(Fuck, Bitch, where have you been?)

Well, have you looked here?  That’s right, people, The Bitch does guest posts.  Call me if you want things shaken up over at your place.  Have a quick look at my blog standards first, just in case.

Okay, moving on here.  We need to talk about something that’s been cluttering up the internets for far too long, taking up space that could be useful.  You know what I’m talking about:  self-deprecating humor.

The next time you laugh at, say, Amalah the Mommyblogger, ask yourself, “What the fuck am I laughing at?  How is this shit funny?”  Oh, sure, we laugh at people poking fun at themselves.  And here’s why:  Better them than me.

Sure, it’s easy to laugh at someone falling all over their ass or imagining that they were going to fall all over their ass and wondering what other people are thinking about them or would think if they actually did fall all over their ass, and then writing about it in a charmingly self-deprecatory way.  That’s fucking funny, we think.  Because it’s 1.) Not us, and 2.) Laughing at the stupid shit we do has become socially acceptable, and socially expected.

So when did it become passe to talk about ourselves in a positive way?  To say things like, “Hey look, I am fucking-A awesome!”  People who do that are thought of as assholes, even if they’re sort of right.  (Or they’re worshiped, the way you worship The Bitch, but that’s WHY you love me.  Because I am so different.  Plus I’m totally hot.)

I’m tired of this fakery shit, though.  Sure, people are capitalizing on their feelings of inner inadequacy by processing them in a highly public manner, and The Bitch is all about going public with inner shit, but this stuff feeds on itself and creates more.  One person writing about the time they fell down a hill because their fucking heel broke but they had a glass of wine so people thought they were drunk off their ass and never believed the story about the breaking heel and OMG they are soooo embarrassed by this and can never never never show their face in public again (never mind all the hundreds of Flickr sets devoted to said blogger and blogger’s drunkblogging and drunkblogging blogfriends)* just creates this giant sucking VACUUM that other people rush in to fill.  But people, you cannot possibly fill the void of someone else’s feeling of inadequacy by writing about your own.  Just because this shit is popular does not mean it’s even remotely useful except as a global communal catharsis tool.  And rushing in to fill that fucking vacuum only makes the holes in yourself appear bigger.

Instead, I want people to write about the great stuff they do.  Everybody has successes; when did they become something to hide?  Hey, you made toast this morning?  WAY TO GO!  YOU ARE AWESOME!  At least, if it was superior toast.  None of this bread-no-warmer-than-if-I-stuck-the-slice-under-my-arm shit.  I want REAL toast.  Toast-colored toast.  THAT is something to be proud of.

And let’s take this a step further:  don’t limit your anti-trash talk about yourself to what you put on the internet.  Is it a crime to say “I am wonderful!” and actually mean it?  I mean, who among you is truly NOT wonderful?  Why can’t you just SAY IT, for fuck’s sake?

And sure, lots of us have this fucked-up inner voice inside us telling us how shitty we are.  But that stuff is NOT TRUE, so you have my permission to stop listening to it, RIGHT NOW.  In fact, every time you hear that voice, I want you to tell it to go fuck itself, that YOU are in charge, and that YOU MAKE AWESOME TOAST.

~~~~~

From the this-would-be-fucked-up-if-it-wasn’t-so-funny department, The Bitch received a death threat in response to her post about vigilante vegetarians.  So if you laughed at that post, I have to assume you’re included in the threat.  Watch out for people wielding fur coats and tomato stakes.

*This is a TOTALLY hypothetical blogstory, but if it wasn’t TOTALLY hypothetical you could probably read about something very similar to it here.

As you know, I exist to enlighten you heathens from the bullshit that lies amid the fucked-up swill that is the New Age and self-help movement. (Doesn’t the phrase “New Age” make you want to throw up a little? I can barely type it without losing my breakfast into my laptop. Ditto “self-help.” Fuck that.) My modus operandi is a little like decorating a golden brick with lotus flowers and then smashing your brains out with it. Whatever works, that’s my motto, even if it requires reconstructive brain surgery afterward. Whatever. It’s your brain, not mine. You asked for enlightenment, right?

