You’re Bugging Me

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After posting a semi-vulnerable blog I felt myself start to freak out a little, so I’m back on my usual path of being mean and funny and..whatever else. Recently I’ve been thinking about the types of people who bug the shit out of me. Hopefully you’re not one of them.

Here’s a little list of people who have been on my nerves lately:

People who adjust my clothing. I can’t stand when people tuck my tags in or flip my hood the right way or pick cat hairs off me. This weird nit-picky behavior is always followed by “Sorry, it was just bugging me”. Look, I’m going to tell you what my dad told me when my brother would wipe his boogers on me during long road trips: LOOK AWAY. Why does my disheveled appearance cause you such stress?? I am all for helping a bitch out if she has spinach in her teeth or toilet paper on her shoes but this shit just makes me feel like you’re on my case.

High maintenance Starbucks customers. Thinking about working at this coffee shop literally gives me the worst anxiety. As I’ve mentioned before, coffee drinkers are such dicks, plus somehow they have crafted these completely insane beverages that take like 20 minutes to order. I get the same chocolate-y, sugary shit every time and it totally sucks ass when I get stuck behind one of these freaks.

Dog owners who don’t get it. The absolute worst thing ever is when you walk by a cute dog and say “hi!” and the fucking dog owner responds. Why on earth would I excitedly say hello to a complete stranger? I’m greeting your dog, moron. I also have a habit of calling all dogs ‘puppy’ just because it’s endearing, and some people feel the need to correct me: “he’s full grown”. Okay Cesar Millan, fucking chill.

Passive aggressive fools. I think anyone with an honest and straight forward personality dislikes passive aggressiveness because it’s the opposite of honest and straight forward. I just can’t respond to it. Sometimes I park like a total dick because I’m a female driver so, whatever. The last time I did it this big fat woman announced “OH I WONDER HOW I’M GOING TO GET INTO MY CAR NOW HO HUM”. I don’t know fat ass, YOU figure it out. If you would have just asked me nicely to re-park my car I wouldn’t have minded at all, but now you’re fucked.

People who make noises instead of talking. One time I got my mom to visit me in San Francisco, and shocker of all shocks, she wanted to ride the cable car. I obliged, and once again, another fat person decided to cause me strife. Once she finally got all of her girth onto the wooden bench (the fat lady, not my mom) she grunted and groaned for the next fifteen minutes. WHAT IS THE FUCKING DEAL. It’s just like sighing, whistling, or drumming your fingers on a table. I’m just going to ignore you. USE YOUR WORDS.

Pairing your selfies with religious quotes. I mean, really.

Kardashian shit-talkers. Ok, look, I don’t expect everyone to want to keep up with the Kardashians because some people don’t even like reality TV (weird). That’s totally fine if you think they are rich, stupid, botoxed, overly made-up attention whores. I’m not going to disagree with you. It’s not like I think they’re these amazing role models, I just like to watch! BIG DEAAAAAAAL. If I want to spend 12 consecutive hours watching their show, I can. And I will. Don’t waste your precious time telling me what kind of people society thinks they are, there’s a Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami marathon on, and I’ve already blocked you out.

Googling Xanax prescriptions right now. Thanks for reading.

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Dat Ass Doe

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I didn’t even realize I had a big ass until sometime during sophomore year of high school. All of a sudden guys who had never spoken to me started lining up behind me during P.E. stretches and I got totally confused.

Up until one of my favorite latinas J.Lo really changed the perception, big butts were associated with ghetto-ness and I mean, well, being fat. Granted, rappers were singing their praises long before, but it took until the 90’s for every other race of heterosexual dude to breathe a sigh of relief and say, “Yeah I’ve always been into big asses too!”

I know I’m presenting this as some kind of research paper but I’m literally basing this on just simply being alive and watching a lot of MTV.

We all know that Jennifer Lopez really brought luscious asses into the forefront of sexy, but Kim Kardashian cranked it up a notch (love you Kim!). How do I know this? In high school I got called “J.Lo”, and in college I got called “Kim K.” Simple as that.

