Open Letter 2 My Gender: Mean Girls, Bottom Feeders & Do Nothing Bitches

**Recently my FaceBook timeline has been flooded with a lot of girl on girl hate crime and while I expect this type of behavior from a middle schooler, I do not condone this type of behavior among grown women. When you’re an adult woman flipping out that someone happens to like your bf/husband, you need to take a good hard look in the mirror, boo boo because you look ridiculous and bat shit crazy. Wipe your eyes, clean off your day old mascara, brush your hair and take a nice hot shower and pray that the skank stank comes out. Please, sit the fuck down, turn off your cell phones & keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times. We’re off to NeverNeverLand…**

Girls have a bad habit of causing more drama than is necessary. When it comes to instigating drama, we take the cake. We take the whole bakery. After millions of years of evolution, we have yet to be rid of this sickness and the women who spread this plague, infecting others with their vomitous hair balls of jealousy, insecurity and lies. We thrive on destroying each other over the most meaningless shit and we never say what we actually mean, we constantly change the story, while speaking in riddles, tweeting and reposting the latest meme or catchphrase and writing a chicken shit subliminal message on our FaceBook status in hopes that it’s seen and continues to cause more drama and harassment. I’m convinced that some of you use drama as a way to suck the life force out of the other person in order to stay young and pretty. Drama vampires. You just can’t get enough.

It began in middle school. All the amazing girlfriends I had in Elementary school suddenly went AWOL & pretended not to know me. The invisible lines had been drawn between the popular kids and the not so popular kids. This segregation was never more prevalent than during lunch period. It was as if our social circles had been predestined by some divine will or fate, but instead of baby Jesus, we witnessed the birth of the Mean Girl. And for whatever reason, I seemed to have more than my fair share of Mean Girls and they made it their personal mission, as if they had orders straight from Tom Cruise himself, to make my life a living, breathing nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. Mean Girls don’t attack physically. They rip you apart like a day old carcass with their words alone. From top to bottom they would tell you what was wrong with you, your outfit, your chosen hairstyle or lack thereof, down to the socks and shoes you were wearing. Vultures picking off the last little morsels of flesh from your bones. Leaving you looking like Keira Knightley after a long night of donuts and bulimia.

Not only did you have to worry about the Mean Girls, but you had to worry about the bullying and perpetual lying and shit talking that was happening within your own core group of girlfriends. What the fuck happened? In elementary school we all got along unless some dickless wonder didn’t get off the swing when her time was up. Friendships among females didn’t count for shit in middle school. Suddenly we became sneaky, shady and jealous if a friend of ours received more attention from the opposite sex than we did. We would come up with ways to single her out and make her feel that she was at fault for the collapse of our friendship. Constantly berating her, making her choose between her friends or her boyfriend. Meanwhile, we’re playing both sides of the fence. Filling her boyfriends head with confusing, don’t-make-no-goddamn-sense lies about his little Nightingale. Turning them against each other and when they’ve both finally had enough and break up, instead of consoling our girlfriend, we’re surrounding her now ex boyfriend in the school courtyard, filling his head with more nonsense about how it’s not his fault, he deserves better. Real sick shit. All is fair in love and war. Unless you’re going to war with a woman. You will not win. Girls don’t even win their own battles, which is why, my dear readers, a female argument will last longer than the Reconquest of Spain.

You may not even realize that you’re involved in the argument because in girl world all the fighting has to be sneaky. Look for the signs:

(These are the middle school signs, but unfortunately, regardless of how old we get, it still applies today because girls are catty cunts)

Moving on…

-Not invited to the slumber party
-They leave the table before you’re done with lunch
-No one is returning your phone calls or txts
-They’re talking to each other like you don’t exist
-They reminisce about what they did all weekend & you were not invite

Late into high school I finally realized what my female friendships meant to me and how much I needed them in my life. I always got along much better with guys, but there’s a certain bond between girls. You need to have them in your darkest moments. But beware for the one girl in the group who just happens to be a snake in the grass. There’s one in every social circle.

