Since you’re not likely to run into him again (either figuratively or physically), you should make what my AA friends (okay, friend) call a living amend: vow not to hit anyone else with your car over a minor annoyance. Major stuff, however? Pedal to the metal! VROOOM! ¡Me gusta!
P.S. I’m guessing English is your third or fourth language, si? El buildo that wall-o.
* * *
Bianca:
I’ve been invited to my 50th high school reunion and I don’t know if I should go. I hated high school. I was picked on and bullied for being gay (even though I wasn’t out) and lived in constant fear. I’ve done very well financially (multi-millionaire) and both my husband and I are in great shape and look good. What do I do?
Mickey
Michigan
Dear Mickey,
MULTI-millionaire with a handsome husband? You GOGOGO to the reunion and you flaunt every fucking dime you have. Arrive in a private jet; take a limousine; wear designer suits and bespoke jewelry. Drop as many names as you can. Make sure you sit at the table with the biggest bullies. And THEN WINK AND SASHAY OUT THE DOOR AND SAY, “You know, if you boys had learned to take a load in the face, you could be living like this, too.”
* * *
Dear Bianca,
I’ve been invited to a wedding. The invitation says, in bold font, NO GIFTS. I’m not sure what to do. Should I bring a gift anyway, in case other people do, so I don’t look like a cheap fuck? Or should I assume they meant what they said and honor their request?
Help!
Dave
Denver, Colorado
Dear Dave,
Of course some douchebag is going to bring a gift. If he’s the only one who does, then he’ll look like an asshole. But he won’t be the only one, and if a number of people bring gifts, then yes, you might look like a cheap fuck.
I’m not sure if, when people say “no gifts,” they really mean it. I’ve thrown MILLIONS of dinners and parties, and EVERYONE knows I expect gifts. Nice gifts, none of that Hobby Lobby Popsicle-stick, potpourri bullshit.
My suggestion is to make a donation to a charity in the host’s name. Can’t go wrong. A lot of people donate to the Red Cross, or Meals on Wheels, so I think you should do something different, something special. Send a check to MY favorite charity, the Bianca Fund. (It’s like the Jimmy Fund, in Boston, except instead of the money going to annoying sick kids, it goes to me. Hey, it’s a write-off!)
* * *
Dear Ms. Del Rio,
I find it very difficult to balance helping others and looking out for myself. I hate saying no when someone asks for my help, but it is adding a lot of unnecessary stress to my day. What is the best way to say no without seeming rude?
Yours,
Grace
Dear Grace,
Pretend you’re deaf. And you’re asking ME how not to be rude? You wasted a stamp, dunce.
Love you madly.
Xoxo
* * *
Dear Bianca,
There are only 112 shopping days until Christmas, and my husband Ed and I want to get a head start on buying gifts. What is your gift-giving process? Any suggestions?
Donna Jean Smith
Olathe, Kansas
Donna Jean,
That’s two questions, not one. I’m guessing that in Kansas you have a lot of time on your hands because there’s nothing else to do, so you sit around the farmhouse husking something, thinking of questions to ask Bianca. And I couldn’t be happier! It’s great knowing that I have a fan base with the Children of the Corn, and I’ll cheerfully answer all of them. ☺
Before I answer your questions, though, let me just remind you that there are only eighty-seven days to return gifts until Hanukkah (save those receipts!), and only eighty-nine looting days until Kwanzaa. I’m joking, of course, Donna Jean; there are no Jews or blacks in Kansas.
One of the best ways to start shopping is by process of elimination. First figure out who you MUST buy presents for (i.e., children, employers, the PR guy who keeps your name off Megan’s List) and to whom you can get away with just sending a card. Then, think budget. Figure out how much you can spend in total, then start breaking it down, person by person, gift by gift. For example, I have to get my agent a gift, because without him, I wouldn’t have money to buy gifts. And, unlike most agents, my agent is a good guy, so a simple gift card to the Bunny Ranch (and subsequent penicillin shots) won’t work. I have to get him something nice. I’m thinking a new putter, or a PlayStation, or maybe a couple of good books he can read while he’s in the slammer for skimming money from his clients.
Speaking of reading, I’m also guessing that buying books is not on the table, what with you being in Kansas and all. Last time I was in Wichita, I asked a woman where the nearest Barnes & Noble was. She told me, “Phoenix.” Her husband then chirped, “This is Kansas; we don’t read books, we burn ’em!” What a kidder.
