I'm a Stupid Bitch

Image via Iryna Rasko/Shutterstock.
Image via Iryna Rasko/Shutterstock.

A lot of talk goes on in the New York media scene about who the stupidest bitch is. For Gawker Media’s 2016 Senior Week, I thought I’d air out some dirty laundry: it’s me.

You don’t believe me? Here is some evidence: Sometimes when I’m tired, I secretly pray that everyone on the subway bonks their head on a pole. Or when someone stumbles over, I think it was their fault and I resent them for it.

I’ve been a stupid bitch my whole life. When I was four, my parents were teaching me about what “gay” was and said, for example, Elton John is gay. I didn’t know what any of it meant, but I knew I had to tell. So I graffitied in erasable pencil on my pre-K bathroom stall: “Elton John is gay.” Messed up.


When I was ten, I paid my eight-year-old sister $20 to let me sit in the front seat of the car forever. She agreed because she didn’t know I was a swindler.

At sleep-away camp a few years later, I won an award for horseback riding: “Most improved rides,” my first ever recognition. Since I didn’t expect an award I wasn’t paying attention to the ceremony, and when I was finally pushed on stage, the award MC said, “You could at least pretend to be excited.” Savage.

Later, in high school, I dated a Jewish teen and visited his family for Sukkot, and he dumped me days later. I realized that week that I had lice, but I never said. And I never will. Damn.

In college I worked at the radio station and wanted to fit in, so I snuck behind the biofuels building (a hippie school) and tried to smoke a cigarette for practice and to see if I liked it. I hated it and shook the whole time. Nice.


When I spent a semester in Paris, I lived with a family who was supposed to give me dinner three times per week. They usually had dinner at 10 p.m., but I couldn’t wait so long and I was cripplingly shy, so I stole food out of their cabinets and then disappeared for the rest of the night. Ha ha, joke’s on them.

When Erin Ryan hired me at Jezebel, she asked if I liked gummy candies. I said “No,” but she heard, “Yes,” and told everyone I liked them. I don’t like them. Brutal.


The other day, some commenters got mad at me for writing about the Olympics before they had a chance to watch. I wrote a lot of strongly worded comments, but I deleted them. Suckers!

Sometimes after I throw up, I weigh myself because, why not? Huh.

I feel jealous any time anyone gets anything. Even if I don’t want it. Dang.

Sometimes I take two bags of cheddar bunnies from the snack cabinet, in case I want one tomorrow. But I usually eat them both at once. Shit.


I don’t like most children. I think they have bad personalities. Sick.

I delete 60% of my tweets, and I’ll never stop. Nuts.

Sorry, but I don’t care.

Senior Editor, Jezebel

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I’ve been a stupid bitch my whole life.

Not even close. The lovely writers at Jezebel have been something I look forward to reading every morning, for years. I first signed up, something like 10 years ago, because I found a group of politically like minded women who were way smarter than me. It became a mainstay in my life. Women who would come together to agree and disagree. The nicest and coolest bunch who would use words and tact, rather than insults or bullshit. Women who didn’t hesitate to tell you you were wrong and show you why. That was the key. Anybody can tell you how wrong you are. It was the ladies, both writers and commentators of Jezebel that would take the time to showcase facts, literature and statistics.

It has been a pleasure to be a member of Jezebel. Some of the smartest, most incredible, resilient and awesome women I have ever encountered in my life. I really hope this website survives the transition but if it doesn’t, I am happy knowing all of you make a difference in peoples lives. It did in mine.