I’ve always been lightyears ahead of many of my peers, but the amount of growing up I’ve done in the last five years has truly opened my eyes. I don’t engage in petty bullshit drama with other girls. I don’t post one Facebook status after the other trying to bait my enemy into a heated argument…over the fucking internet no less! Grown women who are confident and comfortable with themselves don’t pay you no mind. We ain’t got time for that! Alpha females don’t give Peasants, Trolls and Trollops a second thought. If you’re sweatin’ the girl that’s throwing shade at you from across the bar because she’s drunk with jealousy over your relationship and has her death beam set on your boyfriend, you need to woman up and remember that you got him. He’s yours. You’ve already won. What do you care if some random pirate hooker wants what you have? Jealousy is flattery wrapped in barbed wire. And it’s your decision whether or not you want to scale it. But why lower yourself to fight with bottom feeder bitches? What could a bottom feeder bitch possibly say or do to make you, an Alpha female, feel any less of yourself? They got nothin’! Don’t allow their destructive, ruinous whispers reach your ears. They are vacuous, do nothing bitches and they probably have trailer trash names like Tiffany Lynn. The work is already done for you. So, woman up, treasure the amazing friends that you do have, set fire to any snake or She-Beast, free yourself of all that girl on girl crime and breathe easy.

You got this.

Subliminal Messages aka Being a Chicken Shit

ATTN: Social media users!
If you’re going to take the time & effort to speak in code, i.e. write a subliminal message to a boy/girl that you either like or despise on your Facebook timeline for ALL to see, you are officially a chicken shit. A Chicken shit is to be a coward, an unmanly being, a man without testicles, but as of late, it’s not the men folk who have been constantly writing in code on their FB pages in the hopes that whatever chick (or dude…hey, it’s 2015) will suddenly take notice.

Guys say what they want to say and are done with it. Girls, however, are snakes in the grass who will continue to send mixed messages and signals not only on their Facebook updates but in their private life as well.

***I PROMISE WE’RE GETTING TO THE POINT….I just never said when ;)***

Back in my day…(I was REALLY trying to avoid that phrase), we didn’t have Myspace, Facebook, Tinder, SnapChat, Instagram or Instant Messenger. In fact, it wasn’t until 1999 when texts could finally be exchanged between deferent networks. We didn’t have Emojis, or Apps & Built-in cellphone cameras were unheard of until 2002. Which meant……

…….We actually had to physically speak to each other. No, really. Face to face. Oh, sure we wrote notes, but that was a time when people knew how to spell and properly use grammar (most of us, anyway). We didn’t have Emojis to save our asses in awkward situations either.

No texting. No camera phones. No apps. No itunes. And no emojis. Wrap your head around that.

So, aside from passing notes during or in between classes with the guy or gal that you liked, there was only one other way to REALLY find out if someone liked you or wished that you would spend eternity in the bog of eternal stench. (If any youngsters get that movie reference….you win absolutely nothing).

We would have to speak to that person, in person and use our actual words.Yeah! we could have to vocalize what we wanted to say. Wrap your mind around that for minute….go head, I’ll wait. Not only that, but there was always the fear of rejection as well. In a txt, Email or a message on Facebook, you never had to worry about being rejected because you didn’t have to see that person face to face and be forced to stay in an awkward situation.
Facebook, Myspace, Email,Texting, it has become a very convenient place to hide.

It has turned us all into little cowards, who for whatever reason will not say what they really need and/or want to say. Do you honestly think that posting a meme every five minutes represents you as a person? Are you only capable of re-posting your friends status updates because you truly have nothing to say? Sheep.

***And finally what you’ve all been waiting for…the finale. And the fucking point to this rant.***

Subliminal messages run rampant on Facebook and neither of you are any good about hiding or making your message discrete. You’re not fooling anybody. Not only that, but your attempt at hiding a status within your own Facebook makes you appear to be a little bat shit, as well as a chicken shit. Attempting to hide a bullshit message on your Facebook in the hopes that the person may see it and completely understand what and whom you’re discussing & stop everything so that he/she can battle it out over a Facebook status sounds bat shit crazy to me.

Arguing over a Facebook status is more than a little ridiculous. Jumping from the Grand Canyon would make more sense than tearing each other a part over what was written on a social media page.