I am not a spicy Latina from the block, or a super sultry Armenian with a sex tape. I am a five foot tall, 100 pound, blonde, 75% white chick who happened to get some big-ass genetics. While it is much more comfortable for me to sit on the floor than it is for other people, my large derriere has been a blessing and curse in my quest for womanhood.

For one, no one really likes being gawked at. Typically it’s not too bad because my ass is behind me, so I don’t usually see people (dudes) staring at it, but trust me, I can feel their eyes. Sometimes people are pretty vocal in addition to visual, and feel the need to ask if I have butt implants or just simply yell “DAYUM THAT WHITE GIRL’S GOT A BIG OLD BUTT”.

In case you haven’t read all of my blogs, or like, met me ever, I basically LIVE in yoga pants- and while I’d have to admit that nearly any ass looks at the very least presentable in these bad boys, they make an already huge ba-donk look even bigger. Plus I’m cheap so it’s not like the yoga pants I’m buying are exactly high quality- so every time I bend over or move, I’m pretty sure the ass part is see-through.

None of my friends will ever lend me skirts, pants, short, or dresses. I’ve ripped and stretched out far too many clothes made for flat asses than I can count. Sorry, guys.

I basically live in fear of spanking.

Squats are a NECESSITY. Gravity is for mother-fucking real, people, and if a bubble butt isn’t causing me enough to worry about, a non-perky one would be the absolute WORST.

I always end up dating guys who feel the need to tell me that their “ass men”. Really? I know. Look, I am BY NO MEANS racist but I have just never really been into black guys, and I think we all know that no one loves a big ass more than a black dude. Right? Right?!?!

Knocking over things or getting stuck between things is routine. I always think I can squeeze through a tight space or crawl under my bed until I remember my ass is there. If I spin around too abruptly, my butt is certain to knock something off a low counter or potentially injure a small child.

All in all, with great ass comes great responsibility, and just like big (fake) boobs, I’m sure they’ll stop being a popular fad eventually. Since my ass is real, I’ll deal with the ghetto/fabulous/fat/delicious/whatever comments that come with it.

Even though my big butt has given me some grief, I’m overall happy that I was “blessed” with a big backside instead of a big…anything else.

Basically any time a song comes on about a girl with a big booty someone feels the need to point at me and go “YEAHHHH GIRRRLLL”, and let’s be real, what could be better than that?

My Re-Cap of Outside Lands

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It’s been a week since my first festival experience and I thought I should share it with you all. I’d like to begin by saying I talk shit about things a lot and then I do them (old guys, drugs, having a job, etc.). So you’ve probably heard me bash Outside Lands once or twice and now you’re like cool this little hipster bitch is going to share! I thought she didn’t like festivals. Well, all I can say to that is, fuck off, and I still won’t ever go to Coachella.

Here are a few things I’d like you to know:

Outside Lands is in San Francisco, which, I believe, is the greatest city in the world. However, SF is very dirty, and this 3 day shin dig is in a park. Besides the fact that you’re going to be swarmed by gross, sweating, drugged out fools in their twenties, waiting in line to piss (hopefully not poop) in a Port-O-Potty, you are straight up in the woods just kicking up dirt. My best friend and I literally blew pure black snot out of our nose and I’ve had a cough since Monday.

There are two kinds of people at Outside Lands: people who are there to take pictures, and people who are there for an “experience”. I’d like to say I’m the later, but truth be told, I think I was more of the first one. People who want to take pictures know like maybe one third of the bands that are performing, they dress cute, and they don’t roll their balls off, because what if someone tags me? Good examples of these are girls in floppy hats, Asian girls, anyone wearing anything drapey/kimonos, frat guys, and groups who are traveling in packs way too deep. People who want to have an experience are probably dressed much shittier, don’t have problems with claustrophobia, don’t shower often, and also, love drugs and a solid light show, obvi.

Being short is rough. I am a short betch, always have been. The problem is, I didn’t realized how short I was until I was at a music festival. Five hard earned feet of height doesn’t give you jack shit at a concert in the park. I literally remember seeing the top of Kanye’s head ON THE JUMBO SCREEN for like, a second, and it was pretty exciting. Typically short bitches can rely on some guy picking them up and putting them on their shoulders which is hella cute but I had a few “experience” people in my group and Molly apparently really does a number on your upper body strength. Long story short, I didn’t really see anything and I got elbowed in the face a lot.

