I’m Not “All About the Base” – Let’s Stop the Girl on Girl Hate

I’m tired of people accusing me of ‘stealing their culture’ simply because I’m nothing more than a white girl with a big ass. Look, black people, brown people and any other people…you didn’t invent big asses. You know who invented big asses? Saturated fats and the girls that love them.

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The first time I realized that I had a big ass was when I was 12 years old. I was at a rec center dance, when a high school boy looked at me, smiled and said ‘baby got back’. I had no idea what the hell he meant. At the time, I thought he was talking about my friend Kelly’s back brace. She had scoliosis. I thought he was making fun of her, so I kicked him in the nut sack.

I’m pretty sure his left testicle still hasn’t come back down.

I’ve always had a big ass and I’ve never had a problem with that. Even when I was young, and very heavy, I looked in a mirror and still thought I was pretty. To me, the world was more than the way I looked. I guess that comes from being a very smart person with extremely supportive parents. I’ve never really been ashamed of my body and I’ve never really felt the need to make other girls feel bad about themselves.

I hear a lot about body shame. I hear a lot of girls claim that they’re insecure because they’re too skinny, too fat, oddly shaped, whatever. Then, I hear them blame those insecurities on men.

Ladies, that’s bullshit. It isn’t about being fat or thin. It isn’t about being pear shaped or hourglass. It’s about you stopping all this girl on girl hate and knowing that cutting other chicks down doesn’t somehow make you better.

I used to have this friend named Susan. Initially, I thought she was a nice chick.  Then, I slowly started to realize that she was a manipulative bitch. It started out slowly, with her cutting down everything about me. “Oh, your arms flap a little when you wave, like my grandma’s,” or “you have great skin, but you should really consider getting a nose job.”

At first, I thought she was being helpful. See, as an extremely secure person, it takes me a long time to understand that I’m being insulted. I didn’t even understand why she would insult me. After all, I’d always been nice to her.

Here’s the real deal. At one time in her life, Susan was a beauty queen in her own eyes. Over the years, after a couple of kids and a few depressing incidents, she’d put on a couple of pounds. She no longer got the daily flattery that she used to from men. When we went out together, while I got drinks bought for me and phone numbers handed to me, she got ignored. That made her pissy.

I didn’t understand why. She already had it all. She had a great house, a great career, a couple of kids that were pretty awesome and a handsome husband who loved her. I didn’t understand why a few dirt bags, handing me their numbers pissed her off so much.

Then I realized she was suffering from ‘female competition syndrome’. This is a syndrome that some women suffer from, where they put all their value on their looks, and choose to cut down women who are ‘winning’ in order to make themselves feel better.

The ironic thing was I always thought Susan was beautiful. She had great hair, beautiful eyes and a wonderful smile. I kind of wished I looked like her. That was, until I saw how ugly she was on the inside.

Her own low self esteem made her choose to participate in some serious girl on girl hate. Every secret I’d ever shared with her got shared with everyone else and I learned that her biggest hobby was talking about me behind my back.

I’ve been hurt a lot in my life. I had a middle school bully who berated me every day on the bus for six months. I have a dad who ignores me and a baby’s daddy who left me. Every time I post a new blog post, I’m getting at least one piece of hate mail. I can personally guarantee I’ll get an email calling me a fat bitch by midnight tonight.

Out of all those times, the only time I’ve really been hurt was when I found out what Susan was really like. That was painful. It wasn’t painful because she didn’t like the way I looked or even the way I acted. It was painful because she was someone I thought I could trust, when it turned out, she was just using everything she knew about me to get attention, so she could make herself feel better.

Ladies, it isn’t ‘all about the base’. You don’t need to ‘have back’. The fact is, as women, we decide the beauty trends. We decide what’s beautiful. Most men are just standing around, with their limp dicks in their hands, waiting for the next thing to masturbate to.

Men aren’t giving us body issues. We’re giving each other body issues with this nonstop competition. It’s not enough to say “it’s ok to be chubby” instead, we say “it’s better to be chubby and all you skinny girls can suck it, because we can’t validate ourselves without putting someone else down.”