My suggestion to you, Farm Girl, is to buy gifts that are specific to the person you’re buying them for, without breaking the bank. For example, your neighbor Arlette Johnson, who has been stress-eating since her husband Buck fell off his Lawn Boy riding mower and was slowly, yet symmetrically, mulched to death. In her grief, the widow Johnson has put on a little weight, say twenty, thirty . . . two hundred and forty pounds . . . I say, get her a gift certificate to Stuckey’s all-you-can-eat buffet. It’ll cost you a mere $19.99, but for her, it’ll be a priceless gift, as well as a reminder that hubby number two should be a little less clumsy.
A LITTLE BIANCA
Since I’m now halfway up the ladder of success, I’m under pressure to be thoughtful. I ALWAYS have to send gifts and thank-you cards; I have to remember birthdays and anniversaries; I even had to send a thoughtful condolence to the widow of a man I hated. Even worse, I had to send a note to the widow of a man I jerked off in his car at one of his son’s Little League games, while his wife (now his widow) thought he was getting some popcorn. It’s exhausting.
Gift giving is a huge pain in the nuts, too, because the gifts have to be nice. Successful people know exactly how much thought and money went into buying their gifts. I can’t just stop in some random Walmart and ask one of the hideously but appropriately low-paid employees to “pick out something really, really special. And keep it under eight bucks.”
Things were much simpler in my old trailer-park days. Okay, I didn’t ever really live in a trailer park, but for the purpose of this book, let’s say I did. When I was invited for Sunday dinner at the Parkers’ double-wide down the road—let’s call it Lot #7, parcel #23—I didn’t have to worry about sending flowers on Monday as a thank-you for the lovely repast of Tater Tots and Spam. The fact that I didn’t fart at the table or wipe my hands on the dog was thanks enough for Mr. Parker and his wife/first cousin Lurlene.
Doing well is fabulous but grueling. As I become more and more famous, which God knows is as certain as Melissa Etheridge wearing her girlfriend as a hat, I’ll have to figure out ways to handle the incredible yet exacting burdens of success. I think the first thing I need to do is make even more money so I can hire more “people.” Then they can deal with buying gifts or telling my fans they’re too ugly for me to take selfies with them.
Chapter 7
Work It, Girl!
I think the foremost quality—there’s no success without it—is really loving what you do. If you love it, you do it well, and there’s no success if you don’t do well what you’re working at.
MALCOLM FORBES
Problem is, what I love to do is illegal in forty-six states.
BIANCA DEL RIO
When you go for a job interview, always put your best face forward!
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
I got a gazillion questions about drag . . . what do I do with my dick, what do I do with my balls, what do I do with the duct tape when I’m done, blah, blah, blah . . . And by the way, “gazillion” means “any more than one” when it comes to questions about drag. And since drag is
my career (I flunked out of both medical AND veterinary schools; I got drunk one night and spayed my teacher and gave a brow lift to a schnauzer), I put all “work-related” questions into this chapter. So, enjoy. Or don’t. You already bought the book; I don’t care.
Dear Bianca Del Rio,
My boss is a real asshole. He shouts and throws things when things don’t go his way. He constantly tells his employees they are lucky to work for him even though he pays terribly. How do I stick up for myself against his constant abuse?
Thanks,
Charlotte Furneaux
Charlotte,
Charlotte? I’m onto you, Kellyanne! The White House is no place for you. Quit and go work for someone else, someone more even-tempered and rational, like Kim Jong-un or Chris Christie or Osama bin Laden’s catty nephew Jerry. Honestly, I’m surprised you lasted this long; your wrinkles are starting to look tired.
(Is there anyone among us who doesn’t think Kellyanne Conway is actually a middle-aged pharmacist named Dave?)
* * *
Hey Bianca,
I am a straight male fan over here in the UK. Been a fan of yours since I saw you on RuPaul’s Drag Race (my girlfriend and I LOVED Hurricane Bianca). Now, I can’t pretend to know what struggles and pains LGBT+ individuals go through, as I simply didn’t have to face those issues growing up. But my sister has recently come out of the closet. My first (and most important) question is, what is the best thing I can do to make her feel happy & loved? I’ve been treating her as I did before, acting like it’s the same as me telling my parents I finally got a girlfriend—is this the right thing to do? The last thing I want is for her to feel uncomfortable in her own home :(
My second question is, I’ve struggled with confidence issues my whole life (it’s practically a miracle I have a GF), what can I do to help channel my inner Bianca? How can I stop caring so much what other people think of me?
Thank you for your time!
Conor
Dear Conor,
Oh, you precious thing, you’re not straight. Yes, you may have a girlfriend, and yes, you may have sex with her, but, Princess, you didn’t go to Dr. Phil or Dr. Drew for advice, you came to me—a nasty queen who puts the F in bitchy. So, that bit of reality aside . . .
