A New Beginning

What the f*ck happened to all my hair?

Hi, all my friends out there in the blogosphere! I bet you didn't expect to hear from me, huh? Hey, cut a bitch a break. I've been doing big things and I'm here to bring you along for the ride.

As you know, I've been enrolled in an accelerated PhD program since 2011. Yeah...turns out...not so accelerated. You can blame me for that. I was about as diligent with that as I am with this blog. You see how that turns out, right? However, I did manage to complete it within the allotted time (four months to five years). I came in at four years and ten months. Sweet.

So, it's official!

Just call me Dr. Bitch! You know you want to and several of you were waiting expressly for this opportunity. Have at it! I'm so cool with that. On this blog anyway. You know I don't go for that shit on the zen blog.

Along with my newfound doctor-hood, I've started a spiritual counseling practice. In light of this, I've had to make a few changes to this blog. Some of your favorite posts as well as some comments that I may or may not have made in the past, have been deleted. Also, there will not be nearly as many f-bombs dropped as usual. I'm not eliminating them altogether though. Because fuck. That's how I roll.

But I'm making these changes in order to spruce up my image for all my new and future clients. Once they get to know me, they will understand both sides of the complexity that is me, but I can't scare them off right at the beginning.

I want to take a minute, though, to thank all of my lovely blog friends who have supported me from the very beginning. Your kind words of wisdom and support have been invaluable to me. Even though I look around blogger and can no longer find most of you, I hope that one day you will see this and know that you are loved. I hope that your lives are happy and that your journeys have taken you to new and pleasantly unexpected places.

There I go getting the zen bitch mixed up with the bitch bitch again.

Anyway, stay tuned for the fun. I promise not to leave you hanging just because I'm all doctored up and shit.

Love you guys!

Jesus, Take the Wheel

I feel the need to channel Carrie Underwood today because somewhere Susan B. Anthony is rolling over in her grave.

Have you seen this shit?


Just what every parent wants for their little princess...Video Ho Girl Barbie. What. The. Fuck. That's a statement, not a question. Video Girl Barbie comes complete with a video camera in her necklace, form-fitting night club outfit, Jersey Shore hair, bodacious ta-ta's, and a bootylicious ass you can bounce a quarter off of. That reminds me, Video Ho. Beyonce called. She wants her ass back.

When I was a little girl, Barbie was someone to be admired. Sure, she was a doll, but she taught little girls that they could grow up and become doctors or astronauts, drive race cars, work as flight attendants or say "fuck it" and fly the damn planes themselves. And all without a dime from Ken's bitch ass.

Who's bright idea was it to take Beyonce and Snooki, meld them together, dye her hair blond, give her a camcorder with which to record her naughty misdeeds, and sell her to little girls? I want names. And addresses. AND a five gallon bucket, a pair of pruning shears, two spark plugs and a Snickers bar. Don't ask.

This just proves my point that we're getting dumber. How does one "evolve" from a doctor to a video ho? I must have missed that part of the evolutionary chart. So, it goes: ape, neanderthal, cro magnon, human, whore? Is this what the rest of us have to look forward to? Because if it is, let me off at the next stop.

Maybe this was no accident. Maybe there is a little Impotent Old Man somewhere who decided to take revenge on the fairer sex by putting them in their place, so to speak. Maybe IOM is so freakin' pissed that women have gone from subservient, homemaking, child-rearing, I-can't-do-anything-without-a-man doormats to strong, maid-having, nanny-hiring, fuck-you-asshole-I-don't-need-you-for-shit powerhouses, that he thought he could reverse years of feminism with the creation of a doll employed in the world's oldest profession. Don't give me that look. Video Ho-ing is only one shot of Hennessy away from prostitution and you know it. My point is that he was trying to start over from scratch. Career woman to ho; ho to housewife. Then things would be as they were meant to be. There's a fatal flaw in his plan, however. Everyone knows you can't turn a ho into a housewife.

