Just in time for back-to-school!! Here is your child’s guide to getting in good with a teacher. And if you are not a child or not in school, then you’re on your own. The minute the tassel hit the left side of your temple you were on your own, and you should know that….
It is my theory that in school, brown-nosing a teacher will get you nowhere. Trying to become a teachers pet is of no assistance and only makes you look bad. Yet, we all know that there have been teachers pets since the beginning of our “bare minimum” education. Why is this? Because it’s teachers choice of course!
Teachers choose whom they decide to favor upon, you don’t choose for them. And that starry eyed pupil is usually one of the following…
The Unwanted Mutt: This student is usually the one who sits by themselves, does projects on their own, doesn’t talk to people, and on the rare occasion they participate in class, their every word is a pure intelligent gold nugget of truth and a shiny reminder to the teacher as to why the fuck they started being an “educator” in the first place, for well behaved, above the standard kids like these. And not to teach a bunch of low life, half brained, fuck-wits how to wipe their ass from front to back.
The Funny Guy: This person is usually the guy or gal who cracks a joke just when the teacher is seriously considering going home, driving into her garage, shutting the garage door, and leaving the car running with the windows rolled down. This comedian knows how to control the classroom by making a witty comment in favor for the teacher and in return, this teacher lets them continue to be just a little bit disruptive if just only to be able to smile once that day and enable her class to give its undivided attention to SOMEBODY.
The Mirror Image: The Mirror Image is usually the student that the teacher thinks is just like them. They think, This student is a younger me and knows where I am coming from. Because of this, they want to take you under their wing, be best friends with their “younger self” and cut you many breaks that come in handy, especially when you need to change your failing grade after the progress reports have already been issued and you wont be able to perform in the last improv show with an F and she loves you enough to call the registrar to have your grade changed to a C. But that’s just a hypothetical situation… (I love you Ms. P)
The Lost Dreams: The Lost Dreams is a teacher that has really just given up their dreams and has become a teacher. They are complacent and go about their job as any other teacher would. Until that one day they meet a student that reminds them of all they have given up. That has dreams just like they once had before they were issued government checks. And that student becomes their little project. They talk about books and movies and ideas. They talk about the future. The teacher finally indulges what happened in their life that made them quit dreaming (lack of motivation and a steady pay check is usually the culprit). And then that teacher tries to mentor their student; make them believe in their dreams. And will usually still keep in touch with them once they are long gone in the hopes of living vicariously through them. Lets have a moment of silence while we mourn for those lost dreams…
And were back!
I have been fortunate enough to be a teachers pet under a few of these different categories. And I must say, it really does come in handy to be beloved by the person grading your papers.
I have been the silent wilting flower type in a history class which proved to be of great help when I turned in a video project that was just a bunch of my friends improvising inappropriate SNL-type skits and monologues about the holocaust. My teacher loved it and I got and A in the class.
I recently had an English professor in college who loved when I interjected comedy into our graphic readings of “The Omnivores Dilemma” and when I had my monthly meetings in his office, instead of discussing my paper, we discussed the NBC comedy lineup and different pioneering comediennes. I got a B.
And lastly, I had a science teacher that everybody told me I would hate, whom they wish they never had, and said I would never be able to talk to. Lo and Behold, it turns out she is a total feminist bitch, like I am, hates kids, like I do, and absolutley LOVED me, despite my complete daftness when it comes to science.
Sidenote: I am an EXCELLENT student. I gave my parents a 4.0 my first semester of college and would have given them a similar GPA had I not taken math this semester… (that motherfucker couldn’t even speak English and I failed the class because I didn’t know that X issacullto -3. Can somebody please tell me what issacullto means? I can now, its my fucked up teachers way of saying ‘is equal to’ which I hadn’t figured out until the week before the final). But really, Science and Math leave me completely flustered. I am glad I’m not McGruber or McGuyver because I could not put two things together and make them do something extraordinary, I can’t tell an atom from an Adam, and I can’t count backwards from 10 (or at least I haven’t tried).
