I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.   The women in my life are AMAZING.

They are beautiful, educated, independent and talented.    They are getting their masters degrees, becoming doctors, are amazing writers, and sing better than anyone on YouTube.   They handle 2 rowdy boys under the age of 6, make the most amazing chicken kelaguin, and still manage to pay mortgage by themselves.   They are the girls you’ve always want to befriend.  

And yet, despite all these amazing things, the women I know – myself included – never fail to act a fool.

I’m not talkin’ about pushing a girl at the bar and starting a fight over nothing.  I’m not talking about stealing a pair of sunglasses from the local department store.  And I’m not talking about flashing titties to a bathroom full of drunk strangers.  We know better than that. 

I’m talking about other things like starting a fight with our boyfriend for no godamn reason other than to do so.   Or spotting our crush at the club on a Thursday night and turning right back around and running to the bathroom.   Even making our way to a birthday party for the sole reason that we’re curious to check out a girl we don’t even know… only to get there and freak the fuck out.  

So we act like we’re in the fifth grade and give people nicknames like “My Nose Ate My Lip” and “Boots with the Fur”.  And instead of kissing our crushes we’re literally pushing and punching them.   Instead of replacing the asshole who just left us with another one,  we travel accross the border and find a cuddle buddy — to just CUDDLE with.  Whom we text on the dance floor all night instead of allowing a handsome and successful man fly us to LA.  Instead of busting out a lying douchebag  about his girlfriend, we take what they say (or don’t say) for face value and convince ourselves that its ok… cuz WE AIN’T MAD ATCHA.  And instead of letting our balls hang loose, we let them shrivel up into our vaginas.   Thats riiiiiiight,  we still have one of those. 

This is why I believe that God must be a man.   Despite all of this amazingness, He makes sure to keep our asses in check with a lil bit of foolishness.  And a heart.  And a monthly period.  It’s cool, God.  I ain’t mad atcha.

I ain’t mad at my girls either.   And since its quite entertaining, I suppose I’ll let you have a vagina for another five seconds.   After that, I’ll leave you all with something Hayati sent me.

endless mimosas on a sunday with my gals equal lots of catching up, lightweight shit talking, and raunchy conversations.   after hearing story after story on whats going on in their lives, their friends lives, their enemies lives (cuz facebook makes everyone a stalker), and beyond — i got to thinking.

i knew the chase was important, but i failed to realize that for some people, the chase is all consuming.   and for some girls, its not about chasing dick, its about chasing love.  but sometimes they dont see the difference between the two (its a twisted state of conciousness, i know).

i heard the story of a gal who chased her dude to different cities across the country in hopes of staying with him.   mind you, he never invited her out, never made it clear that he wanted it to work with her.  she has convinced herself inside and out that he is the one.   she feels as if she’s found the love of her life, when he’s just along for the ride.   and she’s probably fuckin’ him even though he has a girlfriend or loaning him money cuz “he only trusts you”… please.  it’s not that he’s lying to her, but more that she’s lying to herself.

or how about the guy who’s crushed on the same girl for twenty seven months.   sent her roses on her birthday, whisper sweet nothings into her ear, buy her drinks at the bar, hugs her too tight and flirts with her every chance he gets.   then he fucks her and he’s in love. AHA!  success! and because women can’t separate sex from their feelings, she falls in love too….  except she really falls in love and he really falls in lust.  although it took twenty seven months to get into her pants, it takes him twenty seven minutes to tell her that it ain’t workin.   why?   cuz she’s been conquered and there’s another bitch to chase.

don’t hate the playa, hate the game. actually, hate the chase.

i know i’m making gross generalizations about men and women, and not all women are stupid and not all men are assholes (Reptar, i’m talkin’ to you) but for the sake of argument, humor me for just a second.  there has to be at least ONE person in your life that fits the shoe, right?   thats what i thought.

they call it “falling in love” cuz that’s exactly what you do… FALL.  you don’t chase, you don’t lead, you don’t follow, you don’t jump, you fucking FALL.   the only things that are meant to be chased are money and the ice cream truck.   love ain’t a trophy and neither is your heart.

like they say, “you will always lose money chasin’ bitches, but you will never lose bitches chasin’ money”  i’m just sayin.