***Almost done. I promise.***

And for those of you who continuously write subliminal Facebook status messages about a “special someone,” or a person you hate but have no idea why you hate said person, you are the problem and the host to this virus, which will continue to spread, consume and fester. Acting big and bad on Facebook about a person you’re having beef with makes you look like a complete ass hat, chicken shit, who is in dire need of growing a pair and tell that “special someone” how you really feel. And if you have major beef with someone, don’t be that guy/girl who hides behind social media.

Yeah, you’re really tough behind a computer screen, you cheap dime store hood.

***And for those not in the know…Cheap Dime Stores were stores that sold things to the equivalent to 10 cents & Hood means a trouble maker or LOW LIFE. So, really, the complete translation is a person who has nothing better to do than to hang out in front of dime stores.***

***Moral of the story***

Don’t rely on Social Media to get your point across. Don’t waste time writing hieroglyphics. You’re not being honest with yourself or the other person that you claim to like so much. And although he/she may know that you’re talking about them, they would much rather hear it from your mouth about how you feel. You could be rejected 100x, but at least you used your words. Posting a message written in code only appears desperate. Guys always know when you’re talking or thinking about them while they’re spying on your twitter. But dudes are simple creatures and if they’re worth a damn, they would much rather hear it straight from the horses mouth or your mouth. Whichever.

On that note, I’m going to give this issue a rest. I said all I needed to say and I didn’t have to write it in ancient aztec on my Facebook page.

So, yeah….

Only Four Months Left…

As much as I hate to admit it, I have less than four months left living it up in my twenties.

My Dirty Thirty is coming up feb 9th and I’m having a really hard time accepting this. My Expiration date is upon me. Plenty of my thirty something friends have told me that turning thirty will be the best years of my life. Yeah? does it come with a members only jacket?

Yes, I know I’m overreacting and perhaps being a bit dramatic. I suppose I just feel that once I tell a guy I’m thirty, he’ll immediately lose interest. I’m used to dating guys who are 35-38 (my cut off is 40), so, how do I break it to them that I’m in their same age group? Lets face it, guys love dating younger chicks. Thirty is not young. I’m grateful for still being able to pull off the “young look” (thank you Oil of O’lay), but just hearing the word “Thirty” sounds like I should be moving into a senior citizen living facility.

If anyone see’s me playing Bingo, just kindly take me to the back of the shed & put me out of my misery.

Another fear of mine, which I’ve had since I was ten years old, is that I won’t make it to thirty. I’ve had so many close calls in life, (no fault of my own), that I’m worried, legitimately worried, that these may be my last 4 months on this planet. If anyone else has had these thoughts, please share them so I don’t feel like such a tool.

I know I’m being ridiculous. But I had to get this off my chest.

That being said, if I make it to my 30th, I will be going all out. More details to come. In the meantime, & just like every other porn chick…here’s my BDAY Amazon Wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/2GG83ZZ2LCGVN/ref=cm_sw_r_ip_wl_o_Os4rub0PZDJY2 @Amazon

*If the link doesn’t work for whatever reason, you can go to Amazon.com & look up Scarlett Fay Wishlist. My Wishlist is also posted on my twitter about a dozen times. Also, due to the fact that it’s the big 30, any fans who buy me a gift from my wishlist I want to invite to my DIRTY THIRTY BDAY PARTY!*

X’s & Oh’s all over your pink parts!

~Scarlett Fay~

ScarlettFayBookings@gmail.com

Twitter: @scarlettfay1oh1

Where Do You Stash Your Innocence?

 

And now for something completely different…

 

Being a teenager was not fun. Some of us like to say that we would love to go back in time, to our teenage years, knowing what we know now, but lets face it, it would still be just as awful. Going back in time, knowing what you know now, wouldn’t make you any more popular or any less of a nerd depending on your station in life at that given age. You’d probably be worse off because the “cool kids” would still be assholes and the not-so-cool kids would still be playing Dungeons & Dragons. You suddenly being the “wise one” in the group, giving advice, would mean dick to those around you. So, lets just be thankful that a good majority of us are past our teenage years and hopefully most of us have grown into decent human beings. 

Moving on.