But, Ms. P loved me. She loved my taste in men that were at least 25-30 years older than me, she would let me plug my improv performances in class and write them on her board. She would let me hang out with her every time I ditched my evil French teachers class across the hall (because there’s only so much you can take from that bitch before you crack, which I had many times whilst in the battlefield) and we would look at pictures of Rob Lowe on the internet and talk about Gossip Girl. I hope you all find a Ms. P in your days of education. For as brutal as she will be to all the others, she will secretly favor you.
Now if you are still in High School or College and are having a hard time with a teacher there are many ways to get them on your side quickly without shmoozing them like an asshole. For Example: Pour your heart out to them by telling them your sappy story (got me an A in my first college English class), smile at them and tell them thank you after each class (Speech= A), ask them questions when they ask if there are any questions and nobody raises their hand (Sociology 100= A+ and they don’t give A+’s in college). A teacher wants to feel needed and appreciated and like they are truly earning their 17 bucks a month. Make their job worthwhile and they will probably make your attendance worthwhile. I know when everything shakes out and I end up teaching Improv to teenagers at a Y in New York when I’m 30 I will probably play favorites. It’s what every teacher does (and most parents in California). And if you can learn learn from my experiences then you’re on your way to getting a slightly less mediocre education than the rest of your classmates.
(Also known amongst my family as the “FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK Article” aka “If There Was One Thing That Would Insight A Rapture Or Worldwide Panic It Would Be This Goddam Article”) ….. so enjoy :)
I’ve come under fire A LOT recently for my choice to not have children. Save for a small Ethiopian child I may adopt… it’s not an Angie thing it’s a long term investment. Have you seen The Blind Side?
Side Note: I am not someone who says, “Oh, love kids but not for me” or “I am all for the children but I don’t think I would be a good parent”… I have no qualms for saying that I hate children. They are loud, obnoxious, egotistical, sticky, dirty, little creatures that give headaches and drain money and the only person in my life that is aloud to do any of those things is me. The only, and I say ONLY, children I like are my cousins, Cole, Christa, and Garrett ( Note: I am legally obligated to only mention these children. I would mention the Jolie-Pitt kids or the Fanning sisters but they have movies coming out and I can’t be on the record endorsing any particular child stars at this time) and that is because they are clean, low volume, beautiful cherubs from my gene pool so back the fuck off.
When I see a child running about, without its keeper, snot dripping from its face, clothes askew, I recoil in terror from this little monster (not to be confused with a Lady Gaga Fan) flailing about wildly like a beast. Go ahead and put a leash on your children, when you teach a dog to heal, it will heal, but a child never learns… those wayward little tykes.
Today we think it is cruel to use corporal punishment on a child. But ask little Sally and Bobby from the 1950’s if a whack to the face didn’t make them think twice about spilling juice on the carpet. Mistake or not, they never did it again, and if they did, they got REAL good at cleaning! Then you created a modest child, who became very careful and good at cleaning.
One reason I personally do not want children, is because I am a goal oriented, career oriented person. I make lists, I get Type A, I strive for productivity. And it is hard to rationalize with a child. Well Sally, why don’t you go to work for mommy and balance the budget today and I will make a half ass attempt at drawing an elephant whose body weight is not proportionate to the stick figure legs attempting to hold it up. Don’t for get you have a meeting at 12. Is that what your wearing? You’ll never make it!
Also I would bitch slap the first person who made me feel guilty for loving my job as much if not more than my child. Since when is your time spent coddling a soon to be spoiled rotten animal more honorable than my time spent efficiently doing my job? I’d love to know when mothers everywhere decided that because their vagina now resembles a black-hole, they get to act above everyone else, as if their position in life wiping boogers and catching shit is SOOO esteemed. Yet they look down at the single lady who still fits in her hot pants with a 401K thinking, “oh.. pity her.. she’ll never know” Know what? Know what it’s like to be unappreciated despite being a servant to someone who is 3 feet shorter than you? I’ll pass.
