Kick That Miserable B to the Curb… She Sucks

Kick That Miserable B to the Curb… She Sucks

A commentary on insecurity, bullying, and making a change to support our lovely ladies.

A few weeks ago I was absently scrolling through my social media feed, mostly watching Iliza Shlesinger’s comedy special (check her out on Netflix) when the bitchy rant of an old acquaintance caught my eye.

I slowly scrolled back and read, ‘I’m so tired of all these fake people on here. All these stupid happy selfies and nothing but the highlights of your oh-so-perfect lives. I know your lives aren’t perfect. You just want people to think they are. #lies #fake.’

The comment had earned a healthy dose of likes and hearts. People ‘loved’ her sentiments. Really adored them. I also noticed her comment had garnered 23 responses. Hmmm.

Something cold and gross sank to the pit of my stomach, slightly reminiscent to the feeling I have when I think I maybe, possibly forgot to take my birth control pill. Or when that horrible commercial with the dogs and Sarah McLachlan singing Angel comes on the television.

You know this feeling, ladies. It sucks.

I partially felt uneasy because I knew what I would find in those comments, and also because I couldn’t resist reading them. I was a voyeur, unable to resist the nastiness I was about to encounter. The absence of the ‘mad face’ and ‘sad face’ were a clear indication – things were going to get harsh. (This is how we express ourselves these days. We’ve been reduced to hearts and various emoticons 🙂 🙁 ) 

Yet I forged ahead. Of course, I did.

I know. I’m disappointed in myself, too. Bad Ashley. 😳 So you see, this post is just as much for myself as it is for anyone reading it.

What ensued was a bitchfest that immediately transported me back to my middle school days when a girl – let’s call her Rapunzel – undeniably the most beautiful girl in my class; the one every girl wanted to be; the one every guy wanted to screw; the one with tits many women would pay thousands of dollars just to attempt to possess a decade later, chopped her hair off. All of it.

I’m not sure of her reasons. No one cared to ask. She was still hot as hell – a more dainty G.I. Jane. Some women can really pull off that bald look. Yes, she was one of those. Maybe that was what pissed her friends off – or maybe it was just a convenient excuse – either way, it was on like Donkey Kong.

Get it, girrrl

I wasn’t popular enough to be a part of Rapunzel’s group. I was a chubby, smart girl with buck teeth and hideous mustard colored Hammer pants my mom bought 2 years after they had gone out of style, and I spent the vast majority of my school days attempting to remain anonymous – to the degree I actually hid behind every pillar I could find on campus the days I wore said Hammer pants – but I watched from a distance as her closest friends ditched her like a used condom. Used and discarded. Flushed.

It’s Hammer Time!!

It was brutal.

The bashing was everywhere: in the locker room, lunch room, whispered behind hands right beside her in class: Dyke, loser, crazy, ugly, attention whore. It spread like wildfire and even the ‘outcasts’ chimed in, no doubt grateful for the distraction.

The whole debacle stunk of ‘if it’s her, it’s not me’. No one stood up for her. I wish I could say I did, but I didn’t. I didn’t participate in the chatter, but that doesn’t make me better. I was a coward.

So as I scrolled through the comments in support of my so-called friend on social media:

‘And when you know the photos have been edited. No one has teeth that white’, ‘I hate fake sh*#’, ‘When they probably take 500 pics just to find one good one’, ‘People just like to feel better about their miserable little lives, so they lie’, ‘I know some chicks I’d like to see knocked off their pedestals’, it brought me straight back to Rapunzel. And I felt dirty. Really filthy.

Men occasionally exhibit these behaviors. They bully and compete with one another, attempt to combat their feelings of mediocrity, penis envy, or insecurity by talking sh*#. It’s not nearly as often or to the hurtful degree as women.

I wager to guess the damage with men is not typically as long lasting. I’m sure there are the exceptions, but often a pat on the back, half-hug, or a cheers with a beer between men and the world is right again. Perhaps, I’m wrong and they just don’t talk about it… but I’ve witnessed men actually punch each other out and are back to being best buds within 2.5 seconds, so I have my doubts.

With women, words cause long lasting scars. I still remember the bullying I endured in my youth.

I remember the guy who called me ‘Baby Beluga the whale’ and sang the song – actually sang the freaking song – every time I got on the bus. I remember when a popular girl in high school accused me of watching her undress after gym class and told anyone who would listen I was a fat pervert. Those incidents stuck with me. They attributed to how I viewed myself, the negative thoughts, the self-loathing.

My nightmare revisited. Damn you, Raffi.

Not too long ago, a woman I know got rip-roaring drunk at a party, pulled me aside, and sloppily slurred, ‘You know no one really likes you, don’t you?” Ugh.

I’m 39, a different person than I was in my youth and think too highly of myself to believe such nonsense (I mean, at least a couple people like me. To say ‘no one’ is a drastic exaggeration), but why would someone say something like this? (To be completely fair, she apologize later)

As I sat back, wading through the battleground of bitchery, I couldn’t help but think:

Why are we like this?

Why do we get off on seeing other women unhappy? What drives us to want to see people ‘knocked from their pedestals’? Why do we scour social media and trashy magazines to see celebrities’ lives go down the sh*#ter and celebrate when they do? Why do we still act like middle school bullies in adulthood? Why can’t we enjoy the happiness of others instead of being consumed by jealousy and pettiness?

It’s insecurity, ladies. And it’s f*#king up our entire lives. It poisons everything: our friendships, our relationships (or lack thereof), our careers, and in our general peace of mind.

It’s why we act crazy and send men running, screaming, “Psycho!”, as they leave a burning trail of rubber in their wake, or why we sit at home cuddling the cat, wishing for more. It’s why we blame others for our unhappiness instead of owning it ourselves. It’s why our sex lives suck and why we sit back, judging our partners, building resentment against them, instead of taking control of our own needs. It’s the unspoken expectations we have of others and the disappointment we experience when we unfairly think everyone should just know what we want. It’s that evil, secret satisfaction we feel when the Rapunzel’s in our lives hit a rough patch.

And it’s just not working. It’s time, ladies. Enough is enough.

If this is never you and has never been you, I raise my full glass of very fine red box wine to you. Start a blog. I’ll read that sh*#.

For a time, it was me. Not no mo’. Now, my life is better when the people around me are succeeding and happy. Not only do I genuinely want them to succeed, it elevates me to another level. It’s just better. So much better.

It’s time to kick those miserable bitches to the curb and become the awesome, confident, own-our-own-sh*# fierce badass bitches we were always meant to be.

And if you associate with someone like this… kick her ass to the curb. She sucks.

Kick that miserable b to the curb the messy badass ashley allyn remove toxicity embrace positivity

Like this article? Read:

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