 

Regardless of your station in life while in Junior High or High School, whether you were the popular kid, the jock, the school nerd, band or theatre geek, we all had one thing in common. That innocence that comes with that first kiss. And, no, I don’t mean, your very first kiss. I just mean, that first kiss in general with the new guy or gal you were holding hands with at the time. That’s right! Holding hands. You didn’t date. Not in high school. Having your parents take you to the upcoming school dance, to the movies or to the mall does not consist of dating. Dating came later. When you were able to pick up your own date and didn’t have to worry about a curfew. In high school, you held hands and ran up the cell phone bill $500 because these were the days when cell phones didn’t have unlimited texting. These were the days before Myspace, Facebook and Twitter. The innocent days. Oh, how I miss them. The heartfelt letters that you wrote during first period that you would only have your most trusted friends deliver to your Boyfriend/Girlfriend/Crush and the rush you would feel if you had to pass such a note in class without the teacher catching you. And Jeebus have mercy on your little teenage soul if she did catch you because you knew that wretched, bitter old beast would read the entire thing out to the class just to embarrass you. As if being a teenager wasn’t embarrassment enough. Teachers. They’re all sadists. 

Ahem…we’re getting a little off track. 

 

Ah, yes. Kissing. As a teenager, kissing was a big deal. Finding places to kiss was the second biggest deal. Then I assume finding places to have sex was the third. But before all that, before the sex, before the confusion…There was kissing. And lots of it. My first kiss happened in Middle school. I was very ill prepared for such an event. I didn’t have the “Sex Talk” with my folks, so, everything I learned was self taught. My very first kiss was a disaster. FEMA couldn’t fix what I had done. We’ll call him “Thing 1.” Thing 1 lived near my grandmother, was homeschooled, and rode a bicycle everywhere he went. I was in 7th grade and he was in 8th. Originally, I was supposed to be the wing man and set him up with my then best friend (we’ll call her Mona), who was far too shy to talk to him, let alone get his number. It was all up to me. Mona had this major crush on him, as did I, but I was determined to set these two up. He would wait for us at our bus stop and walk each of us home, but for whatever reason, wanted to walk Mona home first. Then he would walk me home. Thing 1 and I would sit on my grandmothers driveway and just shoot the shit. I would talk Mona up while he flirted with me, which I was oblivious to because I was in 7th grade and what the hell did I know about flirting and compliments and being charming? Nada. The only thing I knew was to laugh nervously at his stupid jokes, in case he ever made any & allow him to talk about himself incessantly. It was exhausting, but at that age any type of Boy attention is good attention. And I was a redhead, freckled face tom boy with these huge eyes that Mona would refer to as my Rat Eyes. So, yeah, having a cute boy talking to me until the sun went down and calling me at the same time every night made me feel good. So good, that I forgot what my actual mission was. 

One Day, Mona wasn’t feeling well enough to join Thing 1 and myself out for a walk. (This was also back in the day when kids actually went outside and did things). Before I knew it, it was 5pm. CURFEW. Thing 1 came in for a hug and then shoved his tongue down my mouth. I was so surprised, I bit it! Yep. My first “french kiss” and I bit it. That was the last I heard of Thing 1 and Mona for a while, after I told her what had happened. 

 

Fast Forward…

 

Summer of ’99! Middle School was over and I had my steady group of amazing friends. I was living in Temecula, ca at this time. So, in a town that was once so small, there was not much to do, but hang out at the local parks. Lazy Creek Park & Peterson Park being the ultimate teenage wastelands, the bowling alley, Mulligans & The Movie Experience movie theatre. We were very limited in what we could do, but with friends just as screwy as myself, we had a blast anywhere. This was the summer I was also introduced to my first real boyfriend. Yes, our parents drove us to the movies and the mall, but we were very serious hand holders. We’ll call him “Bubbles,” (which really was his nickname from me for whatever reason). Bubbles was athletic, tall, very handsome, somewhat shy, silly & wanted by all the neighborhood girls. By some sort of Unicorn magic, both of our parents decided that I could spend a day at his house under adult supervision. Little did my parents, including myself, know that the adult supervision would be his 16 year old brother, who we shall refer to as “Dipshit.” Bubbles and I didn’t see much of Dipshit that day. Or his parents. They were at work. 