You probably think this post is about you. ….

I just realized I haven’t posted anything since the 3rd!  Too long, too long…  But I wanted to touch on a subject that seems to be a part of my daily conversations lately  — when people (or more specifically, girls) think that everything is always about her.

I know you see it.  Those guys on your Twitter feed that do nothing other than tweet about hoes, money, and everything LV.   Really?  You’re about 4’8″ and single — big surprise there!   Or the girl who SWEARS you hate her, but you have no idea who the hell she is?!  Nor do you care.   Or your ex-girlfriend who likes to think you posted those pictures on your fb to make her jealous, when really, it was just a drunken good time.    

*Sigh* Don’t it make u wanna backhand a bitch?  lol.   

It’s one thing to talk a big talk and realize exactly how much you’re worth.  Its one thing to create your own hype and know you deserve it.  It’s another thing to be so self-absorbed and oblivious to anyone else around you.    PLEASE stop telling me what you used to do in wherever it is you came from.  What are you doing now?  Cuz if I hear you call me “Joe” one more time, I’m gonna LOSE IT.   

Put down your mirror and get over yourself, Thanks. 

Thats all.    I promise to  come up with a post-worth blog soon as I’m inspired.

next to the Mr. Me Too’s, and the Single White Females, i’d like to introduce a new member of the brat pack…. everybody meet — Can I Kick It?  (yes, you can!)

they seem to be everywhere, and every group of friends has at least one.   that one person who no one really wants to hang with, but tolerates because there’s really no valid reason to dislike the dude.   there’s always that side busta that thinks he belongs but really doesnt. the guy that always seems to invite himself places where he wasn’t sposed to be. u know, the ones who never fail to call u and ask, “Can I kick it?”

don’t get me wrong… we don’t hate Can I Kick It.    Actually, we consider him to be a little more than just an acquaintance, and will gladly accept the invitation to hang out should any of our other real friends be busy and we don’t wanna eat alone.   and its not as if he’s not nice, or lightweight funny, or smells bad or anything.  he just.. kind of… sucks.  at life. 

Can I Kick It seems to always keep himself out of the “real homie” zone due to his 1) utter annoyance 2) total inappropriateness and 3) being less cool than he thinks he is.  

“Jobin!  I’ll see you later or I’ll see you another time.”   crickets.  tumbleweed.  crickets. 

and although possibly inadvertantly, Can I Kick It always says shit to us like we’re thisclose, when its more like  t   h  i  s    c  l  o  s  e.   But maybe he thinks we are thatclose cuz we let him.  Cuz we’re nice enough to let him kick it, when really, we just wanna duct tape his hands to his mouth and hide him in the closet.

urgh. we need to stop being so nice.

and even tho NO ONE laughs at his jokes,  or offers him a ride to the club (like his cheap ass would buy a round of drinks anyway), or wants to eat out with him, or doesnt even wanna share a room with him on vacay cuz he’s only tolerable in small incriments… homie just DOESN’T GET IT.

maybe he’s delusional, maybe he’s just plain stupid, or maybe he really thinks we are his friends.  either way, maybe we should stop entertaining it or stop complaining about it…  just tell him he cant come, OR just shut up and take one for the team.

next time you see me with a pen in my right eye tho, you know which alternative i chose.

sometimes i wonder why men and women cant understand each other, and then realize we have different vernacular.   we say one thing when we mean another and shit never makes sense.  

so to clear shit up, here’s a few words from the dicktionary.

1.  uh huh, sure.
when he says it– i’m not paying attention to what you’re saying but i want to get you to shut up.  (later followed with,  “but you never told me that!”)
when we say it — usually accompanied with rolling of the eyes, it usually means that we dont believe you but i dont wanna argue.  so fine.  see also, “whatever. and fine” 

2. wanna do me a favor? 
when he says it — wanna suck me up?
when we say it — wanna do me a favor?  (please note that when asking for favors, we do not expect to reciprocate one. just sayin)

3.  just a little bit.  just the tip.
— fellas, when is it EVER JUST THE TIP?  jesus christ. 

