Turns out, you get mad about manners, too. Lots of you.
Bianca,
How do I decline people’s invitations without having any real reason to decline? You know what I’m talking about: someone invites you out to dinner but you just don’t feel like getting out of bed! Any advice?
Amanda
Dear Amanda,
I think Nancy Reagan said it best: “Ronnie, get away from me with that old, withered dick!” Oh, wait, I’m sorry, she said, “Just say ‘No!’”
You don’t have to give a reason to decline. “No” is a complete sentence (as is “fuck you,” “suck my dick,” and “I hope you get hit by a car”). Give yourself permission to turn down the invite. However, if rigorous honesty makes you uncomfortable, then by all means lie. My personal favorite is “I’d like to go, but I have leukemia. Maybe next time (cough, cough).” No one will be mad that you couldn’t attend. (Of course, explaining how the leukemia miraculously went away twenty-four hours later might be tricky, but you didn’t ask me about that. I also don’t want to answer because “technically” I’m not a doctor.)
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Hi Bianca!
I am a bi woman. That’s not my problem, but it has brought about several problems.
My issue is that while straight boys tend to be really stupid and gross about my sexuality (saying shit like “That’s hot. Can I watch you with a girl hurr durr hurrrrrr”), lesbians tend to be flat out offensive.
I’ve had lesbians tell me that they won’t date a bi girl because we’re “more likely to cheat.” I’ve also heard horror stories from bi friends who say that lesbians consider them “mopeds,” meaning she’s fun to ride, but she didn’t want her friends to know she had one.
My question is, how can we on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum stop our own in-fighting and internalized prejudices, and unite to make life better for us all? What’s a good comeback for lesbians who say this shit to bi women?
Hugs and slutty bisexual kisses,
Lulu
Dear Lulu,
Before I offer up my pearls of wisdom to solve your problem, I have to say, LGBTQIA? What the fuck is that? I understand LGB. I was even okay when they added the T, although to be perfectly honest I don’t want to be in any group that counts Caitlin Jenner as a member. (I don’t get her at all. He becomes a she, yet says she still likes women, but she isn’t a lesbian. Huh? Now that Caitlin’s a woman, shouldn’t she be more like the other Jenner/Kardashian girls—addicted to black cock?) And I have no idea what the I and the A stand for. At this point you’re just hoarding letters, like Vanna White on a three-day meth run. Maybe you should add an H for Hoarders. What’s next, adding letters for some straight guy who got drunk and blew a sailor in an alley? That would make it LGBTQIAHSGGDABASIAA. Definitely won’t fit on a protest sign at one of those annoying Lilith Fair festivals.
A lot of people don’t understand the bi thing. That’s their problem not yours. Next time a straight guy asks if he can watch you and your girlfriend, you should say, “Sure, can I watch your mother and the cafeteria lady she’s been fingering since you were in seventh grade?” And if a lesbian gives you shit, you can say, “Not Your Twat, Sasquatch. I wouldn’t go down on you if you were hiding diamonds in your pussy.”
So go be your fabulous bi self, and have a finger-lickin’ good time! ☺
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Dear Bianca:
I’m happily married to my husband Jack, for 22 years, but he has one habit that drives me crazy. Whenever we’re out at a restaurant or theater, he refers to the female staff members (waitresses, ushers, managers, etc.) as “honey,” or “sweetheart,” or “babe.” I find it sexist and creepy and embarrassing. I’ve told him it bothers me, but he says, “they like it; it makes ’em feel appreciated.” How do I get him to listen to me, and stop doing it?
Adele
Toms River, New Jersey
Dear Adele,
This is easy! When you go out, start calling all of the male staff members (waiters, valets, bellmen) “Handsome,” “Hotcakes,” or “Horsecock.” I’m pretty sure Jack will get the message.
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Dear Bianca,
I work for a very-diverse, multi-cultural company. They’re holding a big costume party this fall. Last year, a Kenyan friend of mine gave me a traditional African dashiki as a gift. Can I wear it to the costume party or would that be considered offensive?
Jamie
Dear Jamie,
Everything is considered offensive these days, so who gives a fuck? I am sooooooo tired of people’s “feelings being hurt” or their boundaries “violated.” You want hurt feelings and boundaries violated? How about I shove your mother’s dildo up your ass without lube? Two birds, one stone. Sweetheart, wear whatever the fuck you want. If you really want to be edgy, wear a torn, bloody dashiki, and go as a Ugandan citizen that Idi Amin tried to eat for lunch. In hindsight, perhaps I’m not the person to ask about propriety, since I’m on my way to blow Harvey Weinstein for a small part in his next movie and a pack of smokes—and I’m wearing Monica Lewinsky’s jizz-stained blue dress.
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Dear Bianca,
Our daughter Debra is engaged to a wonderful man. He’s smart, he’s successful, he’s kind and he adores her. The only problem is that he has the world’s worst table manners. He eats like a hostage who’s just been released from captivity in an Ethiopian sweat lodge.
