First of all, “Beach Bum” is a funny term to begin with. Oddly enough it has little to nothing to do with the amount of butts AKA bums populating the sandy shores. It has more to do with the physical act of being a bum. Urban dictionary provides a wide range of examples from general scumbags to Patrick Swayze in Point Break.

What is a beach bum? A Beach Bum is someone who lives on the streets of Santa Monica, wears a garbage bag and showers in the same water that dances with your genitals when you enter the ocean. Having said that, why is this whole “beach bum” thing so popular among girls nowadays? Could it be because we as humans are generally fond of taking something awful and putting a positive spin on it? I mean take flair jeans for example. What an awful trend! And yet, they’re making a comeback. Everything once old can become new again, if you paint it the right way. In fact, everything that is new has already been done before and will be done again after you’re long gone. Nothing is new. The media force feeds you a certain idea much like ducks are force fed corn meal so you can have fancy foie gras for dinner, and you swallow it like the obedient society’s servant that you are. No.. I’m not going to take the dark, scenic detour, as interesting as it may be (save it for another time). I will stick to the subject at hand. Beach!

Let’s talk about all the things that suck about the beach. But before I do, I’d like to point out that I myself adore the beach and I go there every chance I get, which is rare but perhaps that is why we are able to remain such good friends.  So if all these things about the beach that suck don’t bother you enough to officially stop going there, then it is safe to say that you’ve been bummified and you can now go around posting pictures of your “Beach Bum” selfies proudly and completely aware of what you’re doing instead of following a herd of other instagrammers and facebookers.