Another reason I do not wish to become a mother is because children are being used more and more today as a Get Out of Work Free Card. “I had a baby so I’ll just be a stay at home mom.” And do what? Watch General Hospital all day while your kid destroys your house? Children are being used in so many different ploys today. Get Your Boyfriend to Marry You, Get Time Off at Work, Buy New Shit, Buy A Bigger House, Get More Attention, Get Free Casseroles For A Week (that seems worth having a baby for…), all of these things can be achieved by getting knocked up. In that way a baby has become a new means for instant gratification, instant being 9 months and a few hundred doctors bills. And if i were to have a child, I would not want it to be raised in company with neglected instant gratification babies who have a lot of shit or happy moms.
Still, I would consider adopting an Ethiopian child AS AN INVESTMENT! First of all, it’s a tax write off, if I needed that. Second of all, I would be totally in trend with these barren movie stars who are adopting all these precocious little black babies, while also removing said child from a Third-World Country. And lastly, but most importantly, this little fucker would be in football camp by the time he could walk! football camp, training, Pop Warner, High-School All American Team, USC Football, and drafted to the NFL… and when he gets his Jersey number and signs his contract, his momma is going to be in every picture real close whispering, “Remember who took you away from all that disease in Africa and paid for all this shit…” BOOM! Investment.
I never thought I would take a piece of advice from a Real Housewife of New York, but Kelly (the crazy ethnic sienna miller one) gave some pretty good advice along the lines of “be polite to people you don’t like, but you don’t have to hang out with them.” I think crazy Kelly was onto something.
People have been complaining about my attitude lately, saying that I’m too cynical and angry all the time and it’s not healthy. I agree, I don’t feel healthy when i have painful chest spasms and an overwhelming sense of stress 24/7. But I think that maybe it’s just anger management issues. And the anger comes from the ignorance of others that is constantly shoved in my face. The dumb bitch in my speech class, who did her speech on the first time she got arrested. That’s just ridiculous. Its like she was baiting me to say something only for me to dig my nails into the laminate wood desk.
And that’s where I stand. I am angry all the time, but I never lash out irrationally unless extremely warranted. Like a 1,000 people would sign a petition saying, yea I’m glad you lashed out irrationally at that. I would never punch a hole in my wall, mostly because my room is exquisitely decorated and it would look extremely ugly, a hole in my wall. I would never hit somebody because I wasn’t raised like white trash. And I would never break anything because I don’t like cleaning things up. I deal with my anger and stress by working out, or cleaning my room, or I drive to the old folks home at night where no one will see me and scream in my car as loud as I can. The latter of which happens regularly.
The reason I have let it go on like this for some time now is because i truly believe that some of the best comedy comes from unbridled crazy ranting and venting that usually ends up on this blog. But its starting to wear on me all this pent up cynicism that I unleash on any unsuspecting citizen who has just enough balls to piss me off. Because all I have is my wit and my words. So I googled (as i always do) anger management and came across this:
Unexpressed anger can create other problems. It can lead to pathological expressions of anger, such as passive-aggressive behavior (getting back at people indirectly, without telling them why, rather than confronting them head-on) or a personality that seems perpetually cynical and hostile. People who are constantly putting others down, criticizing everything, and making cynical comments haven’t learned how to constructively express their anger. Not surprisingly, they aren’t likely to have many successful relationships
I’m not a paranoid hypochondriac but this sounds like someones been tailing my every move for the past few months. I didn’t read further to see how to cure said problem but I cant help but wonder if the cynicism is helping or hurting me. Obviously I am in a constant state of stress which should be dealt with sooner or later, but if i just let people be stupid and let them walk all over me then i am not being me. If I count to 10 and breathe when someone makes an incredibly sexist comment, not only are they not learning anything, but I will further be stressing myself out by not being able to express myself.
Everyone is entitled to their opinion, i know. But as a child you also thought that nap time was the best thing EVER in the world until someone said “Hey, wake up! It’s not!” I’m certainly not saying it’s my JOB to tell people when their being ignorant or sexist, because lets face it, some people are too far gone. But if somebody gets in my face and says everything you stand for insults and disgusts my very way of life, you can sure as hell bet I’m not going to count to 10 and breath from my diaphragm.
