Call Me a Basic Bitch Because I Fucking Love Starbucks

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Ahh the Basic Bitch. A girl who loves all things fall, wears Uggs with leggings and over sized sweaters, spends hours watching YouTube makeup tutorials and scours Pinterest for the perfect ponytail. Labor Day is her official mark for when it is appropriate to begin listening to Christmas music. She loves Disneyland, wine, puppies, and Instagram filters. Above all else, however, the Basic Bitch loves Starbucks.

We all love to point and laugh and make fun of the Basic Bitch, and we all think we’re not that girl. So what if I’ve had a new pair of Uggs every two years since 8th grade, or that today I’m sporting Lauren Conrad’s “Twisted Sister” bun, a tutorial which I may or may not have watched 7 times on her blog (you don’t know me).

I know the dishonor of being a basic bitch doesn’t discriminate, but being white automatically increases your chances of basic bitchness by 762% (look it up, it’s science). But I’m a quarter Mexican (thanks, Mom!), so I can’t possibly be a basic bitch! Right?


This morning as I sipped on my Grande Iced Caffè Latte with Non-fat Milk and laughed at a funny video of a bunch of blonde sorority girls taking selfies of themselves and their food for 5 fucking minutes straight at a baseball game, I thought Thank God I’m not like one of those girls. 

I got to the end of my ice cold beverage and almost had a panic attack because I really wished I had savored it a bit more, or perhaps I should have gone with the Venti instead. I threw the plastic cup with the recognizable green, naked mermaid (what the fuck is that, Starbucks?) in the recycling bin where my empty October Birch Box also lay. I put on some Sweet Pea hand sanitzer from Bath and Body Works, followed by my True Blue Spa Paraffin super softening hand lotion. On my way to put the lotion up in the cabinet, I knocked over my Kate Spade pencil holder and out fell all my multi-colored gel pens and my stainless steel Nate Berkus gold scissors. And that’s when it hit me.

I’m as fucking basic as they come.

I grew dizzy, looking frantically around my office. My chalkboard-style calendar from Paper Source which once screamed “I’m chic as fuck” suddenly screamed “BAAAAAAAAAASIC”. My $1 IKEA vase with a single white, daisy stared scornfully at me from beside my computer monitor. You fake, white bastard, I thought. I could almost hear the daisy taunting me back, “You’re as fake and white as I am. You are a basic bitch.

[Ok so the daisy wasn’t pure white. It was a little off-white, like maybe it had a quarter Mexican daisy in it, so it became a tanned daisy pretty easily which was convenient for the mostly white daisy. But I couldn’t deny the fact that it was, in fact, a fake daisy and three-quarters white, and so was I.]

Part of me wanted to throw everything away, pack up and move somewhere like Seattle or Portland. Somewhere where drinking coffee is hip and I could hide my leggings and over-sized sweaters under my rain coat.

No, I thought, you’re bigger than the basic bitch.

What the fuck do you mean bigger? I thought back to myself

Oh my god, staaaaaahhhhhppp. I mean bigger like how Julia Roberts was bigger than the ladies at that boutique on Rodeo who wouldn’t let her shop there in Pretty Woman.

Go on…

Or bigger like how when Cookie Lyon got out of prison she set out to get what was hers from her hip hop mogul ex-husband Lucious on Empire.

I’m listening…

Or bigger like JLaw addressing the hack that exposed her nudes in the November 2014 issue of Vanity Fair. That kind of bigger. You’re like a Julia Roberts meets Taraji P. Henson meets Jennifer Lawrence kind of big.

Oh, ok good. Because I thought you were calling me fat.

No, but since you brought it up, if you don’t lay off those peanut butter filled pretzels from Costco we might need to talk.

LEAVE THE PRETZELS OUT OF THIS! 

My world slowly came back into focus. So maybe I like a lot of things basic bitches like and do a lot of things that basic bitches do. Maybe I am a basic bitch from time to time, like from the time I wake up in the morning to the time I fall asleep at night, but who’s keeping track?

I love my Uggs, and when my big ass toe pokes another hole through my current pair of Uggs, I will replace them with the same, new pair of Uggs. I love Bath and Body Works lotion and pumpkin patches and scented candles. And I fucking love Starbucks, God dammit.

So color me basic and call me a bitch, because if the Ugg boot fits, I will fucking wear it.

We’ve all got a little basic bitch in us, and if Dr. Seuss has taught us anything, it’s that it’s ok to settle for being a mediocre human who is the antithesis of unique. We can’t all be winners in this game called life, so I’m going to enjoy my Christmas music in the middle of fucking July if I want to, I’ll savor every drop of my pumpkin spice latte, and I will continue to make fun of other basic bitches and live in denial that I am not one of them.

Peace out, bitches! ✌🏼️

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Call Me a Basic Bitch Because I Fucking Love Starbucks

8 thoughts on “Call Me a Basic Bitch Because I Fucking Love Starbucks

  1. Nancy says:

    You had me at Bath And Body Works (looooovvvve that place). The only great thing about getting older? I could care less anymore about whether anyone else thinks I’m a bitch. And I’m only an eighth white! Who knew?! Another great blog post.

    Like

    1. Isn’t Bath and Body Works the best!? Uh-oh, you’re an 8th white!? You just increased your chances of being a basic bitch by 7% (that’s also science). But you don’t care anymore, so rock that 7% basic bitchness! I’ve officially given up on caring as well lol

      Like

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