  1. BEACH HAIR, DON’T CARELet’s face it, there is nothing good about Beach Hair. Nothing. It’s close to impossible to maintain. Salt is everywhere and joining sand by the hip, it’s taking over and making everything dry and unmanageable. And yet… What do you now see on shelves of supermarkets? That’s right – “Beach Hair” products. Don’t have the time to go down the shore and get dirty? No problem! Just come down to your local CVS and pick up your very own salt in a bottle. Spritz it on and Viola, you now have the look of someone who spent the day at the beach. And don’t forget to pick up that self-tanner on the next shelf over. Oh and next time you’re at the gym which so conveniently provides tanning booths nowadays, bring a bathing suit.. Why settle for a flawless tan when you can have a pretend “I went to the beach and these are my tan lines” thing going on…
  2. GLITTERGlitter is the route to all evil. Sure it looks fun and sparkly but holy damn, does it get everywhere. And you don’t even know how it gets there! God forbid someone gives you a B-day card with glitter on it. Next thing you know, you’re literally pulling glitter out of your ass. And by literally I mean literally. You don’t even have to ingest glitter to make your shit sparkle. It just happens on its own, as if by magic. Except it’s not magic because magic is good and glitter is evil. It is just as evil as BEACH SAND. Yeah I said it. You can shake it off to Taylor Swift all you want, you’re still carrying sand inside your trunk and your living room. I’ve even had sand make its way into the inside of my bathing suit. Like between layers of cloth, like within the actual bathing suit. Much like putting a light bulb in your mouth, it’s easy to get it in but impossible to get out. Sand is EVIL and the beach, my dear Beach Bums, is full of it. You’re spreading the evil! Ever tried having sex on the beach? Yeah that’s pretty much asking for trouble. I mean you don’t even have to spread your legs for the sand to end up in your crotch. What do you think happens when you’re willingly opening up to it? Exactly. Now imagine having sex in a bed of litter. Yeah, have fun spending the rest of your life in the shower. It’s cool though, because by the time you come out of the shower for your 80 year old birthday bash, you’ll match the décor, cause you’ll still be sparkling!
  3. TAN LINES ARE NOT SEXY – I’ve literally had ONE single person ever tell me that tan lines are sexy. That poor sap was in Russia and his reasoning was “it shows that a person went on vacation and it also makes them more humane”… Ehhh? I can be humane and go to the nude beach and not have tan lines protruding through my clothes and fucking up my outfit. Also if you’re wearing different bathing suits over the course of several beach/tanning/vacation/whatever sessions, you’re bound to look like you belong to a tribe of some sort. All the tan lines intersect in a weird way and create this chaos of tan VS untan in a constant battle to pull off “who cares” but never actually winning. And even IF you decide to be consistent with your choice of bathing suit style, you’re still stuck with a chimp ass, except it’s white instead of red – The one time when being white in contrast to dark isn’t a win. What do you know! So basically, if you want to avoid tan lines, you have to either resort to fake booth tanning, which.. Fuck that.. Or you have to go to the nude beach. Assuming that you live in ‘Murica and may not necessarily have a nude beach local to you, you may just be shit of luck and have to settle for your backyard. But if you do have one close(ish) to you, and you’re feeling ballsy enough to go, keep in mind that it’s not all about sexy beach bums over there, it’s mostly about BALLS. You get what you deserve being ballsy and all.
  4. HOT POTATO – If you’re going to choose to spend your leisure time by playing hot potato, I would assume that you would gear up with some oven mitts at least. Same goes for the beach. If you know you’re going somewhere where sand meets the hottest element in the galaxy/solar system/whatever, AKA the SUN, and heats up to unimaginable temperatures, you’d take some shoes with you… to protect your feet. It may seem like common sense, but I assure you as someone who is well aware of the repercussions, I have been guilty of the “Shoes? Why do I need shoes? Water will cool off my feet” thoughts. As well as “Beach = Flip Flops”. Stupid stupid stupid woman. Every time I curse myself for thinking I can handle the vast distances of sand and win and every time the blisters on the soles of my feet scream at me “Youuuuuu Loseeee!”
  5. THE “ICK” FACTOR – I don’t really know what happened between my early years, when I could swim in a dirty puddle and not give a crap and now, when I’m skeeved out by just about anything that floats in the water whether it’s dead or alive, but it has become apparent to me that the ocean is not the kind of depths my normally adventurous self is willing to explore. Naturally there is the fear of the unknown. Who knows what goes on there? It’s a whole world of floating fish eggs, whale sperm and copious amounts of urine. And those are things that are supposedly harmless. Let’s not forget that there’s also jelly fish that sting and sharks that have been salivating over your limbs while you were still in traffic on your way there. Sure you can be a fucker and take the shark’s side and be like you’re entering their territory (water), of course they’re gonna attack you. Well here’s the thing. According to shark week and the good old TV that I normally don’t pay much attention to, most shark attacks happen by the “toddler” sharks.. AKA 2 year old sharks. AKA exploring the “field”, AKA not knowing what the fuck they’re doing, but merely trying to figure out what is and isn’t edible. So basically you’re at a crossroad of judging someone/something who is merely “testing the waters”. Well fuck that. There are times to be understanding and there are times to be scared and pissed off. Look at it this way. You’re in traffic. Some asshole in front of you is either going too slow or cutting in front of you. You can either get mad or do nothing cause in reality there’s nothing you really can DO to amend the situation. You can get mad, yes, but what good comes of it? Who knows what his/her reasoning is? Maybe his GF is giving birth in his car and he’s rushing to the hospital. Maybe he’s having a stroke and his feet confused the pedals. What’s the point in getting angry? However… if that very same person was in fact just an asshole who doesn’t know how to drive and he/she caused a ten car pileup with 3 deaths and 4 people injured … is it now justified for you to get angry? Yes. Especially if you or your family are the injured party. If your child died and your wife was paralyzed forever due to someone who was merely driving like an asshole because they were late to work, would you be upset? Would your nature loving, shark protecting self be upset? Um, yeah. You would be. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter what THEIR reasoning is as long as it affects you personally. So don’t give me that shit about sharks defending their nature and environment. They’re just dumb scary animals that do crazy shit. And that is why I don’t go in the water. The whole thing is just ICK.

