No seriously, I’m actually really busy #basicbetchproblem
No seriously, I’m actually really busy #basicbetchproblem
No seriously, I’m actually really busy #basicbetchproblem
Miss me? My hiatus is unacceptable and hopefully won’t happen again. In case you’re wondering, I’ve been busy working at Funny or Die and I took incredibly beautiful and oddly un-relaxing trip to Hawaii (I was constantly hiking so I barely had time to lie aimlessly on the sand). I also changed my Instagram handle to @basicbitchsguide so that was life changing. Since I missed writing “The Basic Bitch’s Guide to the 4th of July”, I’ll instead recap the first 10 days of the month.
The 4th of July weekend is over. The hangover is beginning to subside and so many iPhone 5 chargers are missing and in my book, this is Amber Alert worthy. Amidst my uncharged phone, there is a plethora of chargers for the iPhone 4 lying around my room. Sand is still coming out of my body like cocaine is going up Lindsay Lohan’s nose. I can’t even fathom how I’m doing work, nevertheless working out. To make up for the work-outs I’m skipping, I bought a ton of LuLu Lemon tops, which my bank account was really thankful for (my thighs were not). Luckily I am here to offer some recovery tips as you piece together the holiday weekend and try to remember what dignity was. So here’s my advice:
1. Drink water.
2. Do this. I don’t know what it’s called, but it feels great and my back cracks every time. It’s yoga heroin.
You are likely to have heard as much about the shark attack in Manhattan Beach as you have about Kimye’s wedding. In case you’re a hipster, there was a shark attack down the street from me on the 5th of July. While I respect the ambition of any person who can get into the ocean for a 2 mile swim at 9 AM the morning after the 4th, I can’t help wondering if one more vodka shot would have kept this man out of the water. So if you are ever taking a dip and notice death himself staring you in the eye, hit him in the nose. Actually just read this, it’s given me a lot of comfort because I don’t have the inner strength of Bethany Hamilton. I am really not the inspirational shark victim the world is looking for.
Happy America month!
Kanye West thought his original comments about Annie Leibovitz were a little harsh, so he went back and clarified in this exclusive interview.
“I’ll tell you a little story about the Kiss photo that my girl put up.
In case you didn’t know, I recently became the third husband of Kim Kardashian, Duchess of Instagram. Obviously, we did it before we got married, and that’s why we’re now married. In case you’re one of the 6,999,984,573,075 people who don’t follow Kim on Instagram, our wedding photo just became the most liked photo on IG ever with over 2.3 million likes. That’s a lot of likes, but it also means that over 12 million of Kim’s followers didn’t “like” it. That’s not loyalty. Kim deserves better.
She was exhausted because we worked on the photo so much because Annie Leibovitz pulled out of the wedding, because I think she was scared of the idea of celebrity.
Annie Leibovitz has been around celebrities for a very long time and for some reason, taking the photo of the best rapper/ humanitarian/ Jesus love alive/ ever, and the Armenian with the least amount of body hair, intimidated her. She’s photographed celebrities before, it should seem normal that I asked her to wear leather jogging pants, to speak only in a French accent and take wedding photos from the ceiling a la Tobey Macguire in Spiderman.
But because Annie pulled out, I was like ‘I still want my wedding photos to look like Annie Leibovitz’s photos’ and we sat there and worked on that photo for four days – because the flowers were off-colour and stuff like that.”
Granted, the first 3 days and 20 hours were spent showing Kim how to turn on her MacBook. Kim also learned the photo starts with a “ph” and not “f”, after we had already spent a good 2 hours looking for Photoshop in the F Section. After we finally figured out Photoshop, we realized it would be way easier to just use X Pro II on IG because it enhanced the flower color and was way easier than this Photoshop thing. We also enhanced the picture using sharpen, because I’m a huge fan of it.