So what now. Informed blind rage or ignorant peace treaty? Hopefully I will find some answers soon. But I think I will end with “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything” and you better believe I’m a damn good stander.
From PerezHilton.com/Posted by jerkstore on Wednesday, 1/21/2009, 11:21 P.M.
“In my opinion Tina Fey completely ruined SNL. The only reason she’s celebrated is because she’s a woman and an outspoken liberal. She has not a single funny bone in her body.”
Huzzah for the Truth Teller! Women in this country have been over-celebrated for too long. Just last night there was a story on my local news about a “missing girl,” and they must have dedicated seven or eight minutes to “where she was last seen” and “how she might have been abducted by a close family friend,” and I thought, “What is this, the News for Chicks?” Then there was some story about Hillary Clinton flying to some country because she’s secretary of state. Why do we keep talking about these dumdums? We are a society that constantly celebrates no one but women and it must stop! I want to hear what the men of the world have been up to. What fun new guns have they invented? What are they raping these days? What’s Michael Bay’s next film going to be?
When I first set out to ruin SNL, I didn’t think anyone would notice, but I persevered because—like you trying to do a nine-piece jigsaw puzzle—it was a labor of love.
I’m not one to toot my own horn, but I feel safe with you, jerkstore, so I’ll say it. Everything you ever hated on SNL was by me, and anything you ever liked was by someone else who did it against my will.
P.S. You know who does have a funny bone in her body? Your mom every night for a dollar.”
I love lists, I make lists for EVERYTHING in my life. Grocery lists, To-Do lists, packing lists, Shit to buy lists… (see, I even just listed the lists I list the most) So I decided to share some of them with you to enjoy.
List #1: There is only 4 more days left of my spring break! What to do?
Things I could do to make my spring break not suck so hard:
go to the goodwill
get a new book from barnes and nobles
spend a good hour at target
eat something that is sustainable i.e. not a childs burrito
“If Britney Spears isn’t classy then I don’t want to be classy!” I recall a 7 year old me exclaiming as I stormed out of my mothers bathroom in a gray and pink school girl outfit, hiked up to my little girl coochie. Apparently, this attire was not school appropriate for “free-dress day” (which I interpreted in my own skewed ways) but instead of my mother calling me a baby whore, she just said it “wasn’t classy”.
Years later as I wore a t-shirt and jeans on “free dress day”, my 8th grade bimbo counterpart wore a fitted tank top camisole with an emblem of the playboy bunny embellished on her left tit. “That’s not appropriate” I thought to myself. Especially since I went to a private school where the day after I got highlights in my hair, they held a school assembly about school rules and called my parents about my outlandish behavior. But this little whore in the making had something on her side that I didn’t, a mother who donated most of her money and time to the school functions, auctions, and class parties. A mother who after thousands of dollars donated to that very school, was entitled to point out that it was just a bunny rabbit on the tank top, and she did wear a sweater that matched.
I guess this could say a lot about my relationships with others to this very day when I was raised in a world where if you could get away with it, why make it an issue? For instance, if I bailed on someone, but got away with it via a really good excuse, it ceased to become an issue.
Now this leads to what I thought my whole life were “trust issues” but really, it was accountability issues. How can I count on someone to show up, when I already have 10 excuses why I wouldn’t be able to in the bag? So I usually eliminate all the friends I ever had who had jobs or another life or more friends with higher priorities, because it gave them more ammo when finding the perfect excuse as to why they couldn’t show up. If I found a friend who just had me, and our shit and our life, then it would be so much easier to hold them accountable. That’s fucked up.
So I decided against a bountiful of friends for an existence more attuned to my personal needs, me. That’s not to say that I only have 2 friends on Facebook, because I have many, but most of them are hidden because I don’t care about their bullshit. And I do enjoy the occasional run in with a friend (I do have friends) but do they have my best interests at heart? I don’t know! But do you know who does have my best interests at heart? Me! It’s tons of fun to have friends, but at the end of the day do you know who is really there for you? Yourself! Hold yourself accountable, not your friends.
