Last night I entertained another gentleman and I got paid for it.

Sick of my references to prostitution? Yes, I am aware that I have alluded to or flat out mentioned the sport of whoring oneself out in the past three posts and you guys are probably starting to worry about me and why I find this so amusing. Sorry, I think its just a phase. And I’ll try to come up with some new material.

I also think using this picture for every single Face In Hole is a phase. Bear with me.

Now let’s climb out of the tangent adventure my mind just wandered through and get back to the point…

Last night I entertained a gentleman and I got paid for it. He was 6 months old and this form of entertainment is conventionally called “babysitting.”

We watched Downton Abbey, I explained the drama behind the Lady Mary/Cousin Matthew relationship, we both suspected underlying love currents between Hughes and Carson and then he pooped himself.

All around good time.

So the next thing I am about to say is going to be pretty gross, maybe even more gross then talking about a dismembered prostitute torso…

I was so busy working a ten hour day THEN babysattin’ for three more hours that I totally forgot to eat. So when leaving my babysitting employers’ home at 11:00PM, I went to the closest open food establishment I could find…

Taco. Bell.

OBVIOUSLY, it was probably the worst decision I made all week (so far) to go to Taco Bell.

Let me paint you a picture…

I pull into the T-Bell parking lot with the intention of ordering from the ‘healthy and fresh’ menu. I pull out of the T-Bell parking lot with a Dorito Nacho Cheese taco AS WELL AS A Cheesy Gordita Crunch in hand.

I drive to a dark and secluded corner of a CVS parking lot assured that there are PLENTY of spots real close to the front door so SURELY no one will pull up next to me/witness my taco indiscretions.

I enjoy the Dorito taco in privacy and by enjoy I mean I’m convinced I’m facing certain death as soon as the first morsel of that chemically enhanced cardboard hits my stomach.

Five seconds later and still alive, I move on to some more familiar territory– the Cheesy Gordita Crunch.

So swept up in the magic of Taco Bell, I fail to notice the black Mercedes two door convertible that has pulled into the spot next to me…or the two blonde bitches who just got out of said Mercedes and who are now gaping at me.

Yes, GAPING, at the fat girl in her own little Taco Bell heaven.

NO.

I throw my car into reverse and haul ass out of that parking lot in a flurry of embarrassment. Eternal “lettuce”, plastic “cheese” product and Purina dog food disguised as T-Bell meat go flying.

I’m sure the black Mercedes bitches stopped gaping long enough to laugh at me but I’m too embarrassed to even check the rear view mirror.

After the frenzy I re-asses the situation…

Why do I have taco flavored edible byproduct all over my beautiful employee discounted clothing (see cashmere trenches references in previous posts)?

And why do I care what those skinny Mercedes driving bitches think? After all, they were the ones wearing sunglasses at night. IN FACT not only were they wearing sunglasses at night but in general they were soooooo ELLLLLL LAY.

Vomit…and not just because of the Taco Bell.

These girls. Oh, these girls.

But then I thought about it more and I realized as annoying these girls were I COULD have some fun with this…

Familiar at all with the “betch”? Well if you are not, betches basically own the culture movement of young, good looking, well dressed, smart, hardworking and slightly ridiculous females speaking their minds, setting trends and making you feel insecure while doing it. They congregate mostly on the East Coast with New York being their Mecca.

For more funformation visit the always entertaining, Betches Love This Site. It’s where betches “take a break from thinking about themselves long enough to write it down.” And FOR THAT, I OBVIOUSLY have mad respect for them.

These sunglasses wearing, Mercedes driving, LA girls? Not so much.

These are the kind of El Lay girls that you love to hate. Compliment them on how skinny and tan they are. and they’ll claim they were born that way. Ask them about their favorite music and they’ll spout out Urban Outfitter’s current playlist. Try to find out what they do for a living and they’ll tell you all about their “career” as an aspiring actress or model.

