Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Tutorial Tuesday: How to Spot a Biddie

A lot of girls will try to tell you they’re not biddies, but I’m here to tell you they’re probably wrong. I’m pretty good at spotting, categorizing, and then mercilessly judging people. As a result, I’ve observed a lot of behavioral habits, and here at this heavenly place called JMU, biddie behavior is one thing of which we will never be short.

If the girl in question is in college and owns patterned rainboots, I would say the likelihood of her being a biddie is a rough 97%. If she owns a T-shirt she’s scoop-necked herself, an iPhone or Blackberry, is currently holding a Starbucks cup, and has ever stood in a group of girls with full shot glasses and toasted with the words “here’s to a GREAT night,” that percentage increases to 110%, at which point she would be called an “epiti-biddie” (the epitome of a biddie). Other telltale signs include, but are DEFINITELY not limited to: wearing the same outfit as her friends as she slut-struts down the sidewalk Plastics-style, planning trips to the tanning bed on days when they have special deals, and working out on the elliptical and/or stair stepper. 

Are you unsure if you yourself are a biddie? Just to be safe, assume you probably are (sidenote: boys can be biddies too; the vernacular equivalent is “bros”). Try listening to yourself talk sometime. If you realize that you’re really obnoxious and talk about arbitrary things like if you should get raisins or Craisins on your salad, then the deal is sealed. Do you find out about major news events via Facebook feed? Did you cry outside the party you were at last Friday night as your friend convinced you that you did nothing wrong? Did you immediately think of Katy Perry when you read that sentence? Biddie. Freaking. Status. But I’m of the opinion that “biddie” shouldn’t carry such negative connotations. Once you get over the inhibitions that come with knowing that everybody wishes you would shut your mouth, being a biddie is SUPER fun. You can even use it to your advantage. See the mock text-conversation below.

Party Host: Hey, I think you broke my table last night when you were dancing on it.
Biddie: OMG I’m soooo sorry, I am such a biddie! David Guetta just makes me wanna dance! Hope you get that fixed, bye!

So biddies, embrace your inner-biddie. Buy that body-glitter and don’t even think twice about it. Complain about boys to your sorority sister in the quiet section of the library. Set Ke$ha as your ringtone and when people roll their eyes at you, proclaim indignantly that you’re sorry that you’re not sorry. Go forth biddies and make me proud.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Gender Studies 101

I had difficulty figuring out how to start this post, but I decided to go with a blunt opening: I’m not transgendered, but I consider myself kind of a dude.  I grew up with three older brothers and to be honest, I enjoy the friendships I have with guys way more than those I have with girls.  Boy friendships are less work and less dramatic and boys are just funnier (the reason I’m hilarious is because I’m half-dude).  By the same token though, I am also a straight biddie.  I wear yoga pants and letters, I talk about Target and boys all the time, and sometimes I just want to have a “girls’ night out, you know??”  So excuse me for being self-righteous, but I think I understand both genders pretty well.  That being said, I’m going to address some uncertainties you might have about gender disparities.

Many women wonder what boys talk about when they’re hanging out.  If you’re a boy and you’ve ever had your girlfriend or friendgirl or whatever ask you the age-old question “so what DO guys talk about when there are no girls around?” she really wants to know if you discuss her with your friends.  But girls, let me spit the truth.  Boys do NOT sit around and ask their man friends to analyze texts you send him and if they mean that you like him, so don’t flatter yourself.  I go backpacking about once a year with my brothers and for three days it’s straight boy talk.  If you really want to know what boys talk about, I’ll tell you but it’s not exciting.  They talk about working out and pooping.  There may be some deviation from those topics but only until there is another bowel movement. 

I’m not a man-hater (three weeks out of the month) but there is one thing I HATE that guys do.  Boys, you need to find something else to complain about besides girls who wear leggings as pants or wear UGG boots.  First of all, there are better things to worry about in life.  If you need me to name a few, get off my blog and don’t ever speak to me again.  Second of all, both of those items are pretty freaking comfortable.  Thirdly, you need to shut your pie hole because I don’t see YOU ever having to wear tights, liquid eyeliner, or tampons.  Fourthly, I’d be willing to bet money that a girl in leggings has never started a war or probably even stolen money from you.  It ain’t bothering you, so mind your own.