The food is great. As you may or may not know, I am a huge hot dog fan and there was a good sausage supply at OSL (no pun intended). The cocktails, beer, and food trucks were quite satisfying and after 8 trips to the ATM machines I definitely think I got my fix.

You will only run into the people you don’t want to see. I lived in San Francisco for 5 years and I’d like to think I made a decent amount of friends during that time. Did I see any of them? Nope. Just people I’ve had awkward encounters with, old coworkers that I definitely drunkenly talked shit to, an ex, and some guy who swore we met before and I had no idea who he was. The only person I really was hoping to bump into was Kim K but dare to dream, right.

I would highly recommend Outside Lands Music Festival to anyone who has strong stamina, a good drug dealer, and likes feeling like a sardine. Tall people might also like it. I got some cute pictures out of it, saw (listened) to Mr. Kardashian kill it, and ate some delicious hot dogs with my best friends.

Would I do it again? Probs not, but what did you expect from me really?

Count Yo’ Blessings

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My mom is one of those people who meditates and buys crystals, so she’s frequently telling me ways to be a better, more centered person. One of her go-to tips is to make a list of things I’m grateful for. I’ve never taken the time to do it, and to be honest, it’s not really my style, so instead I made a list of things I’m happy I don’t have. Close enough.

1. Community college experience. I was basically miserable all through high school, ready and eager to move on to the next chapter of my life. Community college seemed like dragging high school on even further, and I knew I would hate it. I made an effort to avoid that option at all costs (literally, all costs, I am 60 grand in the hole). Most people I know who gave community college a shot completely hated it and didn’t even make an attempt to finish or transfer anywhere else. I know that it can breed some very successful results, but in general I think it creates a lot of lazy people who dislike the education system and would rather just work at Home Depot. Going away to a 4 year university was without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I’m so glad I had that experience over anything else.

2. Since we’re on the college topic, I’d also like to say how happy I am that I never felt any desire to be a sorority girl.  I have always been insanely put off by the big groups of identical looking chicks with Greek letters everywhere assessing if you are pretty enough to pay to be friends with them. Weird, right?

3. Height. Jokes and stupid observations aside, I actually really like being short. I am whopping 5 feet even and I don’t mind. Being short makes plane rides much more comfortable, I can shop in the kid’s section, and I look really cute sitting on a bar stool. I usually just need a tall person around to get things off shelves for me.

4. Rich parents. I will be forever grateful to the young couple who watched a much shorter, wide eyed Kaley look into the Barbie aisle with longing and simply say: “If you want that shit you have to buy it yourself.” My parents taught me the value of the dollar, and hard work. When I was 17 my dad asked me point blank why I was still living in his house. I worked my entire way through college and drove the biggest piece of shit car around for years without complaint. I definitely don’t have my finances together, but I am far from lazy, and even farther from unappreciative. I still know plenty of kids my age who don’t know how to pay a bill. I am an independent woman! Thanks Mom and Dad for always keeping it real and making me do chores.

5. Big boobs. I proudly rock a 32 A cup a week before my menstrual cycle, which usually makes Victoria’s Secret employees look at me like a shelter dog, but joke’s on them because I can run up and down stairs or jump on a trampoline with complete freedom. My shirts never get stretched out, and I haven’t worn a bra to work in like two weeks.  I am actually secure enough to rock my teeny tits without feeling the need to stuff them full of silicone and pray for guys to pay attention to me. Crazy shit.

6. An addictive personality. I’m not even talking drugs or alcohol here. We all know those people who just get obsessed with shit and it becomes all they can talk/post about. Like, I’m sure crossfit is really cool and all but shut the fuck up. I am a big believer in “everything in moderation”. I mean that lady on the radio died from drinking too much water. Chill out.

7. A coffee habit. While I will indulge in the occasional frappacino for the sugar and chocolate rush, I absolutely hate caffeinated beverages, coffee specifically. I think it smells like shit, it makes your teeth yellow, and coffee drinkers are literally the worst. They are the real drug pushers, ok- they’re always up early all twacked out mumbling about their French press, trying to get you to go to bistros with them and shit.