Well, Imma go ahead and call bullshit on all that, well, bullshit. We all know your double zero boy body came from your bout with anorexia and eating air. You know every lyric to every song Top 40 song and Katy Perry’s ‘California Girls’ is your anthem (which is fine, but you just need to own that shit). You graduated high school and forwent the whole college thing so that you could chase that fame. Are you talented? Probably not. Are you smart? Definitely not. And your favorite accessory? Fedora.

FFFEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDOOOOOOORAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.

These girls bother me deep down at my core. Why? Because the aren’t betches. They don’t speak their minds, they speak trends. Granted, they know what is hot and happening and the next big thing but that stuff isn’t of their own creation and beyond that they got nothing. Stupid. So stupid, in fact, and my opinion is so low of this group of females that I have renamed them botches because they totally botched the whole being the West Coast version of the betch thing.

This is me being mean, I know, BUT I just got caught eating Taco Bell in my car. Alone.

How the hell would you feel?

So to go a step further and try to feel better I just created a ridiculously off the wall character version of the botch. Her name is Tammy but she goes by Dioria so don’t you dare call her Tammy, damnit.

Tammy/Dioria hails from Ohio but if you ask her she’ll say she has been living in LA for as long as she can remember (3 years). You can find her at all the hottest spots; brunch at Toast, dinner at STK, drinks at SUR (not actually eating, of course). Her end goal? SoHo House.

I imagined a scenario in which Dioria (botch) and a real life NYC betch meet. Dioria immediately feels the need to justify her El Lay life being better than any old betch’s in chilly New York.

Dioria flips hair, is getting visibly worked up. NYC betch calmly anticipates the entertainment about to be bestowed on her by way of a botch attempting to make an intelligent argument/use the English language.

Dioria begins…

“Just this morning, as you New Yorkers bundled up and set out to fight the blistering cold, I was still sleeping in my cozy bed thanks to that three hour time difference and when I did eventually wake up I had a tough time deciding between wearing my short shorts or my really short shorts. But for the record, I chose my short shorts because no one likes a trashy hoe, at least before noon anyway. Also for the record, it wasn’t my bed but I always have fun at Chateau sleepovers with dudes I just met.

As you waited in a very long Starbucks line trying not to breathe through your nose due to the foul smells emitting from the man in front of you, I sang along to Carly Rae Jespen’s “Call Me Maybe” with the windows rolled down and breezed through a drive thru Starbucks line to pick up an iced latte…extra ice, betch.

As you used a drug store kit to dye your hair dark brown because you just can’t afford to get your hair highlighted anymore and because the darker hue so obviously matches your gloomy city mood, a very nice woman in Korea Town re-glued in my blonde extensions for ten bucks.

And finally, as you walked forty blocks then took the subway, started walking again, began freezing to death, hopped on another subway, walked again, got so cold you wanted to cry but couldn’t because your tearducts froze over so finally gave in and paid a cab upwards of seven thousand dollars to take you the remaining three blocks to a club where you no doubt paid upwards of seven thousand more dollars for half a shot of Taaka disguised as Goose and therefore weren’t drunk enough to pretend you actually like house music…

I walked from my adorable West Hollywood apartment ($600 a month for rent, just saying) to Sunset where I went to a pool party on the top floor of some ridiculous hotel, rubbed elbows with Shia LeBouef, scored VIP wrist bands to Coachella just for making out with some music industry a-hole and drank three dollar cranberry vodkas until I was drunk enough (only fifteen minutes after I got there due to my recent bout with anorexia/my new air only diet) to jump in the pool naked.

Alright, so I’m lying about that last part, drinks are at least twelve bucks each but at least I can say that although I paid forty dollars to be only sorta tipsy, Kanye got on stage and drunkenly rap about how much he hates Blue Ivy because now Yonce and HOV have a little less room in their hearts for him, and he hates sharing but he saw my boobs so whatever.”

………………………………………..

While Dioria is so proud of herself, NYC Betch recognizes she just wasted 5 minutes of her life listening to that.

And you just wasted 3 minutes of your life reading that.

And all of this over Taco Bell.

You’re welcome.

Next time I’ll save all of our time and just eat my Taco Bell out in the open. I’ll learn to be Taco Bell Proud. My stomach will still hate me though. Its a win-lose anyway you look at it.

W