Today’s topic: your thoughts create your reality. Change your thoughts, change your life!

If there wasn’t some truth to this, why would you be reading a bitch like me?

But here’s the problem: far more often than creating something empowering from this concept, people use it to punish themselves.  They say, “Oh, well, this shitty dumbass thing happened to me, so I must have created it.  I am a bad person for creating this bad thing in my life!”  Or they say, “I had a desire to slip an overdose of laxatives into that arrogant prick’s morning coffee today, so I must not be a loving person. Oh no! I must control my thoughts!”   Or, “I’m feeling shitty, and I had all these bad thoughts about myself, so I need to clench my butt cheeks and think only happy-Oprah* thoughts!”

Notice a thread here?  Control.   It’s all about control, people.

Yes, your thoughts do have an effect on you and on your life. But you can’t control them. You can’t control your emotions, either. Most of the time we can’t even control our bodies. I know how my body reacts when a spandex-clad** aging crooner starts singing “Feelings.”  Can’t control it.  And it isn’t pretty. (That sound you’re hearing now?  Ever hear a cat about to throw up?  ulp.ulp.ulp.ulp.  You hear it and you know what’s coming and there’s no way in hell to stop it.  Splat!  It’s a little like that, times about a thousand.)

Here’s an experiment to show you that you can’t control your thoughts.  Ready?  Okay:  do not think about red monkeys.  Do. Not. Think about red monkeys.

You can’t think about anything BUT red monkeys right now, can you?  There’s fucking red monkeys ALL OVER THE PLACE.  See?  And trying to NOT think about something only makes that thing more present.  Go play this with someone else and have some fun.

Do you know why you like The Bitch? Because I don’t try to control my thoughts. They are the same thoughts that you have and don’t admit to having—and you laugh because you’re seeing that they’re not so bad after all. (Though hopefully you’re not thinking about spandex men singing “Feelings”. Then you’d really be kind of fucked up and I’m not sure I want to know you.)

This isn’t to say that we’re helpless peons at the unholy mercy of our fucked-up thoughts and feelings. Of course there is choice and free will and all that.

But you want to know a secret?  Lean in a little closer.

If someone tells you to control yourself – or your thoughts – they are trying to control you.

Oh fuck, I don’t mean the Vulcan Mind Meld or anything.  No one is trying to turn you into a fucking robot.  But asking you, expecting you, to change your thoughts is a subtle form of control.

It’s brainwashing, people. Wipe you clean, ma’am?  If you can get people to try to do something impossible, like controlling the uncontrollable, of course they’ll come back time and again asking for more help and advice. Side of fries with that brainwash?  And you give them your power, willingly, because you feel like a failure.  You buy into the idea that you need to put away a part of yourself in order to feel accepted.  You try and you try and you try, failing every time (because you’re trying to do the impossible), and every time wondering what more you could have done.  You give away more and more of your own power every time you do this.

The bitch does not want your power. I totally deserve your worship, but only because I’m helping you become enlightened. No one deserves your power.  No one except you.  I help you find your own inner Bitch, and for that I of course have your undying endless gratitude.  Also you can send money.

Back to the whole “you create your own reality” thing. Does the Bitch disagree with that concept? Of course not. Look at the reality I’m creating for you right here. No spandex, for one thing.  Freedom of thought and expression.  Feel how good it is to call me a bitch?  Go on, say it.  You know you want to.  And then say “fuck.”  Right out loud.  And then say, “I am perfect.”  (Because you know I am.)(And more importantly, I know I am.)

But even though my words say something else, the Bitch isn’t about ego. The Bitch is about honesty, about calling things for what they are, and about having fun at the same time. That’s my reality.

What’s yours?

*That’s the thin Oprah, obviously.

**Yet another type of control.  And while a nice pair of Spanx cures a lot of ills, nothing can make “Feelings” palatable.