Side Note: What type of parents lie to other parents about adult supervision?

Anyway….

 

Bubbles decided he was done tickling me and channel surfing. He offered to make me food, but high school chicks don’t eat in front of their dudes. Especially their new dudes. Just as we were curling up on the couch, Bubbles Mom walks in. Perfect timing considering my Dad was 5 minutes behind her to pick me up. Both parents introduced themselves, the mother exclaiming what a nice young lady I was even though she had been at work up until 5 minutes before my dad pulled up. While the ‘rents spoke about how darling and well behaved we were, Bubbles decided to show me these bike jumps he had built behind his house. We never made it behind his house. He pulled me to the side and kissed me. We’re talking full on make out session! I was following his lead because It was more than obvious he had done this before and I had a bad track record. It was very erotic for someone who was just barely 14. I was hooked after that. Our inside joke after that was always “lets go check out the bike jumps.” We made out everywhere. Movies, the park, anywhere we could sneak a kiss & Bubbles never went any further than that. We were both innocent and enjoying the moment together. Sex was not on our radar. Making out was the only thing we wanted to do. Sure it was a little sloppy at times and our friends would become completely grossed out, but it was fun. 

After a month, which is a year in teen time, he broke it off to be with some other girl. But we remained friends all through high school. 

Side Note: I would later date his older brother, “Dipshit” for one year…but that’s an entirely different blog. Stay tuned 😉

 

“What’s the point of this blog, Fay?

I’m getting there. Hold onto your dicks.

 

Everyone will tell you (well, everyone will tell the females), that your innocence begins and ends with the loss of your virginity. The loss of my virginity? First off, it’s not like “Oops! Where did it go?!” I know exactly what happened to my virginity. 

Side Note:

“Virginity is the state of a person who has never engaged in sexual intercourse.” 

“The term Virgin originally only referred to sexually inexperienced women.” (i advise all females and males to read The Purity Myth)

Funny, I didn’t see LOSS OF INNOCENCE in any of those definitions. 

 

As an adult, I feel like the only innocence I’ve lost is the innocence of those wonderful make out sessions from my high school days, which is now just used a precursor to sex. And rightly so. We’re adults. Sex happens. But the passion is gone. In high school, you could make out with your guy or gal for hours and it would be amazing. Your lips would be swollen and red, but it was never one-sided. You both felt it. You both felt that passion and you couldn’t get enough of each other. Nowadays, we seem to rush through the most important part of foreplay. The kissing! The making out! Ever have sex with someone you didn’t kiss first and the sex was just meh? (That’s a medical term). Or mediocre? Kissing allows you to feel the person out. Kissing forces you to be more intimate and personal. Not that blow jobs aren’t personal, but you’re not both down there. It’s one-sided. And I don’t know about you, but kissing has helped persuade me into thinking “YES! I need him inside me NOW!” Or “Hmm…I’m missing Game of Thrones and my hitachi is plugged in at home.” You can tell a lot about a person from how they kiss. 

 

Just a kiss can tell you anything you want to know. A kiss on the hand, kissing your fingers, kissing your forehead, kissing your nose, kissing your neck, kissing your lips, kissing your stomach, or a kiss on the cheek, which generally means one of three things. 1. You’ve been friend zoned. 2. You already have a husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/wife or 3. You’re in Europe. So, what happened to kissing? Where did the intense make out sessions go? Did we lose them along with our “virginity?” Are they both hiding out together somewhere? 

 

Sometimes you find that guy/gal who can’t keep their lips off you. You can’t keep your lips off each other. And some of you will say “well, that’s just the honeymoon phase drifting away.” BULLSHIT. The kissing leaves long before the honeymoon does. It slowly fades away. From making out constantly, to kissing, to kisses, to bullshit pecks on the cheek, to Niente. My longest relationship was 3yrs. The kissing, the making out, it all stopped abruptly after 4 months, but the sex and relationship continued for 3yrs. Any explanations for that? It also appears that the chicks want the make out sessions more than the dudes do. Fact? Fiction? Are dudes just not that into it as the females are? 

Opinions? 

 

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