He slurps, he dribbles, he smacks his lips, he chews with his mouth open. He sprays food all over the table. It’s disgusting. The only thing worse than having him for dinner in our home is having dinner with him in a restaurant. It’s embarrassing. People stare, customers switch tables; the busboys sneak back over the border to Mexico. Is there anything we can say or do? Our daughter says nothing.
Angie
San Diego, California
Dear Angie,
Short of wearing sound-deafening headphones (like the runway workers who help land planes) or throwing salt in your eyes, there’s probably not much you can do to make Pete the Pig clean up his act. He’s a grown man, successful in every other facet of life, so you may just have to grin, bear it, and vomit in your mouth.
On the bright side, if that’s how he eats his food, imagine how he eats your Debra! It must be a glorious mess. I’ll bet the wet spot is so big it looks like Hurricane Harvey flooded the bedroom! No wonder she’s silent at suppertime; she’s saving her energy for screaming in the sack. By the way, this is the grossest question I’ve ever received.
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Dear Bianca,
Last week, my friends and I (there were 5 of us) went to a restaurant for dinner. We were lingering after dessert and the manager came over, pointed to a long line of people waiting and politely told us he needed the table. We left but we were upset, and on the way out I gave the manager a piece of my mind. Was I wrong? Should I go back and apologize to the manager?
Betty
Chicago, Illinois
Dear Betty,
Unless you and your friends are blind you could clearly see a LONG line of people waiting for a table, so yes, you were wrong. You say you were “lingering after dessert,” which means the meal was over. You paid for a meal, not a weekend stay. You could very easily have continued chatting in the parking lot, or a Starbucks, or a busy truck stop (where you could have picked up a couple bucks at the same time). I wouldn’t make a special trip to the restaurant to say you’re sorry, but next time you’re there, you can take the manager aside and apologize, and explain you were stressed out because you were trying to decide whether to donate a kidney to your sick nephew, or sell it to him.
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Dear Bianca,
As a female I never wear pantyhose, but I wonder if you have trouble getting dick-cheese out of your pantyhose at night?
Lily
Denver, Colorado
Dear Lily,
Of course not, silly girl! I keep my hose in the fridge, and in the morning I spread it on a cracker. Everythin
g’s better on a Ritz! I must say, Lily, this is one of the weirdest questions I’ve been asked. What are you smoking? Certainly not an uncut dick!
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Dear Bianca,
I’ve been asked to throw a wedding shower for my friend LuAnn, who’s getting married. For the FIFTH time. Is it even appropriate to have a shower for a woman who’s been married so many times before? If so, what are the protocols? Please help ASAP; I have to let her know if I can do this.
Verna
Paducah, Kentucky
Dear Verna,
Fifth wedding? She must be running out of cousins! (I don’t know if the clichéd “marrying your kinfolk” thing is really true. I’ve only been to Kentucky once: I went to the Derby and had a fabulous fling with one of the riders. Got me a little jockey-cocky; and if I say so myself, Señor Velasquez was hung like a horse! I don’t mean his dick was huge. I mean it was brown and dirty.)
Anyway, yes, you can throw a shower for a fifth wedding, but I’d keep it simple. For example, instead of having it in your house or a restaurant, hold it in the office of Paducah’s best divorce lawyer. It’s not like LuAnn (a) hasn’t been there before, or (b) won’t be back. And in terms of gifts, make sure they’re returnable and don’t buy anything on layaway. Might I suggest some lovely Hers & Whoever towels?
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Dear Bianca:
I lost my leg above the knee a few years ago due to a vascular disorder. I’m tired of explaining to people what happened. Is there a polite way of answering their questions about my leg?
Angelo
Dallas, Texas
Dear Hopalong,
I once had sex with an amputee. Yes, that’s right, I humped a stump. And it was fabulous! He was a below-the-knee amputee; the only problem came when I was going down on him. He had taken the protective sock off his half leg, and out of the corner of my eye I could see his stump wiggling back and forth. VERY distracting. I said, “Yo, Bouncy, put the sock back on. My head’s going up and down and your stump is going left and right; I’m getting vertigo!”
I don’t mention this in a vain, braggadocious “Oh, look at me, I’m so wonderful, I blew a cripple” kind of way. I mention it because it relates to your question. I knew enough NOT to ask Stumparella how he lost his leg; I figured if he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. I was more interested in what he did with the leg after the doctors took it off. Did he throw it out? Did he chop it up and turn it into mulch or plant food? Did he take it home with him and make it into a desk lamp, or cut it into pieces and make cute little nesting tables? (FYI, he never actually told me what he did with the leg, but on my way out of his house I figured it out. First time I’d ever seen a mailbox with toes.)
In my professional opinion, when someone asks, “What happened to your leg?” it’s simplest to say, “I’m a pirate!”
Hope that helps, Angelo. Have a blessed day! ☺
P.S. Look at the bright side: you must save a fortune on shoes . . . shoe . . . you know what I mean.
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Bianca,
My boyfriend and I are getting married. We’re planning a small wedding (50 people at most) at a nice hotel. My BF John’s parents will be there, but mine won’t. My mother is VERY Christian (and VERY anti-gay) and refuses to attend. My father likes my fiancé and wants to go, but my mother is pressuring him not to. My mother met my boyfriend only once, and was “polite,” but refused to meet him again. This will be the most important day of my life and I want my mother there. What do I do?