Last night I attended a free talk by some healer-person shilling for her new book.  She presented herself as having developed this “revolutionary” new healing method, and after droning uncomfortably on about it for an hour (note to public speakers:  connecting with your audience is actually important! please take note!), she opened up the floor for questions.

Q:  O guru healer-person in whom I am blindly and unthinkingly placing all my trust and faith, how can we mere ignorant mortals apply this revolutionary new amazing healing method in our own lives please oh please?

A:  That’s going to be in my second book.*

Q:  Oh, but healer-guru, we are here now and you talked about empowering ourselves, and we really really want to know what we can do to apply this revolutionary new amazing healing method in our own lives please oh please?

A:  Chapter 8 in my book [glancing over at the table stacked ceiling-high with copies of said book] has some exercises that I stole from Osho.  You can do those.  Basically, shake and scream for awhile and then you can go to a place of inner stillness.

Q:  WTF?

Q:  Okay, guru-person, we are getting restless now.  You made a promise.  You were going to tell us how to heal ourselves.  How, o how, can we do that?

A:  Meditate.

Q:  That’s it?   Meditate?

A:  Yup.

[This is where they stormed the stage and bore the guru-person off on a rail while they shouted something about stabbing her in the chakras.  It got sort of ugly.]

Meditation. It’s billed as a panacea, something that will cure every ill and imbalance.  You.Must.Meditate.

But … what is meditation, exactly?

Most people view meditation as a sort of struggle.  Calming the monkey mind.  Cultivating stillness, inside and out, so as to eradicate every thought.  KILL THE THOUGHTS!!  BANISH THOUGHTS FROM YOUR MIND!  MAKE YOUR MIND EMPTY!!

Fuck that.  That’s almost impossible.  And trying to do it sets you up for all sorts of judgments (I am having thoughts!  I FAIL meditation!  I am a baaaaad person!), resentments (FUCK meditation!), and disconnects you from what you’re trying to accomplish, which is self-awareness.

Let me say that again:  meditation is simply a way to gain self-awareness.  It’s not supposed to be anything other than that.

By observing yourself without judgment, you learn about the patterns of response and reaction that habitually come up for you.

So what is meditation?  Observation.  Nothing more, and nothing less.  It’s a keen observation of yourself on every level—physical, emotional, and intellectual—and completely without judgment.

And it can be done anywhere, under any condition.  There are no “rules” to meditation.  You don’t need to sit on a special bench or cushion.  You don’t need incense.  You don’t need a fucking temple bell to tell you when to start and stop.  You can do those things if it helps, but there are no requirements.  None.  You can meditate at any time and in any place and in any manner by which you are willing to objectively observe yourself.

Now we’ll open the floor up for questions.

Q:  Sex?  During sex?

A:  Whoa, slow down there!  Well, yes.  ONLY if you can do it so that you can objectively observe yourself while you are otherwise, uh, engaged.  But dude.  If the idea excites you so much that it’s your first question out of the starting gate, there’s probably something in the experience for you.  So go for it.  I’m not sure I’d want to be your partner, but whatever.

Q:  What about breathing?  I heard that meditation is about breathing.

A:  Of course.  Breathing is important.  (Forget to breathe for long enough and you’ll be dead, which makes the whole meditation thing kind of pointless.  Way to get out of meditating!)  The way you breathe not only says a lot about you but it also affects how you move energy through your body.  And since the ultimate way of experiencing anything is through the physicality that is your body, your experiences are going to be affected by your breath.  So when meditating, one of the things you will be observing is, naturally, your breath.

Q:  But … HOW should I meditate?  Can I read about it?  Tell me all the answers, guru-person!

A:  Number one, I’m not your guru, so stop it.  I’m your bitch.  Number two, yes, you can read all about meditation all over the place, but DON’T GET CAUGHT UP IN THE FUCKING RULES.  Reading about something like meditation naturally opens you up for asking stupid questions like, “Am I doing this right?”