Feeling bummified yet? That last one was kind of dark. Don’t worry; there are plenty of ways to relate without being as pessimistic as I am. The amount of shit I talk about the beach VS the amount I spend there/enjoy it, I might as well call myself a hipster – aka the ultimate hypocrite. Welcome to my world, all you “Beach Bums” you. <3

Remember, remember the chicks of Movember


Happy Movember!

Halloween may be over, but I’m not done terrifying you.

So let’s start with this:

Does the mere image of this make anyone else deeply uncomfortable?

When I saw it posted on Facebook, it got a good cringe-giggle out of me. The kind you do when something is too ridiculous a concept to have to worry about in real life. Then, I scrolled down the comments and learned from the thread there was no threading, shaving, or waxing going on for some of these chicks. Including the poster. None of these things were happening in her life right now. Part of me wanted to jump in and say, “while this photo induces resonant waves of nausea throughout my body, I support your fur in full,” but I just couldn’t lie (Part of me was admittedly afraid I’d be punished for it via some Tim Allen Santa Clause version of Pinocchio. Except lower.)

So I left it alone. But her “going on strike”, as she put it (incidentally since summer), left me wondering so many questions. Doesn’t it itch? Or feel dirty? Or get sweat in it? How many other women feel compelled to skip on the Schick? And why – when it’s natural (if you think about it, it’s just a thing our bodies do on their own and blah bla blah) does it bother me so much?

I think (for me) it’s just upbringing.

Like, if I was raised by Tarzan and his monkey, I’d probably see body brillo as really convenient (albeit inconveniently painful to collect) flesh-embedded dental floss. (Because jungle people totes worry about teeth debris.) But I wasn’t. Rather, when I was little, I remember my sister teasing me when I started to get hairs dotting my gangly little legs. (Retrospectively, it’s pretty hilarious: I’d just gotten a perm and she goes, “Pretty soon you can perm your leg hair too.”) I didn’t even realize it was a “thing” back then (too young) to shave or that among my imminent charges as a woman would be to transmogrify into a contiguous dermal sea of silk. Mind you, the hair I did have was hardly visible as she laughed at me; but since she was the Master Shake to my Meatwad, she wasn’t about to pass up the chance to leave me with the kind of lasting scars that make you want to use that razor for various other unhealthy purposes during your upcoming teen years and not be entirely sure why.

Luckily, tandem to her taunting came a tutorial on fighting the follicular fight.

And – after that – the rest was history. I recognize that my disgust with looking like you’ve just sheathed yourself in Elmer’s glue and logrolled across the floor of Paul Mitchel is pure cultural programming. But I can’t help it. I’ve done it for so long now that it’s both part of my shower routine itself and that “clean” feeling I get when I emerge. The prospect of any-level stubbly stems makes me feel like I’ve not showered in weeks. Even hidden under long jeans, I assume it’d feel like this horrible lie living in the form of a jungle under my duds. Fully carpeted calves? I couldn’t leave the house. No, literally. I couldn’t walk with all that matted mass except like a dog in pants. Or a Japanese commercial.

And (though it’s a week past scare-fest), I’ll leave you with this terrifying “Today” article stat:

(The middle two are scary enough. But the last one is ten percent too much.)

So, men, as you stroke your mug shrubbery this month:

Remember, remember the chicks of Movember.

And know they walk among us. On their egregious gorilla-esque gams


Long-haul flight attendants share beauty secrets to looking fresh


Whenever you see those pics of smiling flight attendants on those 20-odd hour flights, you think, “FAAAAYKE”.

preach elaine

Nobody looks that good after 20-ass hours on a plane.

No passengers look that good, let alone flight attendants who are on their feet, serving drinks, cleaning up vomit, serving more drinks, going through two hangover cycles and restraining crazy b*ches who mixed Ambien with Chardonnay.

this is not a real human being

They must be witches or something.

