It is critical that all good bitches conduct a daily self-check for personality malignancies. Start with the essential question: good bitch? Good to go. Bad bitch? Hate to burst your bitch bubble, but it’s time to reboot. Equally important, the good bitch needs to ward off bad bitch toxicity by staying in top fighting form. Here is a modest little bad bitch v. good bitch list to help you figure it all out:
Regarding heart: the bad bitch doesn’t realize you can get away with s#*t for brains, but you can’t have s$@t for a heart.
On wit: the bad bitch doesn’t understand you can snark away about your GF’s, but this must always spring from a smile.
On aging: the bad bitch never outgrew being a mean girl. If she was a mean girl in high school, chances are dangerously high that she is still a mean girl (even if “girl” is a bit of a stretch). She should cease and desist if for no other reason than cosmetic: all that meanness will cause her to wither on the vine.
On being a friend: the bad bitch is incapable of supporting the women in her life. She is a remorseless underminer who is clearly up to no good. The good bitch instinctively knows that women are your very rock and foundation–with women you rock.
On substance: the bad bitch thinks she is the bee’s knees, but hasn’t learned that it’s above the knees and what’s inside the hive that counts.
On self-preservation: the bad bitch has a sumo-like drive to crush and squash. She derives gleeful pleasure from this. The good bitch must steel her pretty little self (frequently repeat the phrase: “pretty little self”) to withstand attack. Kiai!!!!!!
On love: a bad bitch throws around the word “love” like a litterbug. When she tosses it she does so either as a) a subversive tactic, or b) because she truly cannot grasp its meaning, but thinks wielding it casts her in a flattering light.
On core strength: a bad bitch has cruel streaks wider and more numerous than the highlights in her hair. Emotional Spanx (think snappy thoughts like, “See ya, don’t have to be ya!”) are the good bitch’s chief form of protection.
Kim Kardashian and her booty
On an inflated sense of self: the bad bitch has a superiority complex as broad as her ass. The good bitch knows that humor arises only from the acceptance and celebration of inferiority.
On imperfection: the bad bitch thinks that her version of perfect is the benchmark. The good bitch accepts that her GF’s are perfectly imperfect. As Voltaire said, “The Perfect is the enemy of the good,” or the good enough, or the mediocre, where most of us find ourselves.
On a clear conscience: the bad bitch is a back-stabber and a heart-stabber. The good bitch is up front with her parries, feints, and thrusts and only uses a bouncy prop knife.
On random thoughts: I’ve always liked this quote: “Awake. Love. Think. Speak. Be walking trees. Be talking beasts. Be divine waters.” (C.S. Lewis) The good bitch should do more of that. Just not on Hollywood Boulevard.
On joie de vivre: life is like a very long board game. It should be a game, however, and therefore must be playful and fun. The bad bitch sucks all the fun out of just about everything and never, ever sees the end game. Yahtzee! Oops, not a board game. Check and mate!
On liquid refreshment: the bad bitch likes to surround herself with other bad bitches and bathe in bad juju. The good bitch loves to sip the nectar of good life, good company, and good alcohol. Remember, it is the company and the liquor cabinet you keep that sustain you.
On what came first: When my daughter The Bitch–who happens to be a very good bitch–was a little girl, there was a chicken coop at her preschool. She and her GF named a hen Pecker because she pecked all the other hens. Remember to ask yourself, whenever you feel the urge to scratch that bad bitch itch and cross over to the dark side, if you really want to be Pecker.
A bad bitch playlist:
Evil Woman (Larry Weiss or the covers by The Troggs or Canned Heat)
Evil Woman Blues (John Mayall, Peter Green, and the Bluesbreakers)
Season of the Witch (Donovan)
Heartless (Kanye West)
Big Bottom (Spinal Tap)
Hell on Heels (Pistol Annies)
A BAD BITCH QUICK CHECK
If you agree with any of the following statements, please consider a heart transplant:
You believe backs are made for climbing over.
You suspect everyone is in your sexual thrall.
You have an inner smile knowing your BFF is a hot mess.
You named both a pet and a body part after your nemesis.
You feel it is your mission to inspire others through the beauty of those selfies you snap and visually assault people with online (several times a day).
You bask in the fact that you are at least half goddess; but, you don’t care whether it’s your top or bottom half.
You think your bulimia projectile may be marketable.
You believe most people are eyesores.
You would gladly eat your inner circle at the first sign of an apocalypse, because they would want you to.
It’s a difficult responsibility, but sometimes (mostly) you have to hurt people with your honesty.
You treat your “friends” and dear hubby as minions and everyone else as creatures.
You think all your exes pine for you as ‘the one that got away.’ You have never once considered that they think, Oh boy, I sure dodged a bullet.
You are convinced beholders view your daughter as your sister and your BFF as your mother.
You think that when people cringe from you they are showing respect.
You fantasize about the glamorous places you would run off to with your BFF’s husband and the priceless expression on her face.
When asked, “If you were an animal what would you be?” the first two animals that come to mind are jackal and snake.
You don’t see significant differences between love and disdain and kindness and weakness.
You can’t help thinking you deserve a Beammer or a Bentley for your b’day.
You would rather have your heart be three sizes too small than your diamond. Duh.
You give award-worthy performances pretending to like people until you have made up your mind about their usefulness.
As life of the party, you love to make a grand entrance then find the most central seat, even if it means inserting your ass where others are already planted.
You don’t think your plastic surgery makes you look somewhat alarmed.
Your hilarious sense of humor is limited to your own jokes.
You have conflicted feelings about world affairs: you sense you are supposed to feel something other than annoyance and inconvenience.
“Tacky” is your fave adjective for anything not yours.
You are a giver who gives until you are sure people aren’t looking.
You believe your GF’s always think wow at your utterances and never spare me.
You think that if you went to hell you would make it fun and all the angels would want to be there, too.