If there is one thing I write on this blog that I hope resonates with you, it has to be this:  ladies, if your boyfriend has pissed you off and he asks what’s wrong, for the love of whatever you pray to do NOT say “I’m fine.”  I’d also be willing to bet that half the world’s problems would be solved if you just told him what he did.  Boys are pretty dense and they don’t pick up on hints.  For example, I’ve told every boy I’ve ever liked that my favorite flowers are sunflowers; have any of them ever blindfolded me, taken me to a sunflower farm where a picnic was waiting and then serenade me on the acoustic guitar as I eat chocolate-covered strawberries?  No.  Because they don’t pick up on hints.  So my advice is to just be honest, for the sake of efficiency. 

Lastly, the stereotype that women are bad drivers is absolutely true.  I’ll be driving along, do something reckless or rude, and then as the person I cut off passes me I’ll put my phone down like I wasn’t texting and know that they’re judging me because I’m a girl and I’m wearing aviators with fake rhinestones.  As they should.  But seriously, a boy’s main concern while driving is probably NOT finding the right song on their iPod Touch. 

I hope this helped clear up some misconceptions and that you’re now well on your way to having fulfilling, confusion-free relationships with members of the opposite sex.  Hugs, kisses, and atta-boy butt slaps.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Biddie Costumes: a Hallow-ution (Halloween + Solution)

The best time of the year is upon us.  Pumpkins are being carved, my meals consist solely of candy corn, and every store is playing Christmas music.  Oh, and I almost forgot, the costumes.  Yes, Halloween is undoubtedly my favorite holiday.  I’ve had a lot of great memories partaking in various age-appropriate celebrations, although two things that have remained fun every year are dressing up as Cinderella and stuffing as many Reeces cups into your mouth at once as possible.  If you aren’t Amish, you’re probably aware that in college, Halloween is a chance for girls to dress up as sexy cats or nurses, spill alcohol down the front of their $40 costume, and make out with an equally sloppy Mario or Luigi (or if she’s really struck gold a giant penis).  This comic from theoatmeal.com depicts Halloween in college perfectly:
uh...at least he asks?

But this year I am urging all you biddie-readers to do something completely original and not dress like a slut.  One of my least favorite things about parties is being hit on when you are just trying to dance with your betches (being biddie-licous is harder than it looks).  I know it’ll be hard to not dress like a mouse when all your friends are buying cute leotards, but it’ll be fun and I’ll even give you some costume ideas, some of which are solely designed to fend off unwarranted sexual attention. 
  • Instead of being “Jasmine” (usually achieved by wearing a see-through genie get-up), why not be Abu?  Besides the magic carpet, he’s the best character in Aladdin.  Also, instead of having to make awkward keg-side conversation with people all night, you can just speak in a series of squeaks.  (Other costumes along these lines include Rafiki from Lion King or Donny, the insane kid from The Wild Thornberries.)
  • You could be a hummingbird.  Really any bird will do.  Cover yourself in feathers, then attach a beak to your face (at least 6 inches in length).  You’ll be able to sip your drank but simultaneously avoid making out with strangers, especially if you make the beak threateningly sharp and claim that it’s just “realistic” (seriously hummingbirds have really sharp beaks).  
  • Another good one is Santa Claus.  I haven’t looked into it [yet] but I don’t think Santa rental costumes are too unreasonably priced, just make sure it includes the beard and will make you look at least 300 pounds (you know what they say, under 280, not a lady!).  This is also great because you can eat cookies all night. 
  • If you’re going for a more classic look, be a witch.  In order to not half-ass it, you’ll need about 20 yards of floor length black wool and some sort of gel that will make you look like you have warts all over your face.  A fake nose, almost to the point of the aforementioned beak, would ensure security for your lips, but paired with a unibrow your sex appeal would just scream “mystery.”Go for something like this:
  • If you’re disgusting and want to do a couples costume with your boyfriend, or are just trying to freak people out, try being Mary and Joseph.  Don’t forget a [fake] baby and a [real] donkey to complete the look. 
  •  Any costume that involves cross-dressing is a safe bet, just make sure it’s way over the top.  Mr. Clean, Mike Tyson, or Ronald Reagan will successfully scare away boys. 
  • If you still want to look kind of cute, you could be an obnoxiously large present and just wear a box all night (the risk factor here is that boys will think it’s clever to ask if they can “unwrap you”). 
For me, the best part about Halloween is a sort of scavenger hunt I do with myself.*  On my list of costumes I hope to spot this year are the hamsters from the Kia Soul commercial (extra points for the robots), Casey Anthony (I probably won’t find this one because most people with souls would say it’s “too soon”), and an Asian tourist.  My favorite costumes are those that are politically incorrect, plays on words, and overtly stereotypical.