I would like to tie IOM's loosely hanging balls into a sailor's knot, put a red bandana on his head, and plop him naked into the middle of a Lil Wayne video being filmed in Crip territory. Then all the booty bouncing video vixens could point and laugh as they drove their pimped out rides up and down his sadistic spine.

No actual video hoes were harmed in the making of this post.

Stay away from the trunk of my car.

Franklin Scare Hospital

I thought I was making that name up, Franklin Scare Hospital (a play on words for Franklin Square Hospital) but as it turns out, I'm not the only person who's had a near-death experience there. Several people I've spoken to since they almost killed me on Thursday, have told me their own personal horror stories about having been treated there.

Okay, I didn't almost die, but no thanks to Dr. Lopez with his lackluster attitude about my health. Here's the scoop:

I had been having severe abdominal pains for more than 12 hours straight. I know you're thinking, "menstrual cramps" right? Me, too! But these weren't any ordinary (as if there is such a thing) menstrual cramps. They started at around 9 PM on Wednesday evening, and those suckers refused to stop. I called my doctor's office  Thursday morning and the nurse said, "Come in now! We're putting you in as an emergency appointment."

Emergency, my ass! They had me waiting a whole 'nother hour in that wet, dreary waiting room. It wasn't until they saw my black ass crying that they thought, "Hmm, shit must be serious." I was seconds away from demanding my co-pay back and taking my chances with the ER. I'm sure there's something I can get at Panera Bread for $5. So Dr. M. did her thing and decided to call an ambulance to come and get me. Guess I'm taking my chances with the ER anyway. As an aside let me just point out that 911 was busy! Note to self: move to a city where the criminals don't outnumber the good guys.

When I get to the hospital, I have to lie in the doorway for about 15 minutes while the EMTs check me in, put that little plastic bracelet on my wrist, and then roll me to my own little cubby hole. Yes, the EMTs did this, not the nurses. That should have been my first clue. I lay there for 15 more minutes before anyone even acknowledges that I have, in fact, come to them for care. When a nurse does come over, I asked her to please give me a heat pack or pad to help ease the pain. "Oh, we don't have heat packs at this hospital." That should have been my second clue. A second nurse comes to inform me that they are sending me to "flex care" so that I can be seen sooner. "Can you walk down there?" You know how long hospital corridors are, right? Flex care was 1 1/2 corridors away. Strike three. Why the hell am I here again? Oh, right, I'm fucking dying.

Just when I was about to ask this bitch if she'd rather I run or skip, an angel appeared. She looked like she was coming back from lunch, but she took one look at the expression on my face and knew that my walking was a bad idea. She got a wheelchair and rolled me down the hall. God bless her. I waited in flex care's waiting room for 20 minutes before someone called me back. I had to follow her (read walk) to the last exam room. In all fairness to her, the room was about 50 feet away, but it may as well have been a mile.

Skip through some disgusting details and I'm back in exam room 5 waiting for test results and Dr. Lopez. The P.A. comes in and asks, "How's the pain medicine working?" I ask, "What pain medicine?" I'd only been there for three hours in agonizing pain. Who needs pain killers? The nurse gives me some drugs and for the first time in almost 24 hours, the pain subsides.

Dr. Lackluster comes in an hour later and says this (I swear to holy hell these were his exact words): "Well, we can do one of three things. I can just give you some pain meds and send you home; we could do a sonogram to maybe figure out what's causing the pain; or I can admit you, but you look too good for that." Let me see, I think I'll pick...a) send me home to die. So he's trying to figure out if I'm actually in pain or just drug-seeking AND hitting on me at the same time. Wow. I guess that means he'll fuck the shit out of a good-looking crack whore.

Oh, did I mention that I was fucking freezing the whole time? Everyone kept promising to bring me more blankets. I never got them because every time someone would check the closet, it was empty. Apparently, that first nurse had given me the last one. Lucky me.

If you ever see me bleeding to death in a gutter and my only chance of surviving means going to Franklin Square, please, I beg you, let me die in the gutter. There's at least dignity in that.


Hey, now that you're done laughing at my expense, check out my other blog The Well-Fed Spirit. I hardly curse at all over there. ;)