Be the Bigger Bitch

I grew up hearing that in life, you have to be the bigger person. You have to be the better person. But life has taught me there is no truth to this. The truth is, you have to be the bigger bitch.

When you were in high school, who was the most popular girl? She wasn’t that sweet girl who gave her lunch tray to some kid who couldn’t afford one. She wasn’t that kind-hearted girl who volunteered at the old folks home. She was the biggest bitch in the hallway, and you know it.

Why does the biggest bitch do the best? It’s simple, she doesn’t take anyone’s crap. No one’s! In fact, she dares people to cross her, and that my friends is why she ruled the hallway.

We all think we will grow up and high school will go away, but that’s not true either. It follows you. The biggest bitch in the hallway becomes the biggest bitch in your office. She’s the one who gets promoted despite the fact that her work is inferior to yours. Why? Because even your boss won’t dare to cross her.

My husband once told me that the person who holds the power in a relationship is the one who shows the least amount of love. At the time, he was young, recovering from a divorce, and I thought he was wrong to think such a thing. Twenty years later, I get it, even at home you can’t be that sweet young girl.

image courtesy of stupendousmarriage.com

The problem is, the sweeter you are, the more people think they can take advantage of you. Help someone in a pinch, they start getting pinched more and more!

About a year ago, I was to the point that I felt like all people did was walk all over me. The more I tried to be supportive and helpful, the more I felt stabbed in the back! So, I found myself thinking back to that conversation years and years ago when my husband let me in on his little secret. At the time, we were barely dating and he was speaking of his ex-wife, but once I realized I could use his own advice against him, there was no turning back.

I had to learn how to choke back my tears. “Never let ’em see you sweat!” I had to learn that too. Sadly, it has worked. The meaner I am to my husband, the nicer he has become towards me. I reject him, he chases me. He sends me a text that says “I love you” and I text back, “Ok :)”, and he comes home with flowers.

Sure, I love being called beautiful ten times a day and I love that he suddenly admits that he couldn’t live without me, but why did I have to become the bigger bitch?

It’s not really my style to be so cold, but it’s true-

Hide your love, and everyone will work to find it. Show it freely, and no one will ever want to see.

The same does not hold true for cleavage, hide it and people forget you’ve got it. Show it, never buy your own drink again!

 

 

I’d rather be alone….

I’m so sick of superficial artificial fake-ass people. I swear I’d rather be home all by myself than constantly deal with fake friends, fake men, and drama I didn’t ask for. It’s pretty sad when you have 600 friends on Facebook and only two you’d trust with your heart.

A few weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night. My head was shaking. I can’t explain it very well, I can only say if felt like someone opened my skull, put their hand in my head, and shook my brain. I don’t know if my body was moving or not. I do know I wanted to cry for help. I wanted to wake my husband up, but I couldn’t speak. I could hear the words in my head, but I couldn’t get my mouth to move. I’m not sure if it was a seizure of some sort, but I know for the next week I was exhausted like never before and I had a headache I couldn’t shake. It was the scariest moment of my life. When my doctor said “you will be seeing me once a week until we figure this all out,” suddenly I realized, life really can be too short.

It was common knowledge around here that I was pretty sick, mainly because my husband is a big mouth, and I’m sad to say none of my Facebook followers bothered to check on me. People who used to claim they were my best friends couldn’t even muster a phone call. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe because I got sick of being the PTO President, Martha Stewart kind of mom I was known for being. Or maybe because I finally had too many things to do to keep helping everyone else with everything they needed, but sometimes I am shocked by the sheer audacity of some people.

One of these so called friends used to come to my house 3 or 4 nights a week. I cooked dinner for her family night after night. I treated her kids well, and I even ignored the fact that she thought riding on my husbands motorcycle meant she had some kind of chance to get in his pants. Then one day, I had a house to clean and kids to feed, and I quit lying to her about why she couldn’t get a man, and POOF, she was gone.

To be honest, I think the nail in the coffin was plain old jealously. I’ve got a husband and a blast from the past that loves me still, and she can’t get a guy to hang in there for six months. It’s easier to blame me that her own personality. I tried to tell her all it takes to get a man is a smile, a shirt that isn’t a black t’shirt everyday, and some cleavage. But she doesn’t like my advice, so she found a new best friend.

She still calls from time to time, but it’s always awkward. The day after I got out of the hospital I heard from her because she needed help with her computer. When I explained that I had just gotten out of the hospital, and couldn’t run into town to help her solve her problem, did she say “omg, are you ok?” No! She said “how ’bout tomorrow?”