• Meditation shouldn’t hurt.

If you’re not comfortable, don’t do it.  Stop and get comfortable.  Try to get comfortable enough that you can move beyond thinking about how comfortable you are, but there’s no reason to try to get past the pain or to breathe into the pain because hello, the pain shouldn’t be there.

• Give yourself time.

Think about meditation as a gift you are giving yourself.  It’s the one time when you can access some inner stillness.  But be patient; the stillness doesn’t happen overnight, and it can take time to get to that point especially if you continue to fight with yourself.  But just having a quiet half-hour to yourself can be an enormous gift.  Allowing yourself the freedom to let that time develop as it will, not caring if, for instance, you use it to plan the next day’s menu or to write an important email in your head, is part of that gift.  Judging yourself for failing that day’s meditation just lets you feel shitty about yourself in yet one more way.  Who needs that?

• Meditation will change your life.

Seriously.  If you let it, anyway.  Stuff will come up, so be prepared.  No one said this was going to be easy.  Stuff will come up, and you’ll look at it.  The end.  No need for judgments.  And if you start judging yourself for moving back into old patterns and crappy-feeling emotions, oh well.  Clear the slate and start over next day.

But if you make it a regular part of your life, you’ll see change.  (Hell, you’ll change even without meditating, but that’s up for discussion another day.)  You’ll get to know yourself.  You’ll move on down your spiritual path, whatever that is and wherever that takes you.  It’s totally fucking work but it’s totally fucking worth it.  So do it.

And?  The Bitch meditates daily.  And we all know you want to be more like the Bitch.

*No lie.  WTF??  After all this build-up about “personal empowerment” and “revolutionary healing method that’s going to heal the earth and change the world” you’re saying you havent even yet GOTTEN TO THAT PART?  You suck.

You know her by sight.

She’s the woman who walks confidently up to the head of the line you’ve been standing in for five minutes, speaks quietly to the person in charge, and walks away smiling.  She got what she wanted.  She also got what you wanted, only you didn’t speak up.  Pussy.

She’s aggressive.  And I mean that in a good way.

Aggression is simply the ability to come right up against boundaries, meeting them, time and time again.  You know people like this.  You may also be able to reproduce it yourself on occasion.  But why not all the time?

It’s the dreaded “nice” thing, isn’t it?

Yeah, well, it’s too bad that “nice” also equals “doormat.”

(To be clear, we’re not talking about kindness here.  Being an aggressive bitch is not incompatible with being kind.)

You want to be that person, the one who gets what she wants?  (or he, either way)  Follow these simple steps:

1.  Get clear on what you want. This may be the most difficult part.  After all, to be clear about what you want takes some doing.  Some insight.  Some self-awareness.  And you have to put aside those inner fuck-you-over Voices Of Doubt.  But once you do all that, what remains is, simply, what you want.

Oh.  One thing about this.  Understand that what you want is subject to change.  And it’s OKAY that it changes.  Expecting yourself to remain perfectly constant at all times for now and forever into the future is like dooming yourself to robothood.  And we don’t want that.  We like you all soft and pliable.  So do allow for some change.

2.  Say what you want. Go ahead.  You can practice right now.  Yes, out loud!  It really only counts if you do it out loud.  Tell someone, anyone, your naked self in the mirror even, what you want. And let it be wild, if that’s what you want.  Like kink?  Then fucking say so!  But say it.  Say what you want.  You’ll never, EVER, get it unless you do.  Sure, I can read your mind (and I know what you’re thinking RIGHT NOW, perv) but no one else does.  So unless you want to put you life on hold until you’ve surrounded yourself with a bunch of fucking mind readers, say it.  Say.  It.

3.  Expect what you want to be handed to you. If you don’t truly believe you’ll get what you want then you’re sending out mixed messages.  Make your message crystal clear:  THIS is what I want and I am SAYING what I want and I EXPECT it now bitch!

