afford the lawyer fees for beating up YET ANOTHER dumb biddy who was hitting on your man meat piece. We biddies just can not afford to make these mistakes anymore.
3) Drink lots of alcohol and do lots of drugs.
On second thought, you are going to be losing your therapy sessions and happy pills. You are going to need those drugs for these trying times. There is no better friend than a bottle of wine, my good biddies. Don't you ever forget.

4) Do not eat a whole jar of pickles.
One pickle is enough sodium for a whole day. Do not eat the whole jar. Sodium is bad. Strokes are bad.

5) Do your nails often and well.
Manicures are good for the soul. Make sure you stay on the actual nail, though. A bad manicure can completely ruin your chi.

Happy doctor's visits my fellow biddies!


Sunday, November 10, 2013

Pretty Womyn

You got to give it to him, Bieber really knows how to travel. From being carried over the Great Wall of China by his posse (while they jerked him off and fed him shrimp cocktail) to banging multiple prostitutes in Brazil, he has really put Anthony Bourdain to shame. On the other hand, Brothels in Brazil?
Elementary Schoolers these days.

I guess it is unfair because I still have this vision of a pre-pubescent Bieber. I just think of him as this ittie bittie wittle baby. Babies do not sleep with prostitutes! It is just not a thing!!!!

Regardless, I am not hating on the Great Biebs for living the dream. His efforts will not be overlooked or underestimated in any way. And actually, one can even argue that Bieber is a philanthropist of sorts.
Think about it! Tween biddy juniors all over the country would pay JUSTIN to flick their bean for them, and here he is PAYING someone to fuck HIM. He is generous, charitable,... a good samaritan, if you will.

Okay, so enough about Bieber being the next Mother Theresa. I am thinking about the bigger picture here. Let me pose a provocative question. Is prostitution the way of the future? Is it the answer that I have been searching high and low for?
I mean, if prostitution is the new way to bang celebrities, where can I sign up? Can someone be so kind as to please direct me to the nearest brothel? For years people have been computing the formula for how to convince celebrities to sleep with them but these Brazilian ladies have outdone us all. Erase your Pi times vaginal diameter, divided by over the pants hand job equation. (Pi*vagD/OTPHJ)  It is all invalid. 
Groupies are too desperate. No one likes someone who is TOO willing to have sex with them. That's a total boner kill. I only want to bang people who SLIGHTLY want to have sex with me.

A sexual encounter with a prostitute is strictly for business and I truly believe Ryan Gosling will appreciate that. I would also like to let him know now (along with other hot male celebrities that I have pursued in the past) that I accept payments in Esse nail polish (I prefer darker colors, mainly but not limited to blue and green), gum (Big League Chew is always enjoyable) and eggless donuts. Otherwise, make the check out to Queen Biddy.

I will be standing on my street corner looking for famous Johns if you need me.


P.S. And no I did not misspell WOMYN #shoutouttomyfeminists

Monday, November 4, 2013

Trick or Treat, Smell My Vagina

Halloween has come and gone yet again. Last year the holiday was rained out in my town by Hurricane Sandy Vag. Perhaps Sandy Vag was onto something. Perhaps Sandy Vag was actually an act of Jesus H. Christ himself. In an effort to shield the tri-state area from the inevitable skankery that is Halloween, God sent us a big, raging hurricane to make sure that bitches kept their clothes on.
But this year we could not be so lucky. As Halloween approached, I knew what would grace the bars and my Facebook wall. I knew the atrocities that would be committed. I knew the boobage and vaginal sites that would unfold before my eyes. I knew of the 2 inch packages that would force themselves into my life and, furthermore, into my nightmares.