This girl on girl hate needs to stop. We don’t choose our body types. I didn’t develop a big ass to annoy black girls. I was born this way. You don’t get to pick your body type. Instead, you live with it. But insulting other girls who are different from you, whether they be thin or thick, isn’t empowering. Instead, it just makes us ALL look like insecure bitches.

So here’s a suggestion. Accept who you are without feeling the need to put anyone else down. There is no one perfect shape. Different strokes for different folks and all that. Stop ‘skinny shaming’ or ‘fat shaming’ every girl who is different from you and concentrate on yourself. It isn’t about race and it isn’t about weight. It’s about self acceptance.

Deal with it without being a cunt.


How to Give a Movie Recommendation – or WWEBD?

My brother is a pro at giving movie recommendations. This is because he has good taste and he’s not an idiot. Let me give you an example of the last time he gave me a movie recommendation.

 

Brother – Hey, you know what you should watch? Zero Dark Thirty.

Me – ok

Brother – <Hangs up the phone>

 

That’s it. He doesn’t give me an entire goddamn summary of the movie.  He doesn’t try to reenact a scene. He just says “I think you’ll like this” and lets it go.

Believe it or not, a lot of you fuckers don’t seem to have this skill. For some reason, you see something you like in a movie and then immediately think “hey, you know what? My buddy Essa would like this. I’m going to give her a call and provide her with a long, rambling, barely coherent description of the scene. That way, when she eventually sees this movie, all the fun will be completely sucked out of it for her.”

The earliest I can remember this happening was with the movie “Dude, Where’s My Car?” The scene in question was a scene that most people find hilarious, where the two guys are trying to order at a drive through and the cashier won’t let them finish. Most people crack up when they watch this scene. Not me. It has been forever ruined thanks to one idiot named Eric.

See, Eric is one of those people who is under the mistaken impression that he’s hilarious, when he’s really not. That was just fine with me… right up until he gave the below description of the drive through scene.

“Oh god, it was so hilarious. You really have to see it. The first guy was trying to order food and the lady at the register… no, wait, it was a drive through… the lady as the drive through was all like “and then?” And the guy, he just kept ordering more stuff. Or maybe it was his friend ordering more stuff? <Starts cracking up hysterically like he is the very embodiment of George Carlin> And then, the lady was like ‘and then’ again and the guy was getting madder and madder, but she just kept saying ‘and then’ over and over again…<goes on for another 10 minutes, saying ‘and then’ in a very poor Asian accent>”

Nothing about the above description is remotely funny. It removes all humor from the scene by removing all instances of comedic timing, voice inflection and character reaction. When I watched it in the theater later on, as everyone laughed their asses off around me, I sat there, blank look on my face, without cracking a smile.

To top it off, Eric was with me (yes, he considered “Dude, Where’s My Car?” enough of a cinematic masterpiece to see it twice in the theater.) When the scene came up, I could feel him looking at me repeatedly to see if I was laughing too.

That’s another one of my pet peeves when watching a movie with someone, especially someone who has given me the recommendation in the first place.  Stop watching me to see my reaction and watch the goddamn movie instead. You peaking over every 12 seconds, as you chuckle hysterically, trying to make sure I see the hilarity of whatever piece of shit you recommended to me, is distracting and annoying.

Even worse is when someone keeps telling you about a movie or TV show that you have no desire to watch at all. Again, take a page out of my brother’s book on this one.

 

Brother – Hey Essa, you know what show you’d probably like? Banshee.

Me – I did enjoy it briefly, but found the sex scenes exploitive and unnecessary

Brother – <hangs up the phone>

 

What can I say? My brother is a busy motherfucker. He also knows, because I have already indicated this is a program I would not enjoy, that he does not need to spend 45 minutes trying to convince me by summarizing the entire plotline. He doesn’t give a shit. He suggested it and let it go. It’s not like he has a vested interest in whether or not I watch “Banshee.” He doesn’t have money riding on it. He’s not getting kickbacks from the show. He just knows what I like, offered the recommendation, and moved on.

Now, let’s try this again with my buddy Eric.

