Textiety: A Not So Silent Killer

Hear that clicking sound? That is the sound of the purest form of vulnerability, the musical stylings of pre-rejection and the reason why I, and most likely every other millennial, has high blood pressure. That, my good biddies, is the sound of text-messaging. Or, as the kids these days like to call it: "texting."

Yeah, I bet you are all down with the lingo. All kidding aside, texting has become part of my daily life and has claimed a large part of my sanity.

A whole texting culture was created within the past ten years. This conception has happened right before my very eyes. It was kind of similar to the conception that I witnessed in my friend's basement Sophomore year of college. The one where I saw a friend of a friend LITERALLY get impregnated in front of me. That was the first time I saw, in the flesh (and not in the pornos), how babies were made. Staring into the darkness I saw two naked figures doggy styling it. With "Shots" playing in the background, the couple made sweet, passionate love and I for the fucking life of me could not look away.

Texting and texting culture has doggy styled its way into our lives, if you will. And I can tell you this now, it is not doggy styling its way out anytime soon. We have created one raging cunt of a monster that just will not quit.

Texting is now being used by evil biddies everywhere as a method of punishment and degradation. For starters, iPhone created the "read message" feature to bust MY personal imaginary balls. People who use this feature want innocent biddies like me and you to know that it is not that they did not read your text message, it is that they do not give two shits about answering it. They want you to KNOW that you are too insignificant to respond to and they want you to FEEL your insignificance to the fullest extent.

They do not even have the decency to pretend that they are doing more "important" things other than answering your paramount (to put it delicately...) text message about what your boyfriend's sister's friend posted on Facebook three hours ago about their dinner last night. We know that they read your text message. We can not even fool ourselves for a minute into thinking that these people give a shit about us and our deep-seeded problems.

Ultimately, however, the "read messages" feature does not really matter because even if the person's "read messages" are off, I think we all know that everybody checks their phone every one to five seconds. What could be keeping these people from responding to us? Hm? Which "pressing" matters are more "pressing" than our text messages? What are these so-called "important" activities all of these people are doing instead of responding to ME? Oh yeah, allegedly you are "working," "sleeping" or getting a "colonoscopy." These are the usual excuses for a lying sack of shit.

Spare me the lame lies. You ignored my text message, and you are not even biddy enough to admit that you did. The only legitimate excuse for not responding to me is if you are lying dead in a ditch somewhere... and even then it is debatable depending on how important MY problem was.

I wish I did not care about matters of the iPhone. I wish I was not a slave to technology. I wish I could break out of this prison of emojis and LOLs. I wish that one day I can be a person again who picks up the phone to talk to a person, or better yet, actually sits *gasp* FACE TO FACE WITH THEM.

THE HORROR! THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING HORROR!

The invention of texting and social media can also be blamed for the creation of a whole new type of bullying that young children have adopted. Children can hide behind their phones like pussies, calling each other whatever the fuck they want and not have to be faced with the other person's reaction on the other end of the phone. These little fucking shits are being deprived of learning basic fucking human traits like fucking empathy and compassion.

Now, I am a self-aware biddy and I, myself am guilty of some of this. I am willing to admit that I use social media and the internet to talk madddddddddd shit. Let's face it, some of the shit I say on here, I would never say in person. In fact, one may even call me a sweetheart!

Some of my most badass fights have happened over texting. Er, actually, correction... ALL of my badass fights have happened over texting. It is just so easy to call bitches out on their twattery if I have, like, ten miles between us and I am locked safely in my house, in my room,... under my strawberry shortcake down comforter...

Text fighting is bad, but text ignoring is straight up evil. I will never take part in any of that. It is just plain heartless. There is not a worse feeling in the world than waiting for someone to answer your well-thought out, well-punctuated, well-emojii'd text message. There you were, putting your heart and soul on the line only to have it trampled on, blended up, eaten, shat out and probably eaten again by some dumbass, scum-bag biddy.

Bad things happen to good biddies everyday.

So next time you get a text-message, take it fucking seriously. A biddies' feelings are on the line here. Read the fucking text and fucking respond you pieces of shit.

XOXO,
Jules

I Want the News, Not the Weather

Can we go back to our self-promoting, self-serving ways, Facebook friends of the world? I have grown so accostummed to people insisting on themselves that one may even say I am a little dependent on it. I need people to continue talking about how great their lives are. I need all of my fellow nepotism-forgetting Westchester friends to brag about their imaginary "self-made" successes.

Lately, I have been getting none of that. All these ignorant hoes have been talking about on Facebook is the goddamn weather.

Have people completely lost their fucking minds? When has the weather ever been an interesting topic to talk about? Is it not the first rule of dating that if the person you are with is completely bored and out of interesting things to talk about that they refer back to the temperature? Pretty sure it is the universal sign of boredom. So, I ask you, when did this fact go out the window? And more importantly, when did so many dumb biddies become meteorologists?

Questions, I pose them.

Quite frankly, my dears, I only need to be told that it is currently snowing outside once, not over and over by the same people. As a matter of fact, I do not need to be told at all. My house came fully equipped with these cute little things they call windows. At any given moment, on any given day, I have free range to look out these nifty little tools and see for myself what the weather is like outside.