8. Horrible taste in music. While some people may think that The Smiths and Prince qualify as crap, I absolutely despise country, EDM, electro-whatever the fuck- basically any type of music that attracts big ugly festivals with big ugly outfits. You couldn’t pay me to spend even one hour listening to some ugly guy in bedazzled jeans sing about PBR or spend 3 days straight rolling my face off in Vegas while rubbing on people in fuzzy boots. I’m gonna have to say this is a positive.

9. Republican values. I mean, I don’t think I should have to explain this, but I did grow up in East County. I actually care about the people in my country, I think they should have health care. I think women should be able to do what they want with THEIR bodies, I don’t think rich old crusty white guys from the South should tell me what to do, I completely disagree with war and violence of any kind, and I fucking love gay people. So, there’s that. Oh and I voted for Obama. Twice.

10. A husband and babies.  Duh! You knew this was coming. I don’t even have to say anything.

So if you’re like me and you suck at counting your blessings, look around at things in the world that you don’t like and say “I DON’T WANT THAT!” It made me feel better.

Bitch Tactics Volume III

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“Just Say No”

Maybe it’s because I have a tendency to date people pleasers or because I got so used to hearing that I wasn’t tall enough to go on Disney rides for far too long growing up, but I have a strong, unyielding passion for the word “no”. So many people are afraid to say no, afraid to hurt someone’s feelings, afraid to turn down a date or a drink, afraid to miss a shift, blah blah blah. I’m not saying that I like doing any of these things, but a number one bitch move you should implement into your daily life is the word NO.

I work at a pretty nice Steakhouse downtown. I’d prefer to not say the name because I’d like to keep working there, but anyway, as the hostess I run the front of the restaurant and answer the phones. Most of the places I’ve hosted at are pretty nice, I guess, but it’s safe to say they’d let any old putz walk in. Steakhouses have standards; steakhouses are snobby, and you know what, I like it. Want to make a reservation the day before Valentine’s Day? No. Walk-ins on a Saturday at 7:30? No. You want to sit in a booth but you didn’t request one? No. Walked in straight off the street in fucking shorts and sandles? No no no.

When I was working in rinky-dink service industry establishments I had to say yes to fucking everything, and it blows. The customer is not always right and you can’t have everything you want FOOL.

Saying “no” implies that you are not a fake ass bitch. You know what you want, and even more importantly, you know what you don’t want.

I went on a vacation to Hawaii recently, and let’s just say, I’m not super outdoorsy. The first day was filled with way too many hikes and I was seriously struggling. I am not one to spoil a vacation but sometimes you have to know your limits. I do not want to stray from the marked trails. I do not want to get in the water. I do not want to jump off a fucking cliff. I came to terms with the fact that I am not as cool and edgy as Mila Kunis in Forgetting Sarah Marshall and that’s just fine! If you don’t want to do a gnarly hike on an island say NO. I said no so many times that I spend the entire next day drinking pina coladas. Yes please.

I am all for picking up an extra shift or two if you really need cash, but think about the precedent you are setting by saying “yes” to shifts. I like to set the bar low and just start off saying no. I don’t even say lame lies like “it’s my boyfriend’s birthday” or “I have to work at my other job” or “I’m drunk!” I literally just say no. Seriously, just text back: no. They might not ever ask you again. This goes hand in hand with working over time or on weekends, and contributing during staff meetings.

I don’t want to present myself as a regulation hottie who just gets picked up constantly but being a short blonde with a nice butt does get me occasional male attention. I’m sure you’ve picked up from my other blogs that this is actually something I don’t enjoy. The other day I was at the street fair and some fat drummer asked if I wanted to get drinks with him after he was done playing. I just looked around confused and said “No.” This fucking guy actually had the nerve to ask me ‘why not?’ which hardly ever happens. So I just left. Trust me, a cold hard no will usually make guys look confused as hell and they’ll just walk away.

For a short time when I was in a relationship, I didn’t say no super often (That makes it sound like I did anal, but what I mean is that I just really liked my boyfriend and wanted to make him happy). However, when slutty ass bitches creep on your man, you are more than welcome to say no. Ohhhh you want to hang out with your recently single female coworker because she’s feeling sad? That’s gonna be a no.