 

Eric – Hey Essa, you know what show you’d like? Wilfred.

Me – I have attempted to watch the show, but did not enjoy it.

Eric – But you’d love it! It’s really your kind of humor. See, there’s this guy, and he’s bipolar. Or maybe he’s depressed? Hold on, let me IMDB it. <Five minutes of frustrated clicking> Yeah, he’s depressed. Anyway, his neighbor has this dog, but the depressed guy, he thinks it’s just a man wearing a dog costume and…

Me – <hangs up the phone>

 

When giving a recommendation, whether it be for TV or movies, take a page out of my brother’s book. Ask yourself “WWEBD” or “What would Essa’s brother do?” Hell, I even made a flowchart to help.

flowchart

What I don’t need is you describing scenes or summarizing the plotline. I have the internet for that, and those people actually know what they’re doing. Your bumbling attempts to garner my interest are actually making me less interested.

I’m usually pretty good at picking out my own shows. I’m a bit of a movie buff and a professional movie reviewer to boot. I know what I like and I don’t need your help. But if you absolutely must make a movie recommendation to me, ask yourself ‘WWEBD?” beforehand to avoid pissing me off.


Science is the Closest Thing to Magic… Not Facebook Chain Posts

Magic is something that has appealed to people for centuries, simply because it has the potential to give us something for nothing. Want to make money? Buy this stupid bag of rocks. Want to fall in love? Here, drink this snake oil. Everything you want will come to you; all your dreams will come true, as long as you’re willing to pay the low, low price of $9.95 to buy these magic rocks on Etsy.

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I bring this up because I woke up to a Facebook stream FULL of images from people forwarding chain posts. I checked my email and found a few more forwarded emails telling me if I sent them to all my friends, I’d be a millionaire by nightfall.

To all my chain mail forwarding friends, I’m going to explain the evolution of a chain email one more time. Hopefully, if I do it in children’s story form, someone will catch on.

 

Once upon a time in the land of Nigeria,

A scam artist wanted to spread his scam like bacteria

The problem he had, which he had to resolve

Was finding a way to get his email contacts to evolve

 

As a poor northern boy, with very few friends

He didn’t have the contacts to meet his evil ends

He needed a way to get emails enmass

Without wasting time or wasting his gas

 

So he came up with a plan on how to begin

His potential victims would do the gathering for him

He wrote up a letter, promising fortune and fame

And in the ‘BCC’ hid his very own name

 

They need not send money or do any work

They just had to press a button and act like a jerk

Sending the message to everyone they knew

And getting their friends to do it too

 

Each time ‘forward to all’ was clicked by a fool

The scammer had his own new email harvest tool

Soon his new contacts were filled to the brim

And he knew it was time for the real scamming to begin

 

As cute as this story is, I’m not making it up. That’s where chain mail really came from. It came from scammers who hid their email addresses in your BCC, so when you hit forward to all, they would get all your friends’ active emails as well. Then, they earned themselves a huge database of people they could send scam letters to…all because some idiot apparently thinks chain mail is magic.

If there is any kind of magic in the world, it comes from science. Hell, if someone mailed an iPhone to 1864, I’m pretty sure it would get burned as a witch. Science is magic, but people don’t invest half the amount of time in it because you have to work for the magic of science.

It’s not something that comes from pressing ‘forward, forward, forward’ on every piece of junk that pops up in your timeline. If those messages worked, just about every fucktard on the planet would be married to the love of their life, sitting on a giant pile of money. They’re not. They‘re broke, lonely, and sitting at home pressing ‘forward’.

And they’re giving all their friend’s emails to scammers.  I’m sure there are people out there who are like ‘well, I only do it as a goof’ or ‘just in case’. Let me explain this. There is no ‘just in case.’ Scientifically, forwarding that email has a 0.000000000% chance of making you rich.

The reason I have to change my email every four years or so is because of this. It’s because through no fault of my own, I wind up on some fucking scammer’s email list… thanks to someone sending me chain mail. Then, my email gets sold to another scammer, and another, and another, until my email is so flooded with announcements that I’ve won the lottery, a free iPad or an inheritance from some relative I didn’t know I had that I need to shut it down and start all over again.