I wonder when the world became so selfish? When did people stop honestly caring for one another? I wonder, how many people who say “I’m praying for you” actually fold their hands and whisper a prayer? Today, I’m thinking sincerity is lost on this world of ours, and that’s a bigger problem that gun control and terrorism put together…

I must say…

I must say I was a little embarrassed today when I made 2 confessions to my BFF. First, I have never given up anything for LENT. Not ever. I’m not particularly religious but I was raised in a Christian southern home where Bible thumping was mandated from time to time. But I don’t recall any of us ever having to choose something to give up. To be honest, I don’t think you should do it if you’re not gonna go all out and make a real sacrifice.

Why say “I’m giving up cake” when you don’t even have cake all that often? That’s not hard to do. Now if you eat cake twice a day, I could see that as a sacrifice, but I think a lot of people pick something simple to give up and take the easy way out. That way, they can pretend they participated. I was pretty impressed by my friend. She has chosen to pray for people she doesn’t like for the next 40 days. Now that’s a challenge!

If I had to take that one on I’d have to start with my husband’s ex-wife. Now that I’ve done all the work of raising our daughter, she wants to come around and act as if I haven’t done the job right. Where was she 10 years ago when there was work to do? It has taken all my patience to keep from running over her with my car. I wonder if I could give up the ex-wife for Lent? I could use 40 days without her!

Maybe I could just give up the husband for 40 days! Now that would be interesting. Of course, instead of remembering the things Jesus gave up for me I might find myself getting into the kind of trouble that would land me in a confessional saying “Hail Mary’s” and begging the Priest to forgive me and I’m not even Catholic. I just have such a dirty mind I can’t seem to keep myself out of trouble.

It’s Official…

I don’t really know how to be a bad girl. The “boyfriend” says I shouldn’t live my life without being bad at least once, but that cracked me up considering the fact that seeing me had his hands shaking like a vibrator. I’m not gonna lie, I have wondered a thousand times if I shouldn’t just throw morals out the window to make room for my fantasies instead.

Despite his many years of being a bad boy, I guess he grew up to be a class act. He’s seen me twice in recent months and both times he kept his pants on. He didn’t even try to kiss me. I thought for sure he’d try to kiss me, but he has all these morals, and I guess he couldn’t bring himself to kiss me, because, as he put it, I belong to someone else. But he did buy me a case of beer!

Dear Man

Dear Man of mine,

It has come to my attention that you are in need of a little advice. Apparently, you don’t understand the art of pacing yourself. I can see clearly why you ended up burnt out. You started too soon and did too much. At fourteen you were too old for Little League but you spent all your time trying to get on first base anyway. You begged, pleaded, and offered up teddy bears holding stuffed hearts for the chance to actually touch a little cleavage. Meanwhile, my daddy was telling me to steer clear of first base, to stay off the field all together, so you really had to work for it back then.

Then sixteen came along and we got cars, and you spent all your energy trying to get me in the back seat. You got a job after school bagging groceries and loading feed into pick-up trucks just so you could afford dinner, a movie, and since I was so boobaliscious I even got little gifts from the mall like the little silver necklace dangling a heart I wore for so long thinking it meant you loved me. Don’t worry, I don’t expect an apology. I know now that it wasn’t really love, you just wanted to bury your face between the twin peaks. It’s okay, I can appreciate your admiration for the girls. I’m not saying you were wrong to love them, I’m just saying you spent way too much time and energy trying to see them. You should have relaxed a little bit, enjoyed our time together more.

Leave it to Cleavage

So I have a new favorite blog, it’s from a PUA. (That’s pick-up artist for those of us who didn’t realize there is a community dedicated to this shiznit!) First of all, this guy spends a fortune clubbing! He could feed my kids for a week in what he spends on a night out. But what really got my attention was the conversation going on in the comments. They were talking about those girls who just use guys to get a few drinks.

Uh-oh, I have been that girl! There’s no shame in my game. I can remember before I was even old enough to drink I was able to get into this little bar in town. I must’ve been about 19, 20 years old. I would go there on Friday nights and sit next to this one old man. Shame on me, I can’t remember his name. I’d walk up and flash him the biggest smile. Then I’d talk about all the things I’d been doing at work, throw in how I needed some extra money to get my car fixed. He’d steady order me drinks. We’d talk, and I’d be sure to do my best Marilyn Monroe sultry-eyed impression. I appear to be hanging on his every word. Sometimes he’d peel out a few extra twenties and tuck them in my pocket.  Gas money!

Here’s the thing every girl knows, or should know. All you gotta do is lean in a little. Stare deeply into his eyes. Smile. Laugh. Brush your hair out of your eyes and let it fall right back and there you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker. You don’t have to be a supermodel, just pass out a few ego strokes and he’ll be wrapped around your finger. This was my Friday night magic for months. I’d go in that bar around 8 or 9, and by 11 he’d been giving me directions to his apartment, so I could come by and say hello to him sometime that next week. He always offered to pay me some extra money if I’d do the dishes or run the vacuum. I kind of got the feeling he was hoping I would sit on his lap and call him Daddy. Unfortunately I kept losing those darned directions. I don’t know how that happened??