Truly expect it, though.  Which means you may have to examine those underlying thought-patterns and identities that are preventing you from getting what you want.  But when you hold yourself with perfect confidence, the world responds!  Things fall into your lap.

See how easy it is?  You’ve probably already done this at least one time in your life, noted how great it felt … and then fell back into that doormat trap again.  Well, get your head out of your ass and get the fuck out of there!  Check out the boundaries you sense around you and push back at them a little!  And above all, have FUN with it.  Life doesn’t need to be so fucking serious all the time. 

If you’re not having fun, you’re not doing it right.

Here at New Age Bitch it’s a policy to never keep things inside that are chafing.  No, we let them out.  Alllll the way out.  It’s a proven fact that holding things in creates problems and discomfort.  Holding things in leads to an eventual eruption.  Hold something in that’s longing to come out long enough and you end up with a messy premature ejaculation of emotion.

People do this all the time.  You do it too, I can tell.  You hold things in.  You keep what you think inside you, what you feel, what you believe.  You wait for the right time, or to be around the right person, or to find the right moment.  You hold things in because you’ve been trained from infancy to do this.  Crying only works when you’re in diapers, and most of you aren’t hardcore enough to pee yourself and sit in your own shit all day just so you can tell it like it is when you feel like it.  You’re such a sucker.  There’s never gonna be a right time, a right person, or a right moment.  You have to take life by the balls and make it yourself.

But what about tact?  Social niceties?  Can you really expect to be able to say everything you think at a given time simply because it’s there inside you and New Age Bitch says let it out?

Actually, yes.

Do you really want to go around for the rest of your life holding in all that stuff that’s eating away at your insides?  Wouldn’t you rather get it out and be done with it?

Don’t answer that.  If you haven’t left to go buy yourself a jumbo box of Depends (and you know who you are…and soon we’ll know too), you’re still with me.  And you’re nodding your head yes.

(Isn’t it cool—in a creepy way—how I can see through your screen like that?)

There’s one easy way.  You like it the easy way; I know you.  You want self-awareness, but you also want someone to tell you who you are.  Okay, I’m fine with irony.  Whatever.

Scream.

That’s it.  Scream.  Good, long, and hard.

(Yes, we’re still talking about screaming.  Unless you’re the one who went out to buy Depends, in which case I can’t help you change.  Literally.)

Really.  Scream!  Right now!  Go ahead.  Take a good deep breath, lift your head a bit, and let one out.

There.  Didn’t that feel good?  Now do this every day.  Maybe ten times a day if you’re holding in a lot of shit, which you probably are.  Most of us are pretty fucked up in that department.

Want to cry now?  You’re not alone.  Letting out what’s been pent-up for so long brings up other buried emotions too.  So go the fuck ahead and cry.  I’ll mock you, but so what?  In ten minutes you’ll be feeling so much better that you won’t care.  In ten minutes, after some good hard screams and that cry, you’ll feel lighter.  Cleaner.  More like yourself.

I dare you to try it.

What have you got to lose?

A regular feature here at New Age Bitch is the blasting of New Age stereotypes.  Pretty much every post chips away at them, but from time to time we’ll take on some woo-woo concept and make sense of it all.

Today’s topic?  Vibration.

I hear this word and it makes my eyelids want to turn inside out.  Vibration.  There it is again!  What does it mean?

“Raise” your vibration. (Huh?  What is my vibration anyway?  How do I get one?  Raise it?  How?!  WTF?)

One thing at a time here.  Vibration refers to how the particles of matter that make up your physical being are connected with one another.  Everything vibrates. Everything is vibration.  Nothing is truly solid; everything you can touch, taste, smell, see, or hear is made of particles with spaces between them.  And those particles are always moving.  The rate at which they move and interact with one another is vibration.

You with me so far?  Good.  Keep going.

Again, everything vibrates.  You do, your clothes do, the chair your ass is glued to does, and so does what you had for dinner, the air you breathe, your computer, the window you stare vacantly through from time to time, everything. Even thoughts, intentions, etc.  But we’ll get to that later.