When I first started seeing #GKG on Facebook, I assumed it was some weird Game of Thrones reference. I usually ignore these types of status because don’t watch Game of Thrones, I watch Gay of Thrones. So anyway, one day I was accidentally listening to Ryan Secrest on my drive to work and he explained how he didn’t know what the hashtag stood for either. Hopefully, not knowing what Go Kings Go meant, is the only thing I have in common Ryan Secrest. So if you’re not an avid hockey fan like myself, here are a few facts about hockey and the Stanley Cup.
1. Will Ferrell’s 2012 #GKG campaign is currently posted across the street from Madison Square Garden. This is so Mad Men of the Kings. Somewhere up in TV Heaven, a Don Draper angel is smiling down on the ad exec who thought this up. Just to clarify, Don Draper hasn’t died on Mad Men, it’s just an imaginary place I like to imagine all TV characters go.
2. Hilary Duff and her ex-husband are never, ever, ever, but possibly, getting back together. He’s a hockey player. That’s about all this has to do with the Stanley Cup.
3. The rest of the series will play on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. If neither team has won 4 games, they series will continue into the week with game 6 on Monday and game 7 Wednesday. I’m sensing a pattern here.
4. Wayne Gretsky is the Michael Jordan of hockey, playing for 20 seasons and appearing in the Stanley Cup 6 times, (one of those appearances while playing for the Kings). You’ve probably heard the quote “you miss 100% of the shots you never take” at some point in your life. While Wayne is a hockey legend, you probably know his daughter, Paulina. She’s Instagram famous, which means she’s a model.
5. The Stanley Cup is named after Lord Stanley of Preston, the then Governor General of Canada, and was first awarded in 1893. They’re 3 different Stanley Cups and the one we all know today weights over 30 pounds. The winning team is allowed to engrave 52 names onto the Cup and like most sports, winners get Stanley Cup rings.
6. And just to clarify, the LA Kings are currently 2 games ahead of the New York Rangers in the Stanely Cup Finals. Please don’t confuse them with the NBA finals, LeBron James vs. the San Antonio Spurs.
Facebook used to be a place where I could find out where classmates were going to college or where my mom could “see” what I was up to, she of course was on limited profile. Now it’s a place where people pretending to work post articles like “15 Celebrities Who Dropped of the Earth”, which I read, or a reminder that I’m not engaged. It sounds stressful doesn’t it? I usually don’t mind what other people are posting, as I have removed a lot of people from my newsfeed, but every once in a while I stumble on hidden jems. And by hidden jems I mean status updates that are so ridiculous and often funny, I question this persons upbringing. Here are 7 things you should not tell me via Facebok.
it’s always nice to find out someone is in jail via Facebook post
— Libby de Leon (@schlibby) June 2, 2014
1. You’re in jail. I think I’m more shocked that you get wi-fi and get to keep your iPhone in jail than I am over the fact that you are in jail. Thanks for the update though, I’ll be sure to stay as far away from you as possible in the next 3-5 months. Also “good behavior”? What a joke, maybe if you knew what that was in the beginning you wouldn’t currently be LOCKED UP.
2. You’re in rehab. Again, why do you have internet access, aren’t you in there to kick your drug habit or stop punching walls? I feel like you shouldn’t go to Facebook to vent about how boring rehab is or let everyone know how well you’re doing. That’s great that you’ve been addressing your issues for 48 hours, but maybe update me after 30 days.
3. You’re single. Although I loved reading the 20 paragraph novel detailing the “lies” and “eye opening” details of your previous relationship, I no longer care what a terrible person your ex is. I understand he’s out of your life by your Facebook status, 300 deleted pictures and your lack of weekly updates on your surprise trip to the pumpkin patch with “honey boo”.
4. You got drunk last night. Unless you’re 13 or my great aunt, I don’t care. If you were either of the two, I’m a little concerned with your life choices. Come Saturday morning you don’t need to detail your hangover, I get it, you’re fun and living life. I probably saw you out last night. So just pop an Advil or two and read a book. It will be good for you.