4.  thats fine with me
when he says it– amazingly, this really means that its fine with him. 
when we say it — this is a tricky one.   depending on context and tone, we could really be fine with it, or we could be lying.   beware.  

5.  whatever you want.
when he says it– really, whatever you want
when we say it — muthafucka you better pick whatever i want.

6. go ahead, do what you like.
when he says it — you better make it up to me later.
when we say it — you better not even think about it!  dont speak it!  do not utter another breathe about it! 

 7.  i’m sleepy
when he says it –  i’m sleepy
when we say it — i dont wanna have sex.   (also used, “my face hurts, i have work in the morning,”  etc)

8.  wow, your dress.
when he says it — nice tits/ass, lets have sex.
when we say it — that is the ugliest shit i’ve seen in my life. 

9.  5 minutes
when a man says it – 5 minutes.
when we say it – half an hour. or however long it takes me to perfect my fucking eyeliner.

10.  Whats wrong with me?  NOTHING.
when he says it –  nothing’s wrong with him.  we’re trippin.   stop being so paranoid
when we say it — oh good god do not believe us.   nothing is something but we think ur psychic and you should know.  this argument usually ends in “fine”.  or “whatever”. 

and there u go.   please be advised that the above is used solely for comedic purposes and should in no way be referred to when in an argument with your significant other, and while sometimes true there are women who do not follow the rule.  yours truly, for example.    =)

until next time!

unfollowing twitter-whores = so necessary.   just a little ditty i posted on Hellz’ blog yesterday.

the one thing i love about the Hellz blog is that its very personal.  it brings its readers like you and me, past the brand, past the kick ass line, past the “industry”, and into the lives of the people behind the brand.   its always personal, always original, and always authentic.

for instance, you know that our crazy-desktop-doting-dear MissLawn got surprised with a trip to Hawaii for her and Bam’s (a.k.a. the hubby of the year! fella’s did u take note?) anniversary.  you also know that  Brittany has a bff named Spoon and dont eat meat.  and if you want Mink to eat in your cafe, be nice and dont post rude, fobby messages on the window or you’ll find your self blasted all over the internet.   shit, i bet that place is closing down soon.  

my point is, you get that understanding of WHO as opposed to WHAT.  

with the popularity of twitter and tumblr soaring thru the roof and the re-blog vs retweet feature that people so highly adore, i’ve seen an insurgence of “blogs” that are — quite frankly– bullshit.    living in a generation of internet-savvy and opinionated young people, my phone and computer have been bombarded with “i took a mean shit today”, RT RevRunWisdom:,  and this annoying girl giving me a play-by-play on her day– ALL OF WHICH I COULD GIVE A FLYING RAT’S ASS ABOUT.

don’t get me wrong, quotes are great, i use them all the time.  i wanted to cry the first time i got reblogged.  Rev Run is AMAZING and sometimes, things are so powerful, so funny, or so insanely true that they HAVE to be retweeted.   but if you consistantly base your blog on your reblog, retweet, and cosign of  other people’s shit,  then your url is just a waste of internet space.  

and then u wonder why you dont have any followers.???   no one needs more fat to chew.   create something with sustenace and people will listen.  i’m on a mission to make blogging personal again. 

and i knooooow i aint the only one on board when i say.. 
BLOGGERS OF AMERICA!!!   IF WE DONT KNOW ABOUT WHO YOU ARE, WE WON’T CARE ABOUT WHAT YOU LIKE!     

word.

after reading Jess’ post on being an outcast, it got me thinking. and while jess may have considered herself an outcast, looking back, i consider my former self to be a fake.

i guess it has to do with my need to feel accepted.   i’m a sagittarius – which means i’m a people pleaser, amiable, and uber fun.   growing up i wanted to be freakin kelly kapowski (i was obsessed with saved by the bell) — cool, popular, and pretty.  but going to an all-girls catholic high school did some  crazy things to my self-esteem.

i was hated on.  BIG TIME. catholic school girls are CATTY LIKE A MUTHAFUCKA.  and not only was my school small (400 students total) but we had nothing better to do than to talk shit about each other.  for one reason or another, wether it be my ex bf, my current bf, my style,  my intelligence…  girls hated me.   and i hated being hated.   