(Oh, who am I kidding?  You don’t care a fat fuck about vibration.  What you really want to talk about are vibrators)

Too bad.  Get your hand out of your pants and stay with me here.

To raise your vibration you make changes in your own rate of energetic self-movement to match what’s vibrating around you.  Most people do this without realizing it. It’s … just part of life.  You sense what’s around you energetically and you naturally want to be closer to that.  If it’s a forest of tall buildings and busy people milling about, you match that.  If it’s a forest of quiet eternal tall trees, you match that.  Easy stuff here.

The thing to remember though is that your vibration is just as strong/important/present as the vibration of what’s around you.  So just as you strive to make sweet non-dissonant hum with what’s around you, everything around you is matching you at the same time.

The thing that’s wrong about the phrase Raise your vibration is the implication that there’s something wrong with yours and that you must change.

The First Rule of Bitch is that You Are Never Wrong.

Seriously.  What have I told you before about your Inner Bitch?  If you constantly send out little vibrator-thought-waves of oh-I-must-be-wrong and everyone-else-is-better, then people will respond to that and help you make it true. But if instead you just say what-the-fuck and hold your head up high and send out vibrations (there’s that word again! my eyelids!) of I-totally-rock-and by-the-way-fuck-you-asshole then that’s what people will respond to.

Trust me.  If you want to be something, then stop focusing on what you are NOT and start just being what it is you want. It’s as simple as that.

It’s summer, and people’s feet are visible again.  There’s a reason that shoes and socks were invented.  It’s to cover up the unbelievable grotesque ugliness that is some people’s feet.

I’ve been making an unofficial survey regarding feet by observing my clients.  These are people with money, most of them, or enough money anyway.  I’ve noticed something:  the more money people have, the more disgusting their feet are. You would think these people would spring for the odd mani-pedi, or maybe just have all that thick dirty-gray heel callous shaved off somehow, or retain someone to manage those lumpy, dirt-encrusted toenails, but no.

I may insist on a footbath before all my sessions in the future.  Not for me, for them.

You’d think this is something people might notice when they’re dressing for the day:  Hey, I’m putting on sandals here and my feet will be exposed.  Someone might see them! But no, sadly no.

It’s my corollary observation that the more fucked-up a person is, also the more skanky their feet.  This seems obvious, don’t you think?  Attention to feet = attention to reality?

(You’re checking out your feet right now, aren’t you?)

Here’s something else:  reflexologists believe that for every part of the human body there is a corresponding part of the feet.  Press on a certain place and you can stimulate your liver, for instance, or your … I did mean every part.  I’ll wait here while there’s a mad rush to Google “reflexology chart” and find your genitalia.  There.  Are you back with me now?  Good.  Because you can elicit profound effects on your sense of well-being just by getting someone to rub your feet.

I’ll just leave you with that.  My duty to humanity is done for today.

People have been asking me, “WTF is going on with you, NAB?  Like, when are you going to get down to it and post?”

Like, now, people.  Right now.

Because I am in no mood to explain myself.  Life just happens, and if you wait to jump onto the merry-go-round you miss your turn and have to start over.  So, sure, I’ve been finding reasons to hold off pouring my heart and soul into these pages, but frankly I am plumb full of life-juice and need an outlet.  And this is it.  In other words, you are my alternative to masturbation.

How does that make you feel?

Let’s start with a teeny weeny little pet peeve.  So listen closely.  Here it is.  Ready?

Do not talk to me when I am writing.

There.  Glad I got that off my chest.  As a result I am now down to a 28B as opposed to the 28C. No lie, people.  Ladies, find your own Boobologist and change your lives, because 99.8% of you are wearing the wrong bra size.  Just a little tip from me to you.  Seriously, check this out because tits and their proper supportage will indeed change your life as well as the lives of those around you.  In fact, if I could offer one sure-fire tip to point you on the path toward spiritual satisfaction, this would be it.