John Smith
Asheville, North Carolina
Dear Steven,
Why the fuck would you want your mother there? She sounds hideous. A wedding is a celebration—who needs a Christian sourpuss in a Talbots dress and soft shoes, scowling in the corner? (You know, I think I just described myself.)
You’ve invited her, and she’s declined. Move on. Her loss. If you can convince your father to “man up” and attend, that would be great. If not, at least you know he’s in your corner, and is just caught between a rock and a harridan.
So go have a fabulous wedding, and don’t give Mommie Dearest another thought. Maybe someday she’ll come around, and maybe she won’t. And maybe someday your father will leave her for the twenty-year-old male parking valet he blew in the coatroom at your wedding.
Best of luck!
Muah!
P.S. If you decide you want to be cunty (and I hope you do; you are gay, after all. What’s the point of being gay if you’re going to be pleasant and bland?), I have an idea. Take out a huge full-page wedding announcement in your local Sunday paper. You know, the newspaper that your mother—and everyone in her church—reads.
How’s this for a sample announcement?
WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT
This past Sunday, John Smith and Steven Remsen were married at the Motel 6, on Route 58, near the gas station that was shut down because the owner was using the bathroom as a meth lab. Steven is the son of General Joseph Remsen, a retired five-star general in the U.S. Army, and Madeline Remsen, a special-ed teacher in a really bad neighborhood. They were proud to walk their son down the aisle.
John, who is a party bottom, is the son of Mr. Smith, who is an invertebrate, and Mrs. Smith, who likes to start drinking at five o’clock in the afternoon to dull the pain of her tedious, heterosexual life. They were NOT in attendance, because Mrs. Smith thinks she’s Christian and just can’t deal with homos (in the kind, loving way Jesus did).
Steven and John met in 2015, at an S&M bar called the Happy Fist. The couple plan on honeymooning in a seedy bathhouse on the outskirts of Raleigh.
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Dear Bianca,
I go to a lot of outdoor concerts and fairs. I’m getting tired of smokers sitting down near me and lighting up. I not only find it disgusting, but it makes me sick. What can I do?
Betsy
Lexington, Kentucky
Dear Betsy,
Assuming that smoking is legal in these outdoor venues, you have a couple of options:
You can politely ask them to move.
You can get up and move.
You can play the “cancer card.” Tell them you just finished chemo and you’d appreciate it if they’d put their cigs out. (If not, throw on a turban. No one would ever believe you’re driving a cab because you’re white. How do I know you’re white? Your name is Betsy, that’s how.)
You can stay home and become a shut-in. Have your food and diapers delivered to the house, and catch up on concerts when the artists appear on PBS hustling their albums.
Tell the smokers that you’re a spitter, and hope that spitting doesn’t bother them. Every time they light up and blow smoke your way, you cough up a loogie and send it their way.
Eat a can of beans before you go to the concert. NO ONE will want to sit near you.
Xoxo
BDR
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Dear Bianca,
When at a dinner party in a restaurant, is it okay to start eating before everyone else is served, especially if the host says it is okay? I did this and my wife said I was terribly rude.
Dave
Chicago, Illinois
Bitch was wearing flats. She deserved to die.
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
O. J.’s going to help me find the real killer.
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
Great apartment just opened up in the building!
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
Nothing can ruin my day when I look good.
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
Dear Dave,
Your wife is right, although she’s overreacting. Yes, you should have waited until everyone was served (unless of course you’re on lifesaving medications that can’t be taken on an empty stomach). But terribly rude? No. I once took a shit on the hors d’oeuvres tray, and blew my load in a napkin while a child was making a toast. THAT was terribly rude. What you did was just “normal rude.” TRUST ME.
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&
nbsp; Dear Bianca,
This one time I was driving my car through the city and I stop at a red light that was about to change, so this kid was walking with his bike next to him, looks at me like he’s better than everybody and takes a long ass time to finally start walking. The thing is that I couldn’t take the fact that he was basically making fun of me so I hit the back wheel of his bike with my car, making him fall to the ground in a car safe area. My question is . . . was he coming for me? And was I wrong to do what I did?
Juan Gonzalez
Miami Beach, Florida
Dear Juan Gonzalez,
At exactly what point in time does a stolen vehicle become “your car”? I’m asking because in my country, possession is nine-tenths of the law, and I’d hate to see you get deported for boosting a Volvo. So if you’ve had it for enough time, no charges will be filed. I know, “whew,” right, amigo?
As for the guy on the bike . . . how do you know he was making fun of you? Maybe he has a social anxiety disorder and he looks at everybody like that. Since you don’t know, in that regard, you’re wrong. But as for the taking his sweet fucked-up time crossing the street? HUGE pain in the ass. Probably not enough to warrant running him over, but certainly worth rolling down the window and yelling, “Yo, douchebag! Make a fucking effort!” Or however it is you say it in Mexican.
Blame It on Bianca Del Rio_The Expert on Nothing With an Opinion on Everything Page 9