I have 5 different email addresses right now for this very reason.

But what about Facebook? That’s not forwarding chain mail, right?

Right. Instead you’re giving them Facebook friends to harvest and making the chain mail originator’s page look legitimate, thanks to all your ‘shares’ and ‘likes’. In my opinion, that’s just as bad.

People, you want magic, look to science. You want to make your life better, do something about it. Leave the house, meet people, find a better job. But don’t sit around expecting to get something for nothing. That doesn’t happen.

Unless you’re a scam artist looking to get hundreds of emails for free. That happens all the time.

 

 


Linked In – Social Media for the High Plains Drifter

I finally got around to doing my Linked In profile today. For about 4 months there, it was nothing but a black hole that I used as a harvest ground for my Saturday night ritual of sending drunk emails to old friends.

high-plains-drifter-original

Click here to follow me on LinkedIn…if you dare.

But I hear it’s good for business stuff like communication, networking, and um…synergy? Synergy is a business word, right?

Fine, whatever, I’m using it as another platform with which to stalk my exes and see how much more successful they are than me. Happy now?

I’ve been putting it off for awhile now because I didn’t have any business appropriate pictures (you know, without weed in them) and filling out the information is boring as fuck. That’s why I only filled out my current job position, and said before that I was a high plains drifter for 32 years.   Darn those midlife career changes!

When I was reading on how to fill out the profile, it suggested approaching the profile in the same way that you would approach your job or a project. So I did the bare minimum. I’m a very literal person. When someone told me that I needed to dress for the job I wanted, I dressed up as a space pirate.

I regret nothing.

But for someone like me, who is incapable of taking anything seriously, the Linked In profile can be an intimidating experience. On the upside, if I can’t make business contacts to boost my career, I can always fall back on being a high plains drifter.

 

 

https://www.linkedin.com/pub/essa-alroc/98/73/753


Accept or Adapt; The Fizzy Water Argument

patriotismGodBlessAmerica

I hate fizzy water. You know, the kind with bubbles in it? Here’s an odd fact that you might not know. Germans love fizzy water. In fact, if you order a glass of water at a bar or restaurant in Germany, they will automatically give you fizzy water, unless you order ‘no gas.’

Yeah, I know it’s weird, but it’s true.

When I was in Berlin during the 1999 Love Parade, I woke up one morning with a massive hangover and a serious case of dry mouth. I went to a café nearby and ordered a huge bottle of water. Then, I took an equally huge gulp…

And promptly vomited fizzy water all over the floor.

I, of course, realized my mistake. In Germany, it’s part of the culture that fizzy water is their default water. I apologized to the waitress, paid for the fizzy water and ordered a bottle of flat. She was actually very nice about the whole thing.

I didn’t berate the waitress for not understanding that because I’m an American, she should have known I didn’t mean fizzy water. I didn’t demand that the café comp me the bottle of fizzy water and claim it was their fault I threw up. I didn’t do either of those things because the incident was MY fault.

It wasn’t the waitress’s job to adapt her standards to my culture. It was my job to adapt myself to German culture. After all, I was a guest in their country and in their country, fizzy water is just water.

This post isn’t about my dislike of fizzy water (though I do deeply hate it). Instead, the anecdote was kind of designed as a metaphor for the cultural ‘tolerance’ that is overtaking this country right now.

Tolerance for other cultures is somehow becoming intolerance of our own.   I see news story after news story about people being told to remove American flags from their properties because others might be offended. I see people who are against kids saying the Pledge of Allegiance because they think it disrespects the culture of their birth. I’ve even met people who think that the official language of the US should be Spanish because so many Spanish immigrants have moved here.

Here’s the deal, the land doesn’t adapt to you. You adapt to the land. Americans shouldn’t have to hide our heritage because people from foreign countries don’t like it. Not to sound like a redneck buffoon, but if they hate America so much, why the fuck do they live here?

Awhile back, my mom went to WalMart. While she was there, she bought a pork roast. When she got to the register, the woman behind it told my mom that she’d have to scan and bag her own groceries because she couldn’t touch pork.