5. Political rants. While I enjoy a good political train wreck as much as the next blogger, your rant about Obama and the Affordable Care Act makes you sound slightly less educated than the average West Virginian and don’t get me started on the comments section. If you don’t agree with something, I have no problem with you posting something on Facebook, just keep it short and sweet. Also let’s all remember that House of Cards is a fictional show. Frank Underwood is not a real person and it’s very unlikely any politician could achieve the presidency that way.
6. Stop telling me what you had for lunch. Corn on the cob and BBQ chicken are almost always delicious. If they were absolutely disgusting then you should post about it. Same goes for sports. I don’t care that you watched the Kings game alone. I don’t even know who the Kings are.
7. Last but not least, STOP posting about Game of Thrones. My Facebook on a Sunday night is an emotional roller coaster of disgust, sadness and shock. I don’t know who Natalie Dormer’s character is, but I know that the Red and Purple wedding was a very traumatic time for people with HBO subscriptions.
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If being forced into a bathing suit over Memorial Day Weekend doesn’t scream “summer is here” then what does. I spent most winter eating Trader Joe’s Dunkers and not working out. If you recall, I made it my New Year’s Resolution to work out once a week. I’ve average about once every two months. While contemplating going to yoga or ordering a salad is tempting, it’s much easier to watch Ja’mie Private School Girl re-runs and eat Pad Thai. It’s nicer to obsess over how hot your bod could look, and then just leave it as a thought. So since it’s summer and everyone is obsessed with looking good, here are 5 ways to avoid working out.
2. Enter a Beyonce Free zone. Unfollow her on Instagram (I couldn’t) or avoid going on the internet. If you can avoid Beyonce, you can avoid the self-loathing thought that creeps into your head when you hear “you have as many hours in the day as Beyonce”. We all have the potential to work out, dress up and be just as fierce as Beyonce, but let’s just let Beyonce do Beyonce. Plus, we all know Beyonce comes from an alternate universe where there are 100 hours in a day.
3. Eat your emotions. Put on some Taylor Swift and rehash that high school break-up. Watch Eat, Prey, Love, her pizza experience will inspire you to find some Domino’s. Go on Pinterest and see what salad/ cronuts your friends are pinning and then go eat a cupcake. Just eat.
4. Check out your Netflix Insta-que. If you haven’t started Mad Men, House of Cards or Breaking Bad, then you really need to re-evaluate your life. Throw on your favorite LuLu’s and a t-shirt and climb into bed. 8 hours later, you won’t regret skipping that workout, but you will face a lot of inner conflict smoking a cigarette.
5. Drink! It’s 5 o’clock somewhere and what doesn’t take the edge off the stress of not working out like drinking.
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I’m really glad V. Stiviano decided to sabotage her boss because this Donald Sterling saga has entertained me in way that Malaysian Flight 370 hasn’t in months. As some of you know, I went home to Washington D.C. for mother’s day and one very jet lagged night, I had this horrific epiphany. For a fleeting moment, I felt meaningless and empty, like I was this basic bitch who was as deep as a puddle. Like I was V. Stiviano. It became very clear on my 6 hour flight form DC to LA that Donald Sterling was more than some rotting sack, sippin’ on some crazy juice. You can hate rap music and other cultures, that’s your prerogative, but hating on Magic Johnson? How dare you.
If there’s one thing that freedom of speech and the internet have created, it’s nonsense. Excessive and hilarious nonsense. Here’s Instagram’s best response to V. Stiviano, off her very own Instagram account.
It starts off with people just throwing regular shade like “gold digger” or “tranny”, adjectives everyone uses when they describe V. Stiv. We all have opinions and it’s very important that we share these eloquent and private details on public platforms.
So after we established she was an ugly, but very sexually active, gold-digging tranny, with plastic surgery and who multiple races were disassociating themselves from, we decided she was unfit for motherhood and presidency.