It baffles me that people have yet to figure this out! “Nobody is on my side!”Your on your side, that gives you the right to pimp yourself out, love yourself to death, and be the most selfish motherfucker that ever walked the planet.
If Gaga has taught us anything it’s that we were born this way, and if I was born a selfish but happy bitch, you cant blame me, blame the G-O-D.
(and bitch, we all know you didn’t just grow horns on your face and shoulders, you were NOT born that way!)
The story goes that a women would drop a handkerchief in the proximity of the man she was interested in; in order to gain his attention. If he were to pick it up, like the chivalrous men of that era were accustomed to doing, they would arrange a courtship. If only it were as simple as throwing a Kleenex at the person you like today, right?
Yet, unknowingly I conducted my very own social experiment the other day while at the gym. I was in the zone with Gaga blasting and miles slipping under my feet, really hitting my stride, when my workout towel slips suddenly from the machine and hits the floor. UGH! I am not going to stop to get my towel. It is hard enough to get me to the gym in the first place, but to enjoy it? I will admire my towel from the floor and hope that somebody is nice enough to pick it up for me.
That’s when I thought, ‘Let’s see how chivalrous men really are today.’ I was conveniently located right next to the walkway to the men’s locker rooms and so I started to count. One, Two, Three in a second. The gym was busy today. Four, what a macho persona you put on around Five and Six. Seven stepped on my towel. Eight stopped to check me out. Thanks for the unsolicited ego-boost, but how about handing me my towel? Four walked by again. Nine, Ten, and a women. Should I count them too? We live in a world filled with modern women, myself included so yes. Ten men, one women, no notice of my towel. The hour went on and the numbers climbed to Thirty-Two, Thirty-Three, Thirty-Four men, and Five women.
I thought, how great would it be for another female to notice I had dropped my towel, and to pick it up for me. Women helping women, growing as a community. But the women walking by me were probably hoping for a man of their own to come pick up their own towel, literally or figuratively.
My machine reached the hour mark and I got off accomplished, yet defeated. My towel still remained on the floor. Forty men, Ten women. Perhaps I should not expect a man to lay his hoodie over a puddle for me when I am walking, or to pick up my dropped towel at the gym. We live in an ever changing world, with ever changing social niceties. If a man raised his voice at me 100 years ago I might shrivel up in fear, but today I would tell him to take a hike.
Strangely, I became very contented that nobody had picked up my towel at the gym. If they had, I would still be that delicate flower in need of someone, who shriveled up at the sight of power and manhood. But because no man had picked up my towel, it also meant that I was capable of doing it myself, and they were aware of that.
“Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ‘t.”- Macbeth
Once again, young Katie was appalled by something she witenessed that would seem commonplace to most everyone else… shocker. I was watching the E! Network when they had some ‘scandalous’ commercial about women who kill entitled, Women Who Kill. Teasing what goes on in their minds and what would bring them to that point in which they would think to kill somebody.
Is it so far fetched for a woman to murder someone that they have to make some fluffed up E! News investigative hour long program on it?
I think about killing people every day and it is probably because i DO have a vagina and live in a world where women are the majority population wise, yet are a crippling minority politically.
I think about killing sick misogynistic chauvinist men, i think about killing that stupid guy who laughs too loud behind me. I think about cold calculating last words to say before i punch my brothers lights out after he tells me i need to lose weight, and I think of the multitude of items in my purse that i could throw at the windshield of an asshole driver who just cut me off, disorienting him and plummeting off a cliff to his not so eminent death.
Its not only men though, women are the worst! The bitch who wouldn’t help me in the clothing store, that little 15 year old wearing short shorts and a tank top in the dead of winter with… Ugg boots (please, just carry around the pole so we can officially start throwing dollar bills at your non existent tits), my high school french teacher who could never get on topic and made everyone pity her with every sentence… these are some women who probably would better society if they hadn’t been born at all.