To which I say, get bent. It wasn’t my mother’s job to ensure that her grocery cart fit the dietary restrictions of a minimum wage cashier’s religion. It was the damn cashier’s job to pick a job that didn’t contradict her religious beliefs.

The second your religious beliefs impinge on my freedom, you are in exact contradiction to one of the founding principles of this country. Your personal Jesus does not trump my freedom and if I feel like hanging bacon Christmas lights (patent pending) this year, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I don’t give a fuck what your wacky god things.

Oh, and by the way? Yes, I think your god is wacky. As long as I’m not committing a crime, I am in no way required to respect your religion. Deal with it. I think being Muslim is weird. What are you going to do? Spank me or take away my birthday? (Just so you know, I’m kind of into spankings and I haven’t celebrated a birthday since I was 29.)

Oh, right, you can actually do NEITHER of those things… because it is my right as an American to express my opinion…using the English language.

Accept that fact that Americans aren’t a multilingual people. We speak English here. Yes, I am aware the rest of the world thinks we’re idiots for only speaking one language, but that’s the way it is. If you want to come as a guest, feel free to speak your own language. But if you want to live here, learn to speak English.

It’s called adapting to your surroundings. Try it; it will make life a shitload easier.

Our founding fathers fought for this country. They fought for freedom of religion and free speech. They fought for the right to speak English without having to spell color with a ‘U’ or call an apartment a flat.  Respect the damn culture or get the hell out.

Look, foreigners who come here expecting America to change just for you… it’s incredibly awesome that you’ve got the whole American arrogance and sense of entitlement down. But all the entitlement in the world isn’t going to make this country change. That’s another part of being an American you might dislike. You have freedom of speech, but there is a very strong likelihood that no one gives a fuck what you have to say.

America is a lot like that bottle of fizzy water I got on that hungover Sunday morning. It might not be exactly what you were expecting. Hell, it might even make you throw up. But you can’t change the fact that it’s fizzy water. You either need to learn to like fizzy water or you pay for your water and walk away before the waitress notices you just puked on the floor.

 

 


How You Really Know You’re a Hipster

Recently, I was accused of being a hipster because I was wearing an ironic T-shirt. As the majority of my clothes comes from garage sales, this is a frequent, but unintentional occurrence. Anyway, I am not a hipster. I’m just lazy and unkempt. But for those who are wondering if you are, here is a helpful listing to let you know if you’re a hipster.

 

You pay $85 for a haircut that makes you look homeless and $120 for pre-torn jeans.

How do I put this politely? Fuck Urban Outfitters. The only reason people shop in those stores is because other people shop at those stores. Be honest people. When was the last time you said, “hey, you know what? I want to pay $54 so I can wear an ugly, vintage inspired sweatshirt of a band that I don’t really listen to?”

suicidal tendencies

 

You want a modern day version of the Emperors New Clothes? Think Urban Outfitters. No joke, those fuckers are laughing at you.

You wear jeans that have to be zipped with pliers.

I hate the skinny jeans trend. As a curvy girl, I don’t really have the stature to pull them off. To get an idea of what I look like in skinny jeans, think ‘denim sausage wearing flesh colored inner tube’.

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The last thing I need is some 24-year-old androgynous dude to look better in jeans than I do (and have smaller hip measurements). As a protest to the skinny jeans movement, I refuse to wear pants until it’s over.

Take that, America.

Regardless of how stupid your political opinion, you take a condescending view of everyone else’s.

To be political, you need to get your news from places other than the Daily Show and conspiracy blogs.  If you’re not political, just say you’re not political. I’m not political. When I write a political post, I just make up the statistics that sound right.  It’s surprisingly easy to trick people into believing you’re political if you use the right words. But hipsters are required to have a political opinion, even if they think that ‘Whigs’ and ‘Tories’ are still the major voting parties in this county.

Personally, I’m voting Tory next time around. “A Modest Proposal’ convinced me we needed major poorhouse reform in this country.

You think you’re counterculture, when you are the exact opposite.

