You lucky gal!

Ever wonder how to make all your friends and acquaintances cry and curse your name? Or how to increase your feeling of self-worth while decreasing that of others? Well, I'm here to help.

How to be "The Bitchy Friend"

1) Constantly remind your friend of all her boyfriend's most negative traits. When her happiness with her relationship seems to be teetering on the edge of smugness, it's best to cut her down a little with a quick jab about her beloved fellow's age/job/car/clothes/house/body.

2) Make plans to spend time with your friends. Act all excited about it. Don't show up. Don't call. Don't answer your phone. Post on Facebook other stuff you're doing instead. When your friends corner you about your shenanigans, respond with this airtight excuse I've supplied for you: "All my clothes were dirty so I had to wash them before I could leave the house. While I was hanging out in my kitchen in the nude, the washer exploded and got soapwater all up in my phone's battery. So my clothes couldn't finish washing and I couldn't call to tell you I had to cancel. But my phone still lets me get on Facebook even when the battery has been soap-bombed so that's why I posted a status about my naked nacho party. Wanna hang out next weekend instead?"

3) When your friend asks for you opinion about her fashion choices, always tell her the tackiest things are flattering so you'll look more attractive by comparison. You'll head out to slut it up on Saturday and be rewarded for your efforts with a deep sense of satisfaction as everyone snickers behind your friend's back and mocks her trashbag-dress. As long as you allow her to suffer from the delusion that bedazzled overall-shorts are "cute," you'll always be the lucky gal to snag all the boys at the club.

4) Play down your friend's accomplishments or turn the situation around to make it about you instead. Make sure to mention how much better you are/were at whatever she's achieved in life. This is easy to do with comments like, "When I graduated -- well, I was 14th in my class so it's probably not the same as your graduation," or "My first apartment was a 3-bedroom 2-bath split-level with a 4-car garage, front and back porch, and walk-in closets. But your trailer is okay too."

It's ridiculously simple to make your friends feel inferior and envy your life... it's also the most effective way to boost your self-esteem and ensure that you'll die alone.

Like, Love, and Lust. But mostly Lust.

This cozy Autumn weather makes everyone all cuddly and lovey-dovey. And if you don't have a "special" friend to share that with, it sucks. Seeing all these precious couples parading through the leaves in their boots and toboggans gives me hateful hopes that they step in hidden dog poo. Because I don't get to be in love, or anything close it. Like lust. I've always wondered how people know that what they have is really love, and this is what I've come up with in my two decades of observation.

Clearly the best way to determine a couple's true relationship status is through the extent of their inappropriately sexual behavior in public. The more you kiss, hold hands, dry-hump, and go oral on your partner in front of an audience, the stronger your love is bound to be. Everyone knows that love can't be 100% true unless all your friends, family, and unassuming strangers are forced to be exposed to your embarrassing show of moaning PG-13 near-nudity. If you're comfortable enough together to play twister in the school hallway without a mat, or practice naked yoga on top of each other with your living room curtains open, then the only logical conclusion is that you must have a strong and lasting love.

If you still can't be sure that you and your significant other will one day sit on the front porch with 37 cats and matching rocking chairs, then take a look at your communication skills. By that, I don't mean how you work out your problems or if you listen to each other. What's really important are your random phone calls, texts, and mushy Facebook comments. Couples who call to "check in" every time their location changes must share a much deeper connection than I could ever dream of. Knowing that miles away, a person I care about moved from kitchen to living room is something I've never been lucky enough to experience. If you truly love someone, however, you won't stop there; you'll extend this over-communication to the public forum of Facebook. The cyberspace form of the high school makeout hallway, Facebook allows you to send one another intimate expressions of affection for all to see. A fun side effect: your territory gets marked.


It's inevitable that if you have found your special someone in life, you will gladly waste 85% of your paycheck on random gifts... whether SOS deserves it or not. Birthdays, Christmas, 3 1/2-month anniversaries, and Valentine's Day will be the most ridiculously excessive events since Kim Kardashian's wedding. Sweet and simple? Thoughtful and homemade? Forget it if you want your relationship to survive long enough to celebrate your 7-month-1-week anniversary, Arbor Day, and National Pancake Day. What you need are fireworks, sky-writing, matching new cars, and treasure chests of rubies. So save the acoustic strumming of your sappy love sonnet for your debut in a 1986 teen romance movie, you cheapskate. When people really love one another, the most exact way to express that is with a monetary value.

If a girl introduces herself with your last name, it obviously means you belong together... and that she wants you realize it. The sooner into your relationship this name-change occurs, the longer you are bound to be together. Prematurely acting like the two of you are married seems to be the healthiest way to progress with your relationship; to hell with slowly getting to know each other over time.

So I'm pretty sure I'll never be in love.

Bitch or Buddha?

Sometimes I think cutting my bangs or painting my nails will define my personality a little better or affect my attitude is some supernatural way. This always leads me to the disappointing realization that no matter how kickass my bangs look, and no matter how expertly I've applied 17 coats of hooker-red nail polish, I'm still a sarcastic, impatient, insecure, absent-minded mess with an affinity for commas and superfluous adjectives.

Ready for a night of walking the streets.

I've tried not to be those things, because those are terrible attributes to credit to yourself, but to no avail. When I abstain from sarcasm it's the worst, because I become overly polite to the point of robotic insincerity. There's very little for me to say if I've taken the vow of nonbitchyness, except things like "22 and a half" and "Dr. Pepper please."

During these spells of personality renovation, people sense my Buddha-like state of peace and strive to shatter it. Last week I had a complete stranger come into my work, and while I rang him up he lectured me about my dangerous decision to drop out of college. He told me I was making a foolish mistake and asked me if I wanted to continue to work there the rest of my life. So I ignored his words, nodded, and exclaimed, "Here's your receipt! Stay warm!"

It was the perfect balance between Bitch and Buddha. Because I got to say nice words with the clear subtext: "It doesn't matter what you're saying because I don't even know your name, you're wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and you just purchased drugstore-brand sex jelly."

That explanation was in case you thought I legitimately wanted that man to stay warm.