And really, just so you don’t think i have some kill list stashed in my closet, i literally think about killing books and ipods, cars, motorcycles, that leaf that blew onto my eye and made me spaz out while i had my sexy walk on. My phone and i have a love hate relationship, where i stare at it longingly and it says ‘fuck off you don’t have any friends’, and then i want to kill it, but then my birthday comes around and it says ‘oh look, everyone loves you, your so special’.
Other things I would like to kill, heels, the concept of ‘gender’, stammering and not getting to the point, and that thing when your ready to leave the restaurant but the waiter takes like an hour to give you back the bill and all you have is a glass of ice and zero patience… what the fuck is that?
My point is, why single out women as killers to do a special on, as if it is some sort of rarity? you never see a special on Men Who Kill… Instead its a special on Homosexuals who pretend to be straight and then convert to Mormonism and have five wives and live on a commune for 7 years then go on a killing rampage in Oklahoma City. Who saw it coming? um EVERYONE who knew that guy when he was hanging out at Tiger Heat Thursday nights in West Hollywood before he ‘turned straight’.
For realzies? “Why did that guy kill his wife? He seemed so normal, he spent every waking moment in his basement sniffing glue!”
Why do women kill? Because they are oppressed, by men, by the women they try to be, and by expectation. If i were married for 20 years, I would try to kill my husband, which is why the glittery intoxication of matrimony has skipped over me completely, to spare the world a few good men.
(did you like how I started with Shakespeare and ended with Tom Cruise?)
Two Walmart’s, one Target, a sketchy Video Store, 15 miles, and a quarter tank of gas later, I find myself at home, empty handed and dissatisfied. All i wanted was to spend some of my hard earned birthday money to buy Mad Men Season 3 on DVD, (making it to 19 in suburban middle class southern California is a hard feat. I could be pampered and ignorant, or worse… blond.)
Side Note: Who can resist the handsome, debonair Roger Sterling on Mad Men… what a silver fox! But what we all flock to drool over is the ever so irresistible Jon Hamm, who encompasses my love of good television and my undeniable obsession with Saturday Night Live and all things Fey. Word on the street is that he also played football and has a degree in English, so basically hes my perfect cup of tea. Too bad hes so ugly!
What a distraction… Rewind to 2 hours earlier. Since I am such the thorough and organized Capricorn that I am, I had researched what the lowest price for Mad Men season 3 was (I’m also an honorary Jew) and saw they were in stock at the stores I had driven to. Not the case, Watson!
I wasted 2 hours of my time, a quarter tank of gas, and my patience because of a faulty system.
This wouldn’t worry me so deeply though had I not come in contact with a more unfortunate customer service problem at Forever 21 a few weeks ago.
The only place I usually shop is Forever 21. I spend a lot of money there every year because that is where all of my clothes come from.
Side Note: Now my body is almost exactly like Christina Hendricks without the ass. There clothes are just more…. accommodating, than other retailers.
I went in to buy clothes and spent an hour picking through what seemed like a bargain bin of a store. Clothes were on the floor and wrinkled, falling off hangers and racks. I couldn’t find anything in the window or any of the two same shirts. Whats worse is that there were 20 employees all standing around talking to each other doing absolutley nothing. That’s what happens when you hire someone who is “age appropriate” for the store to be a manager. While Barbie was putting on her lip balm that tasted like Diet Pepsi, she was losing customers.
But just in the typical honorary Jew, feminist bitch Katie way, I wrote an email to Customer Service… who sent it to Corporate.
It read something like: Get your shit together or I’m gonna spend all of my money somewhere else and tell all of my friends about this experience! (ha… friends.)
A couple days I went back and they all but lined my path with rose petals. I was offered a bag for carrying anything I planned on purchasing, was greeted at the door with a friendly smile and asked if I needed help. I could see my reflection in the pristine uncluttered floor and was overwhelmed by the copious amount of perfect displays of folded and ironed clothing that all but said “Buy Me” on them. Every 5 minutes I would run into a busy employee folding clothes and hanging jewelry who asked if I needed help with anything.
