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!

I Resolve...To Not Resolve

Another year has come to an end and I am happy to report that I haven't disappointed myself once in 2010. I know. I adore me, too. How have I managed this impossible feat? It's simple, really. I stopped making New Year's Resolutions about three years ago. Gone are the days when I'd sit down with a brand new journal and pen and plot out all the huge, unrealistic goals that I planned to meet in the new year. Ahhh, sweet freedom.

Have you ever taken a moment to examine the word 'resolution'? Broken down it's re-solution. The word is basically saying, "What? You didn't stick with this year's solution to the problem? Don't sweat it. Let's do it all over again!" It sounds wonderful, like a pardon from the President for killing a family of four, only the pardon is from yourself for not starting your own business or giving up caffeine. Yes, it sounds wonderful, but what happens when you catch a glimpse of yourself naked on December 19th and it's too late to lose that 50 pounds you resolved to lose? Trust me, even gastric bypass doesn't work that fast. So, you've disappointed yourself...again.

Not me. Not ever again. These past three years have been amazingly carefree. Except for the economy, but one can hardly blame me for that. Don't set yourselves up for failure. With my plan, you can make minimal effort and if you make any progress at all, it will be a victory. A small victory to be sure, but winning is winning.

And so, to encourage my friends, family, and fellow bloggers to join me in my quest to be happy in this new year and every new year to come I'm starting the No Resolution Revolution. It's just like making a resolution, only not. You take all the things you would normally resolve to do and do the opposite. Are you following me? No? Come on, keep up. It's not rocket science. Just do as I do.

In 2011, I promise (not resolve, see how that works?) to:
1. Eat as much as I possibly can in a 365 day span. Therefore, I also will
2. Gain so much weight that Weight Watchers will call me and offer their services free of charge.
3. Do absolutely no exercise and negatively impact my lung capacity.
4. Speaking of lung capacity, I will take up smoking again. Sure, I only smoked two cigs a day, but a carcinogen is a carcinogen, right? I'm sure it'll do the job.
5. Not put forth any effort toward being successful or achieving my dreams. Who needs a career that's financially and emotionally fulfilling? Not me, that's for damn sure.
6. Not pay any attention whatsoever to my husband and kids. They'll survive. If not, there's always the cat.
7. Let my house fall apart completely. I'm tired of spending my hard-earned money on this old ass house. Well, it's not exactly my hard-earned money, but still. I could start a nice gambling addiction with that money.
8. To be the most ungrateful bitch anyone has ever met. I've already got the bitch part down, so we're halfway there with that one.
9. To be the rootinest tootinest bible-thumpingest Christian this side of the Mississip. I almost wrote that whole sentence without laughing.
10. To actively, proactively, and reactively seek out alcoholism. That one shall begin before this post is finished being typed.

By the end of 2011, I will be a fat, lazy, alcoholic with no ambition, no friends, fucked up kids, and an iron lung. Damn! This shit is going to be fun.

I read a bumper sticker recently that said, "Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?" let's just say that's my motto for 2011. We're not supposed to survive 2012, so why the hell would I go through all the trouble of doing all the things that everyone else is promising themselves to do. Fuck that. I'm going to have a ball during my supposed last year of existence and maybe do shit differently in my next lifetime.

Maybe.

Happy Fat Ass New Year to all my wonderful and loyal readers! I fucking love you guys! I'm never going to say that shit again, so you might want to print this out.

See ya next year!

Self-Empowerment: How The Fuck Does That Happen?

I've been taking a self-empowerment class at my local New Age book store. Well, I'm using the term "taking" loosely. There were three classes over the course of three weeks. I missed the first one, showed up for the second one, and arrived late to the third one, which was tonight. In my defense, I didn't really feel like being empowered the first week. And tonight, I had the brilliant idea that it would be "breakfast night", but not just that, I was also going to make eggs-to-order. Now, usually when I make eggs for my whole family, I just throw all ten of those bitches in one big pan and scramble them up. Takes no more than a few minutes. But since everyone got to have it their fucking way tonight, I ended up having to make four omelets and two over-easy in addition to their pig slices and French toast. Mmm, pig ass. Yummy. So my defense is that not only am I a bitch, but a lazy, dumb bitch at that. I plead dumbassness, your honor. I should have been a lawyer, right?

After taking one and three quarters classes, I don't feel anymore empowered than I did before I started. They must have covered a lot of shit in that first class. I have just as many questions now as I did before. No, that's not true; I have way more. Don't get me wrong, it was a fun class. The teacher is a rocking guru bitch and I will take any class she teaches. The class provided guidelines on how to empower yourself. It gave us a jumping off point and we were supposed to take those jump-offs and figure out what is holding us back from fulfilling our destinies or being all we can be or whatever happiness-and-light bullshit is supposed to happen.

Bullshit, indeed. I didn't want guidelines and fucking suggestions. I wanted answers! I wanted her to tell me what I needed to do. I wanted to walk in there a fat, jobless screw-up and walk out a fucking Mother Teresa wannabe.

Ah, but Mother T never said 'fuck', did she? Another dream dead and stinking. I wouldn't give up 'fuck' for anything in the world. I wouldn't give up 'fuck' if you paid me in diamond-studded chocolate bars stuffed inside 50 Prada handbags. I wouldn't give up 'fuck' if Denzel Washington was naked under my Christmas tree with his bank book and keys to a beach house in Waikiki in one hand and two divorce decrees (both his and mine) in the other. Oh, and four nannies on standby so that I wouldn't even have to talk to my kids if I didn't want to.

Damn, I lost my train of thought...What the hell was I rambling about? Oh, right, bookstores. No, that's not right...Gandhi? No...Cursed dreams of indirect motherhood! Give me a minute to scroll up and read what I was bitching about. Try to guess what's wrong with this picture in the meantime:


Did you see the baby? Nice, huh?

So as I was saying before my neurons abruptly stopped firing, I'm still basically clueless as to how I can get my life in something vaguely resembling order. She gave each of us questions, specific to our birth dates, that, once answered, should help us rise into the enlightened beings we are all destined to be. This was my first question: How do I open myself and communicate my love? Lady, I've been asking myself that question since the time my husband, then boyfriend, asked me, "What do you have against PDA (public displays of affection)?"  and I said "While it's true that female dogs like to fuck with an audience, this bitch right here prefers to be petted in private." If I had the answer to that question, I'd be home right now with a pint of Ben & Jerry's watching Tivo'd episodes of Rules of Engagement instead of sitting in the hot back room of a bookstore resisting the urge to flat iron the frizzy, blonde hair of the annoying woman next to me.

Is she serious? How do I open myself? What the fuck does that even mean? I'd venture a few guesses, but I don't want to lose any of the lovely four followers I gained today. The rest of you already know about the bullshit I sometimes let spew from my brain onto this poor, unsuspecting computer screen, so you wouldn't be too surprised.

Well, it's late now. The snore train just pulled into the station. Destination: Keep My Ass Upville. If I don't go to sleep before the train goes full steam ahead, all the prescription painkillers cum sleeping pills in the world won't help me get a good night's rest.

Oh shit! He stopped breathing!

Damn! He started again.