And then people just started asking for sex, because if you’ve had sex with Donald Sterling, literally anything still breathing is a step up.
I feel a lot of pressure to be perfect, not in real life, but on social media. Take Facebook, is it just me or somewhere in the new Terms & Agreement does it state your profile pic has to be professionally done and get 60 likes in the first hour (that’s a like per minute). Does everyone have a friend with a Canon EOS to capture all these magical, candid, care-free moments for you to choose from? Your photos are incredible, and then there’s me, a blurry picture where I hammer a pen into a cork because desperate times call for desperate measures. I love my picture, but I have to stay competitive with my super-fit and super photogenic sorority sisters… and those bitches from high school. So now I get stressed because not only does my profile picture not seem “care-free” and “jealousy-enducing”, but as a college grad, it needs some semblance of professionalism so my boss doesn’t ask me “what kind of message” I want to send to my co-workers. Sidenote: I blocked her. I still need to post everything I’m doing to prove I have the lifestyle of the Jenners girls, the work ethic of Frank Underwood and Bad Girl Riri’s attitude. The icing on the cake is another girl got engaged and I really can’t deal with another 4,000 posts detailing every second of it. There should be some sort of engagement-ettiquate class so your single friends don’t fantasize about breaking your ring with an ice pick.
Then there’s LinkedIn, which in all honesty, does anyone even care about your LinkedIn? I bet I could put “assistant to cat and professional poop thrower” and no one would bat an eye. It’s all fun and games until I get requests from old acquaints who apparently run Goldman Sachs at 25 and didn’t need 4 google searches to correctly spell “acquaints”. As I update my LinkedIn, which looks nicer than my actual resume, I add every highlight in my work career. I’m talking babysitting in the 7th grade, for not just any family of 4, but the Vice President of the United States. I mean no one is actually going to read this right? They’re just going to look at the heading, find someone way to re-evaluate their self-worth and then move on. It’s fine if I “babysat” Joe Biden’s kids, who are actually many years my senior. What are you, some sort of fact-checking historian?
No you’re not.
I know this from reading your LinkedIn and then googling you to make sure you weren’t lying. So in addition to adding details like, “worked with the entire cast of How I Met Your Mother“, which really means I saw them once on set, or currently dating Joseph Gordon Levitt, which translates to “held the door open”, I have become a professional bragger. It is really #stressful to exasperate career highlights like this! I need a #vacation.
Speaking of #vacation, I see that you recently traveled to St. Kitts/ St. Barts/ St. Croix/ any beautiful island with “Saint” in the title, via your Instagram. I thought the more followers I had, the more likes would come but that has proven to be the opposite. I get like no likes, ok like 15, and then stress out whether or not I should delete the photo because it’s embarrassing. How stupid is that?! On a serious note, my blog’s instagram whose following consists of spammers and porn stars, gets more likes than most of my photos. I am stressing out over my “popularity” on social media, which in no way is in direct correlation with my relationships in real life. Rather, it’s a test to see how well my family, friends and co-workers can operate their smart phones. Never mind that I’m probably the only person who looks at my own Instagram with any sort of critic, but who knows, I could have hidden enemies out there that thrive on the fact that I got 15 likes and they got 123. It’s quality not quantity! Right?
Also when did everyone become a model? I recently discovered you had a professional photographer around you at all times, but seriously, have you always had Kate Upton’s boobs and Britney’s abs circa 2003? I was not aware that Victoria’s Secret could call you at any second and you’d be runway ready. When did I become more Lena Dunham and less Brooklyn Decker? The answer is birth.
So here I am stressing about my Facebook/ LinkedIn/ Instagram when I get a notification that my phone is almost out of memory and I can’t save this super artsy pic of me next to some Venice graffiti, which would have gotten at least 40 likes. Stupid iPhone! I have no memory because I have 6, yes SIX, different Photoshop apps! It’s not just about taking a picture, it’s the ability to turn that picture of a piece of trash on the Venice boardwalk, add a fish eye, sharpen and filter it until it has the bright colors of the tropical island you were just traveling on and becomes something Francesca Eastwood would set on fire.