The dumb biddies did not fail to perform their task as dumb biddies. There was just about every single slutty costume possible. Slutty babies, slutty Harriet Tubmans, slutty Stephen Hawking (although that IS a little redundant), slutty Can Openers and slutty mc slutsluts. People have turned Halloween into something that it was never intended to be. Yeah, Halloween is a time for people to dress up and feel liberated to express themselves anyway that they want, (bla bla bla, insert everything Lady Gaga has ever said here) but it does not mean it is the day to express every bit of sluttiness that you are made up of. Boys: put on a shirt. Girls: put on your panties. I am unimpressed and slightly bored.
My siblings and I were known to rock a Halloween costume or two. My Halloween costume in third grade blew every fucking person out of the water. This bitch dressed like an old grandma and I looked fucking baller as fuck. The same year by brother was Santa Claus. He looked pretty baller as well. Just two ballers out trick or treating looking for some motherfucking candy, my hoes. That is what it is supposed to be about.

My brother, sister and I had absolutely no shame in our game when it came to trick or treating. We went hard, we played hard and we made no apologies about it.
You tell us to take one piece of candy, you are only wasting your breath. We would take as many as we damn please and you will not say shit about it. If you leave a bowl of candy out and say "take one please," you are looking to be disobeyed. We do not care if you asked nicely. It is a bowl of candy...and we are children. You do the math.
In our world, 4 o'clock was a perfectly appropriate time to begin trick or treating and midnight was a perfectly acceptable time to end. We were every old fart's nightmare. We were unrelenting and unstoppable. We were a huge pain in the ass to everyone in our town but... we got a shit ton of loot.
My mother, being a candy enthusiast herself, aided us on our mission to complete maximum trick or treating. She made sure we always doubled bagged (in case of rippage), she drove us to the areas that were the most heavily populated in Twizzlers and tootsie rolls and she always made sure we stayed hydrated.

I have always looked back on Halloween with fond, wholesome memories. Those were the days when it was all about Reeses and jujyfruits, not six packs and nipples. It was a simple time, it was a beautiful time. 

Anyways, that aside, I seem to have misplaced my foam finger over the weekend. And yes, I checked my vageen.

If anyone finds it, please it return it promptly.


Thursday, October 24, 2013


Hello to my fellow biddies. I write to you today a happy Queen biddy indeed. A year ago on this day I embarked on a blogger's journey. I had a modest goal. It was to write the most ridiculous blog of all time. I do not know if it has proven to be the most ridiculous, per se, but I do know that I thoroughly enjoyed writing it every week.
This past year has been one of the most uncertain and life-changing years of my life. When I started this blog a year ago my future was very unclear. Each day was a surprise. Some days people loved me, some days people could not stand the sight of me. Some days I had a job, some days I did not. Some days I ate a proper amount of pickles, some days I opted not to. However, something always remained constant and that was my blog. It was my rock.
Even when all of my friends and family abandoned me, even when I was homeless and left to the mean streets of Westchester sucking dick for Big Macs, I had Thoughts of Young Biddy. The truth of the matter is, I am not the same person I was when I began this blog twelve months ago and a lot of my goals and thoughts of what I write about have changed some.

I must say that my thoughts were always diplomatic. I was never too crass or harsh. I was always a polite little ho. I am a lady after all, goddammit.
To all of the idiots I insulted, I did it because I care. Taylor Swift, honey, it is like my mom always says, "if I'm not gonna tell you you're being an asshole, who will?"

I want to give a few special thanks to those that made this all possible.

Thank you to Demi Lovato. Your lyrics have inspired me to do great, act great and be great. I also have learned that it is okay to check a back-up dancer or two now and then if they get out of line.

Thank you to those who hurt me.
I have dried my biddy tears... and I have most likely bombed your house by now and made you wish you were never born. Regardless, I thank you. You have made me a stronger biddy.

Biddies, let your haters be your motivators.

A special thank you to the the endless cups of coffee that keep me going and make my life beautiful everyday. You are truly a magical substance and I do not know where I would be without you. Whether you are iced or hot, you never let me down.

And finally, and above all, thank YOU. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for not calling the cops on me.

And will there be another year of Thoughts of a Young Biddy, you ask?


P.S. I freakin love you.