There is no reason why girls who take duck face car selfies or boys who bring backpacks filled with Natty Ices to da club should be using "polar vortex" in a sentence, let alone in a Facebook status. Stick to what you know. I will rough it and look at my Weather dashboard, poop breath. Or maybe I can just FEEL that it is cold on my way into work that morning.

The only thing worse than the biddy meteorologists, are the fear mongering meteorologists. I will have you know that not every snowstorm is an apocalypse, not every drop of rain is a monsoon and we are actually very rarely in any kind of REAL danger when it comes to weather. I feel so numb to the fear that I do not even get scared anymore.

...okay, maybe you guys scare me a little. So, please, do me a solid and shut the fuck up?

There are better things to talk about on Facebook than the weather. Need some ideas? I have a few.

1) What you ate for breakfast.

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I welcome conversation about bagels and orange juice any time. Perhaps we can compare and contrast our cereal choices of the day. Maybe you prefer Honey Bunches of Oats but I am really down for some Kix action. This can be a safe, productive meeting of the cereal minds.

Do not get it twisted though. Things can get a little heated. They DO say the three things you should not talk about at parties are: politics, religion and cereal. Frosted Flake enthusiasts, please see yourself out.

2) Who you are sleeping with.
Not going to lie, I am always interested. I find it fascinating who people decide to have sex with, how they have sex, where they have sex and WHY they have sex. Spare me no details about your sexual endeavors. Think of Facebook as your own personal diary for me to make fun and talk shit about with everyone I know.

Coming out of the closet? I find there to be no better forum for such an occasion. Facebook is an intimate space for you to share your life with people who you probably have not spoken to since high school.

3. Which drugs you are taking.
Drugs are totally chill. Which ones are you taking? I wanna know where you got them, where you are doing them and who your current employer is. If possible, I would also like pictorial evidence of you taking part in the drug festivities. After all, I will only believe it in your badassery if I can see it with my own two eyes!!!

4. How cute your dog is.
How cute is he or she? Scale it from 1-10. Then talk about the dog non-stop, posting pictures of them in various costumes and in various poses. If your dog is ugly, do not even bother. No one wants to see that mangy little fuck.

So basically you get the idea. Talk about absolutely anything but the weather. Fuck, I would rather be talking about Afghanistan than this nonsense.

Text or call if you need ideas. That is what I am here for.

XOXO,
Jules

New Year, New Jules

New Year's Resolutions are cute, I guess.

Every year, as the end of December approaches, we come up with some really deep, insightful goals for the promising new year. The most important thing about New Year's resolutions is that we MUST share them with everybody and anybody we know. What is the point of a deep, thought-provoking New Year's resolution other than flaunting it to the entire world? We want everyone to be under the delusion that we are growing, changing and self-improving human beings! The grander the lie, the better the resolution.

Many promise others that they will stop being a fat ass. Gym memberships skyrocket during the month of January as people pretend that they are going to get off their lazy, bacon-double-cheeseburger-eating asses and venture onto the elliptical. This will last for, at most, a month, and for the people who are truly dedicated to bullshitting their peers, maybe until Valentine's Day.

I am guilty of making this specific ambitious resolution myself. In reality, the only time I have ever set foot in a gym was in college. However, once I got in there, I beelined straight to a table full of free pizza. (WHY THE FUCK DO THEY GIVE OUT PIZZA IN A FUCKING GYM?!) Hey but do not judge me, I polished off my second piece while walking it off on the treadmill. Multitasking, I do it.

Another common lie that we tell ourselves and others at the beginning of the new year is that we are going to "nicer people." Wah, wah, wah. Embrace your badness because you sure as hell are not going to change your ways because the year has changed. You are not gonna stop lying, cheating or fucking your best friend's ex on the sly. These are simple facts of life.

I remember my senior year of high school, I made a New Year's resolution to stop talking shit about people. Five minutes into the New Year I already was saying how fucking annoying all of my friends were. The best laid plans of mice and biddies...

There are few things worth striving for in the New Year but with some careful thought and consideration I came up with a few goals that I see both fit and logical. Goals and resolutions that we should all strive for as biddies of the world. Step into my office, my loyal biddy subjects.

1) I resolve to be hotter.
For too long I have accepted my fate as a basic biddy. In this ripe, new year I will strive to offend less people with my below average looks. Proactiv, facials, nose jobs and even brown paper bags are some options to choose from as the 2014 year begins! I mean, I am 23, which basically means I am somewhat over the hill. Next stop is the nursing home, so I better improve this situation sooner rather than later.

2) I resolve to be dumber.
I am way too smart for my own good. I would rather not know about shit. I would have less to worry about. Think about it! Basic bitches are always so fucking happy. Don't they get it? People are starving in Africa, dogs are being abused in Tennessee and rich kids in Connecticut did not get the Gucci sunglasses they wanted for Christmas! I want to think about these tragedies less. Ignorance is bliss, if you will.

3) I resolve to stop watching trash television.
Okay, this one is a complete joke. I just started watching Shah's of Sunset and I am not gonna stop anytime soon.

4) I resolve to make no real resolutions.
It is fucking stupid. And I am absofuckinglutely perfect the way I am.

XOXO,
Jules

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.

XOXO,
Jules

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...

NOW!

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
XOXO,
Jules

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!

XOXO,
Jules

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).

XOXO,
Jules

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