 so then i wanted for them to like me, but i tried too hard.   when all the girls wore Lugz, i couldnt afford em.  and i didnt wanna ask my parents to buy em for me cuz they was already payin $5000/year for tuition.   so i saved my allowance and bought me the next best thing — sketchers.   but i still wasnt cool enough.  not in the least. 

 i wanted to be everything i wasnt….  so i lost a little weight, grew my hair out, got my braces off and became everything i swore i would never be.

i became a hater.   the thing about being an upperclassman, is that you ALWAYS had the lower classmen to pick on.   i musta made numerous girls cry….   u know that girl who talks about your outfit within earshot?   that was me.  (wait, that still is me, fml)

i became everything my “girlfriends” were.   i started doing the things they did, wearing the things they wore.  pretending to be someone i wasnt was becoming easy… until it wasnt.  it became hard to fake the funk.   i did what i wanted and then turned around and lied to my friends about it for fear of their reaction.   i was afraid of what they thought of me., of what they would say.  i was TERRIFIED of being real.  (how sad is that?!)

it may have been my delusional view on our friendship (maybe they didnt care what i did, but u coulda fooled me from all the shit talking they did about it), or maybe it was just me tryna break away from it all.   but it all caught up to me….  i couldnt fake it.  and i had faked myself for so long that i didnt even know how to go back to being REAL.

and when all my “friends” decided they didnt wanna be friends anymore and i had no one left to judge me but myself, i spent a long long long time searching my soul and figuring ME out.   i dont blame them, i wouldnt have wanted to be my friend either.  they taught me a lot about myself, about who i wanted to be, and about how (not) to be a friend.   cant be mad at that.

and now that i’ve manifested a strong sense of identity, and now that i can say “thats my shit” and mean it… i look around and realize that i have become more than my former self wanted to be.  MY LIFE IS FUCKING GRAND. cuz real talk, the real me is going farther than the fake me ever dreamed about.

the word “bitch” no longer phazes me.  i say it about myself all the time.  I AM A BITCH.   and unfriendly to boot.  how i managed to make any friends is beyond my comprehension.

just in the last day or so i’ve heard the following :

(from a good friend on our high school interaction) “i can’t believe you came to my house tho.  you were a bitch!  i was scared of you”

(from my nbf while watching GLEE) “why are girls named rachel bitches?  even in fiction!”

(from my bff while chatting on fb) “why my best friends gotta be bitches?  you are the meanest, yet nicest person i’ve ever known” 

(from my girlfriend before she moved) “Rachel? she’s not very friendly but she is a good friend.”

and then i heard the following:  

(from a friend while aiming at work) ” i dont think you’re a bitch at all.   i think you just dont like being taken advantage of”

(from my son’s godfather) “i used to never like you. you used to be such a bitch.  but you’ve changed a lot and now you’re one of my favorites”

(from someone i’ve only known for a little bit) “you’ve totally proven me wrong about you.  you’re not a bitch at all. i mean you are, but not the way i thought u were.” 

(from my bff) “you just can’t be mean to the people you care about.  you care too much. “

well aint that but a bitch.?! 

am i losing my bitchiness?  losing my edge?   i think its quite possible, but i can honestly say that i have never been happier or more comfortable to meet new people or to reconnect with old ones.  [espeically when i thought she was a bitch and she thought i was a bitch but turns out we’re SOOO MEANT TO BE FRIENDS *ahem, Jess*]

but real talk, it really surprised me.  i’ve accepted my “bitch” title for sooo long and to hear people tell me that i’m not, is kind of shocking.  kind of nice.  so maybe i have changed, and maybe i am a little nicer and thats ok too cuz i can’t tell you how GRAND life has been since i started smiling at people….

but i can tell you that i’m still the girl who will pull her friend by the hand and say “let me help you with your outfit” as i get her out of that GROSS top.  i’m still the girl who will take a pic of the really big girl wearing a really small dress in vegas and post it on facebook.   yeah, thats me.  and yeah, yeah, i know.  i’m a bitch.  =)