Upon closer inspection I saw that every employee in there was wearing a name tag and when I looked closer, it read: “Katie’s Bitch”.
Bitches get stuff done. So advice to all you employers out there, hire the pushy dowdy one with the impressive resume over the ignorant blond one with impressive tits. Because if you want shit done right, your gonna have to hire a bitch.
Sweetie, Honey, and Dear read as Bitch, Stupid, and Ignorant to me. Whenever someone uses a pet name in lieu of a Proper Noun or my name, I rage with anger.
Perhaps this is because when I truly hate an individual or think someone is being completely moronic in a situation, I use pet names to simultaneously demean them and make myself feel better.
“We have a black president???”
“It’s time to start reading the newspaper, sweetheart….”
I have noted in a previous article “The Girl with the Networked Life” that a lot of people who are insecure with their grasp on an issue or with life in general use pet names to undermine their smarter counterpart, putting doubt into their brains while pacifying their own doubt on questionable information about a topic. Translation: they make you feel stupid and themselves feel smarter.
I will outwardly admit, though, to my use of pet names as slander to stupid women across the nation. I am a bitch, and I am proud of it. And I find it a service to myself, and to all other women in America, to let stupid sluts know when they are being stupid sluts. I am not a feminist for nothing! I am not fighting for equal rights for women just so Barbie can get her receptionist job at the law firm, screw all the lawyers, lie that shes on birth-control, and sucker one of those rich bastards into suburban Connecticut never to work again…. that’s not how it works ladies!
You may ask why I am bringing up the subject of pet names… or not.
I went to a Christmas dinner party with my Dad the other night at a cute Italian restaurant. He has a group including an undisclosed number of people who gather at Starbucks each morning and discuss their lives, hot topics, business, the economy, and what have yous. It is like a middle class yuppie dumping ground of emotional problems if you ask me. Nonetheless I was there, as I find all walks of life fascinating, and as I always say, a different perspective is a gained perception… (except if your a stupid slut, then your just stupid, and a slut..) I was quite enjoying myself, mingling in this new age group of people in their 40’s to late 60’s. These are people who are established, successful, and have learned a life lesson or two (for the most part…except for Ken who has learned absolutely nothing yet has life advice for absolutley everybody).
I am enjoying my conversations and listening to other people when the 16 year old waitress comes over to me and says:
“Would you like some more water sweetie?”
Sure pumpkin! By the way, can I see your workers permit? Speaking of permits, have you gotten your driving permit yet? Hows AP Euro going? How is high school in general treating you? Are you using protection when you have intercourse with the random college guys you encounter while binge drinking on the weekends, or do you have the number of the local clinic on speed dial? By the way, how cold do you think this water will be when it hits you in the face, you ignorant bitch?
I, a college student, a person well on her way to success in her future career path as a comedian/writer/producer, a person sitting at a table of 30 or more successful stable people (except Ken) and able to keep up in conversation, will NOT be called sweetie by some high school minimum wage service working bimbo who reads the dessert specials like shes giving a class presentation for Spanish!
Girls like her give women like me a bad reputation. A handful of bimbos like her makes the reclusive yet intelligent ones like me…. still seem like bimbos!
Luckily, my father knowing what a staunch feminist bitch I am caught me in time and told the waitress “Sweetie? Really?”… nice save Dad… You could have been bailing me out of the county jail for assault against a minor if it weren’t for you knowing just how nuclear I can get in 0 to .5 seconds…
So don’t call me honey unless I’m dancing in a Jessica Alba movie, don’t call me sweetie unless I am being sweet (which won’t happen), and don’t call me dear unless your about to run me over with your car!
(photos from Whip It! movie photo shoot… best female empowerment movie ever)
*****PLEASE READE THIS FIRST *****
This is where I post all of my comedy writing, it is NOT supposed to be perfect and most of my writing is based on observations I make and I think all comedians base their material off observation. I apologize for any profanity or anything that may offend anyone in advance but it was Michaela Watkins who said when you strip judgment from your writing process, that's when the creativity comes out. And that is what this blog is for :)