*If you want to scavenge with me, I totally encourage that, just be aware it’s negative points for every hippie, Waldo, or Flinstones character you see. 

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Things I think are nasty

1. The word "luncheon."  "Lichen" is also off-limits.
2. When people say “let’s get a meal together.”  I’m not going to offer an explanation for this because I don’t have a good one.
3. Pregnancy/fetuses.
4. When girls say “I miss your face.”  Look at a picture, problem freaking solved.
5. The smell of the dirty dishes carousel in E-Hall.
6. Hipsters who don’t think they’re hipsters.  LOLZ.
7. Spit that connects from the top and bottom of people’s mouths.  Sorry about your overactive saliva glands but maybe you should swallow.
8. People who don’t wear shoes.  I don’t care if it’s for TOMS, it’s disgusting. 
9. Sweet potatoes.  Especially when they’re called “yams.”
10. Hot dogs.  They tickle my throat…in a bad way.
11. People who talk about getting creative juices flowing.  That’s not a real thing, and it’s not a good metaphor either.
12.  Mouth breathers.  Now these are people I REALLY have an unfounded hatred for.  And please don't ever walk behind me at night with your rickety breath, EEK.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

On being a lesbian

The other night my roommates and I were hanging around in our living room, discussing typical topics like how Adele probably has our past relationships in mind when she writes her songs, all-time funniest baby videos, and how we’re pretty sure we’re not lesbians.  In all seriousness, I am fairly certain I’m not a lesbian, at this point in my life.  I have no problem with lesbians and I consider myself a pretty open person: I try not to block off opportunities, like the possibility (okay, hope) that someday I will encounter a spirit and/or ghost.  But that’s a different post. 

So, a couple summers ago I thought about it, brainstormed possibilities, and came to the conclusion that I just don’t really like girls.  I told my parents this one night at dinner, because that’s normal.  Now my dad is a very nice man.  I think he’s hilarious in that “dad sense of humor” way (I also believe I get my sense of humor from him…which means I’m already prepared to be the dad I know I can be one day), but he’s pretty conservative.  Who can blame him though, he’s an older white guy and owns his own business (we don’t say the word “Obama” or “taxes” at the dinner table…but “poop” is totally fine).  Anyway, I suppose my proclamation caught him off guard and since then he’s convinced I’m living in denial and that I am, in fact, a lesbian. 

My parents get four season tickets to Virginia Tech football games and they LIVE for it.  My mom plans a tailgate themed around the mascot of the opposing team and my dad laminates the rosters for both teams.  I asked them to save a ticket for me for the UNC game in November, to which my dad asked if I wanted the fourth ticket so I could bring “a friend.”  My aforementioned six friends are pretty much all biddies and probably think a touchback is when you’re playing tag and you tag back really quick after being tagged “it.”  Nah, there’s no way they want to go with me.  So I sarcastically responded, “Yeah, I’ll bring my boyfriend,” to which my dad says, “Oh, really?  What’s her name?”  THANKS DAD.

But this week I realized I can use this to my advantage: Operation Convince My Dad I Have a Serious Girlfriend is about to commence.  I’ll keep you posted (ha, a little blog joke…blog POST…eh hehh…)

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Warning: I have the maturity of a 12 year old boy

There are a couple things that I love discussing.  One is conspiracy theories and the other is funny things (sometimes they are the same).