Annoyed, and trying to figure out how to take the perfect picture, I stumble onto Pintrest which apparently is not the same thing as Tumblr.
Pinterest confuses me the most because it consists of beautiful models, cake and relationships advice. It’s like how basic can you bitches get? I already see enough couples making out on the beach in real life so seeing well dressed girls aimlessly walking on streets eating cronuts just annoys me. Attention world, if you are going to make the cronut recipe you saw on Pinterest, you are probably not going to look like the white girls in ridiculously skimpy bikinis next to it.
So now I’m back to Instagram because this super sunset with an Ernest Hemmingway quote might be the photo I’ve been looking for. UPDATE: it’s not and everyone still looks like a model and averages 100 likes per photo.
Needing a laugh and a lot of wine, I turn to Vine. Apparently EVERYONE is a professional comedian in addition to being a model, with a ridiculous resume, and a metabolism 4x faster than the normal rate.
I try to find some solace in Twitter, because I only use that for the news, but nothing is getting Favorited or Retweeted. Then I realize the only things on my twitter account are retweets of @whitegrlproblems and me being drunk. Did I mention I’m a basic bitch?
Now I’m back to Facebook to post a photo I not only Photoshopped, picstiched and Instagramed, but also emailed to myself due to the lack of memory on my phone. My Instagram didn’t get enough likes, I’m not funny, my twitter is unoriginal, my Facebook picture don’t get the like per minute guarenteed in the new Terms & Agreement. My phone is running out of battery in addition to memory because running all these stupid apps is a complete waste of energy, but, oh wait now I’m up to 30 likes so I am validated.
So forget having a successful career, making lots of money, financial independence, having a boyfriend, eating and exercising, having hobbies, playing sports, talking to people or anything interactive because my life is completely validated through my social media interactions or lack there of. You can Google me and I come up. Take that insta-slut!
Let me know if you find a good therapy app because I now lack the communication skills to tell a doctor of my growing anxiety. I can only text ,and honestly, I’m not getting a great wi-fi connection in here so it looks like I’ll be using SMS, which is #totes going to drag this conversation on by a good 10 minutes. Ugh. #FML
I’ll admit, when I first started using the phrase “basic bitch”, I have very little understanding of what that phrase actually meant. It’s like slang and that’s all I needed to know. I began writing about basic bitches, what they did on an average Tuesday, survival tips for music festivals they’d likely attend, and obviously I followed a shit ton of basic bitches on Insta. I may not have known much about basic bitches, but I knew that basic bitches loved insta. They would probably quote that against a the silhouette of a girl splashing in the water and get 1000 likes in 5 minutes. Basic bitches love quotes and they love skinny girls at the beach.
One day I was asked to define what a basic bitch was. I couldn’t. So I looked it up.
The first entry on urban dictionary described a basic bitch phrased so eloquently they could be the second verse of a Nikki Minaj song. I was not that basic bitch. The second entry described someone who was dull and low energy. That was also not me. The third entry, described a girl who “thought she was the shit because she owned material goods and also believed she held a higher standard than regular people”.
Was I this basic bitch?
After little deliberation, I decided, I indeed, met the qualifications of that basic bitch. How did I become this basic bitch? Had my years at an elite private school where I took AP Art History and Calculus led me to believe I was somehow smarter than those around me? Maybe it was because I was one of the 8 people who purchased Sofia Coppola’s “The Bling Ring”. Had seeing those narcissistic, kleptomaniacs with hot bods made me think I was one of them? The more I researched “Basic Bitches”, the more I realized I was one of them. I am the proud owner of a North Face, take great comfort in my LuLu Lemon yoga pants and own black Uggs. This is what I am wearing right now. I am so basic.
I love Sex & the City. Sometimes I skip work outs and once called in sick to work because there was a six hour marathon on E!