People started rejecting society’s norms and turned rebellion into a lifestyle as early as the 1960s. As those people grew to adulthood, never getting married, recreational drug use and distrust in the government became the new norm. Old counterculture is the new norm. If you were really counterculture, you’d be a Christian republican who is against gay marriage and the legalization of marijuana. I’m sorry, but your world views are no longer edgy when your parents agree with them.

Look, I’m not a hipster. I’m not affecting an air of laziness and disdain. I’m actually just lazy and disdainful. I have been since I was four. I don’t leave my hair messy to convince you of how little I care. I just haven’t been able to get my brush in two weeks, because I dropped it under my bed, and deep down inside, I know there’s a monster underneath there.

My life isn’t a lifestyle. It’s what happens when a depressed alcoholic spends too much time in the sun. I’m not a hipster. I’m not hip or trendy. I’m simply mostly buzzed and mildly grumpy. My behavior isn’t a social statement.  It’s a cry for help.

Fuck hipsters.


Crazy Talk

In honor of the late, great Joan Rivers “can we talk?”

Specifically, can we talk about crazy talk? One thing that flabbergasts me is people who talk about how crazy they are, when they’re really not. I heard this one recently from a girl whose idea of crazy is watching Special Victims Unit with the subtitles on. She said to me, “we’re having a girl’s night, so I hope I don’t wind up in jail. You know how crazy I can be!”

The thing was, I didn’t. Then it occurred to me that this girl might think she’s crazy simply for wearing open-toed shoes in November. That’s because there is no litmus test for what constitutes crazy on a night out. It’s purely subjective…

Until now. Using many scientific methods, I have created a test that will tell you once and for all if you truly are crazy.

You will be given a question, then a series of three options. Your answers will determine your level of craziness.

1) You wake up in the morning after a night on the town. On the kitchen table, next to your car keys is a top hat, a radio station bumper sticker, and an extra large set of anal beads. Where did these items come from?

a) One of your drunk friends gave them to you. Why she had Mardi Gras beads in September, you’ll never know.

b) The memories are a bit hazy, but you believe you got them while bar hopping. The top hat you probably stole from a guy.

c) You have no fucking clue. The entire night is a black hole. Then, you turn on the radio and hear yourself giving a glowing endorsement of BJ’s Hardcore BDSM Club, using your full legal name. How you got the top hat remains a mystery, but you keep it because it might be magic.

2) There is a cute guy eyeing you at the club. You;

a) Wait for him to approach you

b) Approach him first

c) Approach him first and put your hand on his penis before you know his name.

3) That same cute guy wants to take you home;

a) No way! You’re not that kind of girl.

b) No problem. You can spot a serial killer from a mile away.

c) Say yes, but ask him to bring you by your drug dealers house first. What he doesn’t know is that the drug dealer is also an ex-boyfriend that you’re trying to make jealous. While there, a massive domestic disturbance ends with you clutching onto the ex-boyfriend, crying as the cops drag him away, for assaulting the guy you picked up.

4) During the evening out, you are stopped by a cop on a bicycle. The bike cop thinks you might be too intoxicated to be in public. You;

a) Apologize and promise to go right home. You are near tears and the ordeal is one of the most humiliating of your life.

b) Get offended and try to act sober.

c) Drunkenly berate the cop for being a bike cop. Use some of your favorite bike cop jokes like; “you know a bike cop’s Kryptonite? Stairs.” When the cop gets extremely offended and threatens to arrest you, you mockingly ask him “what are you going to do? Bring me to jail in your little basket?”

Mostly A’s – The craziest thing you’ve done lately is drive around with a set of anal beads hanging from your rearview, but that’s because no one has told you they’re not Mardis Gras beads yet.

Mostly B’s – You might fall into the wild category, but you’re not crazy. While you might take the occasional dude home, or do an illicit substance or two, your craziness is tempered with common sense.

Mostly C’s – You’re crazy.  You’re the kind of crazy where you should probably start carrying around a notebook, so you can keep track of people you need to apologize to the next day. My notebook usually just says ‘everyone’. Then, I send a mass email. Let me know if you want the template.


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