In the last issue of JMU’s student newspaper, The Breeze, there was a “he-said-she-said” type column on passing gas (you can read it by clicking this thing: http://www.breezejmu.org/opinion/columnists/article_4beeaa1c-ed52-11e0-b89a-001a4bcf6878.html ).  The opinion from both genders was essentially the same…that it happens and it’s kind of funny and that’s it. 

WRONG.  SO SO WRONG.  I have two strong opinions about farts, which apparently my fellow students/journalists do not.  Firstly, they are hilarious.  There’s only one thing that is as consistently funny as farts and that is jokes about farts (although Southern accents are a close second).  Secondly, farts are a great way to tell how good of friends you are with someone.  It’s one thing to be able to fart in front of someone, but to be able to talk freely about it…what else does one strive for in a relationship?  (Although I would never, ever poop at my [hypothetical…I mean “totally real and hot”] boyfriend’s house.  Because I don't poop.)

One of the authors says “my advice is to just let it fly, lest you risk extreme discomfort. The social contract will hopefully kick in, and no one will say anything.
And, if they do, just smile and apologize politely; they're probably doing the exact same thing.”

This is also a grave mistake.  You, as the fartee (person who heard/smelled/felt(?) the fart) need to laugh about it.  Hard, and for a long time.  And if the farter is a cool person they’ll laugh too.  If they are a prude then they’ll be embarrassed and in that case I don’t really have anything else to say to them.  Friendship terminated, see ya never.  It sounds extreme but if you can’t laugh at air passing through your butthole maybe it’s time to re-evaluate your life.  Just saying.

Monday, October 3, 2011

I hate it when...

Before I start this post, let me first explain that I’m kind of irrational. I’ve accepted it, I admit it, and on occasion I embrace it.  Don’t feel sorry for me.  That being said, recently I’ve had a personal vendetta against people who text while walking.  Say some biddie (and at my school, there are plenty of these) is walking towards you sexting away on her iPhone, about 3 seconds away from a head-on collision.  I don’t veer left or right.  It’s like a game of chicken, except I’m the only one who is playing.  If it’s getting too close for comfort, I’ll clear my throat so that she looks up and moves.  I have a pretty fierce mean mug, so I rely on the intimidation factor to compensate for my lack of upper body strength (you know…should this ever come down to a brawl).  You might be thinking, “Wowww, this girl is actually crazy,” and to that I would say “yes,” and tell you that if you don’t want to hear me complaining you can stop listening.  Kidding.  Kind of.  Anyway, it’s not MY fault if you run into me.  I wasn’t the distracted one.  Also, you’re the one that looks like a startled moron.

So maybe you can empathize with me.  But let me stop you there and tell you why, true to form, I’ve taken this to a whole new level.  I’ve started moving into their path, just so they’ll almost run into me.  It’s kind of like I’m proving a stupid, arbitrary point.  But hey, I get a little satisfaction knowing that I’m probably changing the world by doing so. 

Disclaimer: I text while driving all the time, but it’s okay because I’m invincible.

Sunday, October 2, 2011


People have been begging me to start a blog for about four years now.  I don’t know why, probably because I’m really funny and witty and my every thought is a gem.  Actually I think the only person who ever suggested that I write a blog is my brother, probably so that I would stop pestering him and take my venting to the web where he could choose to see it or not.  And I think you can guess what he would choose.

Anyway, I’m taking a whopping 12 credits this semester.  On the surface this sounds great.  Let me put your assumptions to rest: all of my friends are actual students, which means they have actual homework, which means they refuse to hang out with me every night of the week with me per my request.  WEIRD, RIGHT?  So while it may seem like I would have tons of time to socialize, the truth is I have about six friends total and I think they’re starting to hate me and my constant requests to “play with me” (in a whiny voice). 

So I’m taking the time to start this blog.  It’ll probably come back to bite me in the butt one day when I’m looking for an old-person-job, considering half my posts will probably be ridiculous (read: exaggerated) stories about mistakes I make on the daily and/or me complaining about everyone and everything.  Excited?  Ya should be.