Actually, they’re just smart about their makeup and diet.

stahhhhhp you make me feel bad about myself


You know how gross you feel waking up wearing last night’s makeup?

Imagine that–but on top of that, you never went to sleep.

hi, we’re perfect, kthxbi

Here are the makeup secrets that help flight attendants looking so fresh and so clean clean.

Good anti-fatigue eye serums have a tightening effect and really help to energise tired looking eyes, ready for landing.

Under-eye concealers with light reflectors are recommended and for a fresh look, apply a tinted moisturiser, rather than using powder, to infuse the skin with moisture followed by a light blusher and lip gloss.

Avoid waterproof mascara as this will dry out the lashes on-board.

It’s all about the moisture and hydration. Your skin can only take so damn much recycled air until you’re looking dried out like a leftover pastry in the Starbucks display case.


Keeping your hair from looking frizzy, flat, matted, or otherwise like roadkill is a challenge over a long period of time.

Once on-board it’s a good habit to apply hair oil or serum to the ends of the hair to counteract this.
If brushing your hair, use a wooden hairbrush so that the aircraft’s static electricity doesn’t leave your hair standing on end!

And to maintain that look:

Cabin Crew sometimes use a pea-sized amount of hand cream or lip gloss to smooth down fly aways and control frizz, which works a treat.


You are what you eat, which means that you’re likely a Chipotle burrito in an ill-fitting skirt.

Water based foods including fruit and vegetables are the best options for long-haul travel as well as coconut water.

Well that sounds nice and fresh.

But wait…I bet there’s a catch.

Although it’s tempting to enjoy a cup of coffee or a glass of wine in-flight, caffeine and alcohol are both major causes of dehydration so we highly recommend going for a fruit juice instead.



damn right

I’m serving wine and coffee to people throughout the flight.

Merely “tempting” would be the walk to the terminal.

Tempting is not being a bartender who can’t drink for the majority of a day.

Anyway, it’s nice to know I look like sh*t because pretty much every aspect of my beauty routine is wrong.

Better chug some coconut water.

Grizzled and gorgeous


Can you guess whose sexy ass prom up-sweeps these are?


The answer is: No. You can’t. ‘cause they’re dudes.



I remember seeing some beard competition once on T.V. and thinking how epic it was that one human being could capture all the brilliance of The Pirates of the Caribbean in a single follicular face display. But this bish on some next level shiz with her guy grooming and beard beautification. Jessica Saia of The Bold Italic was fed up with the modern man letting his mermaid tresses go to waste. Thusly, she found a few testosterone infused humans, lassoed them by the locks, and teased them in the only way that probably doesn’t end with men wanting le sex: with a comb.


I want to find each of these men. Then (after licking their beards) I shall take them each to Group USA, and buy them the most form-fitting ball-cupping ball gowns. After that, obviously, we all pile in my time machine limo and head to high school whereupon I take them to every prom and homecoming that I don’t remember. I don’t even know who these grizzled gentlemen are, but I’m pretty much positive they’d be 100 percent superior to the dates I accepted on the basis of underestimating what a hot commodity I was.

All along, what my spirit truly thirsted for…

…was a grizzled goddess.

Like this guy:



Or this guy:



Or this guy:



And if you didn’t already know I’d love this guy, you dunno me:


However, as my wormhole shuttle (giggity) is being repaired by my trusty mechanic, Jose, I’ll settle for the next best thing: A youtube video of these beauties decked out in Marciano gowns and Loubs, traipsing around the local high school’s property in the heat of summer like a Matthew McConaughey character in drag – while tearfully telling the passing security men, “He stood me up! He’ll PAY! If I can’t have him NO ONE CAN.”

Funny, that’s how I feel about their hair since mine refuses to grow that long.

Which reminds me. I’ve begun a fundraiser called “Locks of Covet”.

You can address all your long, luxurious mane donations to:

Miss Tresstosterone BitterBitch
The Milky Way, Washington D.C.