BREAKING NEWS: CNN now reporting @rihanna Instagram account is somewhere in the Indian Ocean.
— Libby de Leon (@schlibby) May 10, 2014
I own the book version of “He’s Just Not That Into You” and I read it quite frequently.
One time, I was drunk at a bar and in very broken Spanish tried to convince a dark, but non-Latino bartender that I was the heiress to de Leon Tequilla so I could get free shots. I even showed him my ID.
I went on one Tinder date and it was awful. I swore off dating. A week later, I downloaded Tinder.
I have a 4 foot poster of Britney Spears that hung above my bed all four years of college. It now hangs in my closet for thinspiration.
I was so disappointed in myself. How could I let this happen? I am better than this. I proudly eat gluten. I avoid “to be” verbs when I write. I’m not really sure what it means to be vegan (you just eat vegetables, right? Also epic fail on the avoidance of “to be” verbs). I read Vanity Fair for crying out loud. That is WAY above the average reading level of a basic bitch.
Then I remembered something important about myself. I hate Marilyn Monroe. I think she’s a homewrecking, talentless, pill popper. Basic bitches LOVE Marilyn, they quote her all the time and totally ignore the goddess that is Jackie Kennedy Onassis. I knew in that moment that I would never be one of them. I immediately unfollowed every Victoria’s Secret model and Vogue from Instagram. I picked up a Spanish dictionary. I am going to get through this.
Realizing you’re a Basic Bitch is the first step in moving past the tendencies of a Basic Bitch. Kate Middleton will always be my religion, but I don’t need 35 hashtags about it. It’s fine to enjoy country music, but that doesn’t mean I should start talking about “my upbringing” in a fake southern accent. And you know what, I think Carrie Bradshaw can be a total bitch. I mean seriously, Big over Aiden? Only a basic bitch would make that mistake. So now, I’m me, a real human being and a real hero. And you know how I know that? I own multiple songs off the Drive soundtrack.
Over 109,641,050 photos on Instagram use #selfie. That’s more than double the population of England. That is ridiculous. I began browsing the category in hopes of truly understanding why so many people post photos with their arms showing and face missing. I came to zero conclusions. Instead, I thought I’d examine the first 11 selfies, all of whom had public profiles, I came across and explain to the world why you should use #cellfy to make these photos slightly more bearable. But first, let me take a selfie.
Miley Cyrus, I don’t want to see you arms in the reflection of your sunglasses. Just stick cellfy to the wall and throw a peace sign or something. Selfie improved.
Edgarallan_ho, first of all, classy name, second of all, you’d be able to fit in the picture if you used cellfy. Wasn’t the point of this to show off your new shorts?
Nathan_kayde, I guess JustinBieber was already taken, but I’m sure your fans would love if you used cellfy so they could see more of you and less of that ugly mirror.
masita_direction you’re kind of missing half of your face and a good 1/4 of the person next to you, the best selfies have a 1:1 face in picture ratio, use Cellfy, you’ll figure it out.
giselle_victoria, your kid is a baller, I’d appreciate it if you used Cellfy so I can get a better view of his Elvis impersonation.
bobbys_mundo, it’s Bobby’s world and were just living in it, but I bet Bobby would use Cellfy, that way his underarm tats wouldn’t get cut off by the camera.
reimers94 super cute pants, but are they capris? I can’t tell because the camera angel cuts off. If you had a cellfy you could have stuck that sucker to the wall and we would know if capris were in.
kiddify, I would really enjoy if you gave use your best Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation, get a Cellfy so we can see the gun show.
ms_feanna is a selfie queen, but her duck face would be way better if she didn’t suffer from Bradley Cooper syndrome. The people want more duck face. The people demand Cellfy.
almendracerpa, I appreciate that you took a selfie while shopping, and if you were using Cellfy, we could have seen more of the store behind you which was obviously the subject of the photo.
Go get a cellfy and do us all a favor.