I was at a horrendous bar in PB when an equally horrendous trash bag pushed by me to rub up on my boyfriend and squeal OMG I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER. This hoe didn’t even get a chance to introduce herself (ha, like she was ever going to do that) before I pushed her back about 50 yards yelling NO NO NO NO.

Sluts get nos. That’s just how it works. Don’t waste time trying to be the “cool girlfriend” (again, Mila Kunis, so overrated) when you’re gonna sit at home being pissed for something you could have prevented.

The point I’m trying to make here is that a true bitch doesn’t do things that she doesn’t want to. We all have to suck it up in the name of fun from time to time, but if you sincerely don’t want to do something, or don’t like something that is happening- say no.

A lot of people tell me that I’ll regret this behavior. The dances I missed, the dates I denied, the stupid parties I chose a bath over instead. But so far, I don’t regret a thing. So just, no.

 

You Wanna Go To a Real Party?

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I strongly believe that Pinterest is one of God’s greatest gifts to the world. It is an amazing way to learn, craft, grow, and all around waste precious time. Whether or not you ever make that chevron wall décor or lemon Cajun pasta, you THOUGHT about it! You clicked on a picture of it thinking, I’m gonna make that! Think about how much time we spend creeping on people we don’t like on Facebook instead of looking at all the shit in the world we can make gold with spray paint. It’s a much more positive way to spend your time.

There is one minor…issue, if you will, with Pinterest that always finds a way to interrupt my daily scrolling. Wedding shit. I know what you’re thinking, ‘here Kaley goes again, we get it, this bitch doesn’t like weddings’.

Sure, fine, you got me. But that’s not entirely it. When I was blissfully ignorant in my last relationship even I was guilty of falling victim to the wedding board. However, even clouded by the haze of happy coupledom, I noticed something…something…wrong. Rustic weddings.

Rustic weddings are this weird, trendy thing people are actually doing, not just pinning. I don’t really know the rules, but basically it’s like an arts and crafts wedding in the shrubs. Everything is made out of either a chalk board, pieces of wood, or burlap. All the guys wear these ugly vests and there’s succulents as the main display. SUCCULENTS.

Look, I totally get it. You get engaged, you and your BFF go Pinterest crazy, you see all this DIY burlap shit that is just so alternative and boho, and you just know you can convince your maid of honor to make all of these rhyming wood signs in her cute writing. You can totally get her to decorate a wagon.

Here’s the thing: it looks cheap as fuck. You don’t look like Briar Rose doing forest life chic, you look poor. I know your eyes are watering right now and you’re thinking, ‘but Kaley, I am poor!’ I know that, and you probably shouldn’t be getting married if that’s the case.

If I got invited to a rustic wedding I just feel like I’d be itchy the whole time, like I’d be sitting on hay during the ceremony. Then the bride is gonna come out in some lacey, loose dress looking like Dumbledore in a doily caring a bouquet of weeds. Wrapped in burlap. What do we eat afterward, squirrel? Dance around to the lovely sounds of a harmonica and banjo?  Are we drinking moonshine? Stop it, people.

Weddings are like proms. They are outdated, irrelevant, and you take a LOT of pictures. It doesn’t matter if you had a good time or not, you’re going to show these pictures to your children someday. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from having parents who got married in the 80’s, it’s not to rely too heavily on the fashion trends of your generation. If you actually want to put these pictures up in your house, it’s better to go for a classic look. By classic I mean timeless, not “Age of Aquarius meets Wine Country”.

totally blame Pinterest for the rustic wedding craze. I like mason jars just as much as the next girl but Jesus I’m not going to theme a party around it. I don’t even like the word rustic, it makes me think of, well, rust. Why would you want the word RUST associated with your “special day”? I’m just picturing all the groomsmen trying to grow out bushy beards for a rustic wedding. UGHHHH.

To all of my engaged friends who haven’t removed me from their guest lists yet, please don’t have a rustic wedding. I’d actually like to hook up with someone at one of these things, and Paul Bunyan is so not my type.