If you want your lesbo sister to feel good about coming out of the closet, buy her tools so she can build an armoire. Handiwork tends to calm those gals down. Someone told me they love “craftsmanship.” I learned this the hard way. My first publicist was an angry lesbian who used to walk down the streets snarling at people. She was more of a bulldog than a bull dyke. I wanted to put one of those plastic cones around her head so she wouldn’t bite passersby. To calm her down before press events, I’d give her little tasks to do—whittle a spoon, smelt some iron, put up drywall in the ladies’ room . . . and it worked like a charm. Your sister will appreciate the support and LOVE the new Black & Decker power saw.
As for building your confidence, try building your muscles. Go to the gym. Eat kale. Take steroids. Looking like a behemoth instills inner confidence. If you don’t believe me, ask Khloé Kardashian. She’s like The Rock without the shrunken testicles and back acne. Khloé doesn’t walk into a room; she WALKS into a room. She—and everyone else—knows she has the biggest dick in the building. So bulk up, Conor. Be like Khloé. You’ll be teeming with confidence. And who knows, maybe you’ll start sleeping with black guys. Oh, wait, I mean, girls. Sorry, I forgot you’re straight. Your faggy letter confused me.
* * *
Dear Bianca,
I am 5 foot 11 inches. My whole life, my mom told me I was too tall to wear heels. As an act of rebellion, I found myself trying to wear heels in my early 20s. I felt like a literal giant as everyone was watching me stumble in heels. I just want to wear cute shoes! Do you think I should get over this weirdness about my height + heels, or just stop trying the heels?
Too Tall Tammy
Dear TTT,
Stop trying the heels?! NEVER! I’d rather cut off a minor limb than give up my stilettos. Try using a wheelchair. You won’t be so tall and you can wear heels without having to worry about stumbling. You’ll also get really great parking spots near the mall. So put on the heels and hunch your way to happiness!
BDR
* * *
Hello Fab Queen Bianca!
I kind’a struggle with self-confidence issues since I can think back. I’m 20 now and for me it seems as every 20-year-old is more attractive and successful.
How do I become so smart, pretty and succesfull like you?
I really love and admire you as my role model
I hope I get to see you sometime but sadly not today Satan!
Very warm greetings from Germany,
Michelle
Diese Nachricht wurde von meinem Android
Mobiltelefon mit GMX Mail gesendet.
Dear Fräulein,
Danke schön for your letter! There are many ways to boost your self-confidence. First stop on the self-esteem train is to learn HOW to spell. Unless you have tits OUTTOHERE and the pussy of death, no man wants to date a dunce. For example, it’s spelled “successful,” not “succesfull,” and if you’re going to use “kinda” rather than “kind of,” then you need to add an apostrophe. At the END of the word. If you improve your spelling and grammar, you’ll feel much better about yourself. Kinda’.
As for how to become as pretty as me? Easy! Buy a cheap wig, some gaudy makeup, cartoon eyelashes, and shave your balls. Voilà!
Xoxo
Bianca
P.S. I don’t know what your last sentence in German means, but I hope it has nothing to do with ovens or Zyklon B. Just sayin’.
* * *
Dear Bianca,
Your advice is so great and so helpful to so many people. Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher, and helping our children learn the ways of the world?
Sally
Marblehead, Massachusetts
Sally,
Thank you so much for your kind words. While I would love to work with children, I’m not allowed within 1000 feet of a schoolyard my schedule won’t allow for such a commitment. But if you do want me as a festive clown (clowns are all the rage right now!), I’m available for children’s parties, bar mitzvahs, and funerals.
* * *
Hi Bianca,
My name is Rossanna but you can call me Rose. I’m a nineteen-year-old Mexican girl and since I was a kid I knew I wanted to do something big! A few years ago I realized I wanted to have my own company—I want to do makeup! Beautiful vegan makeup for everyone to use! But I don’t know where to start, I don’t know anyone in that industry that could give me advice or someone who could support me with knowledge or money. Do you know how I could start?
Anyway, thanks for everything. You are an amazing human being ♥♥♥♥ we love you
One of two restaurants named after me. The other one is The Cornhole.
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
Hola, Wetbacko!
My name is Bianca but you can call me ICE Officer del Rio! ¡Adios, muchacha! Shit, that wall ain’t up yet?
I don’t know shit about starting up a company, but I do have an idea for you that might be both lucrative AND socially responsible. (Which, I assume, you are, by your desire to make vegan makeup. But have you ever met a happy vegan? I think not. Just sayin’.) I suggest you create white pancake makeup for illegal immigrants. Start with yourself. Make yourself up to look white, white, white, and change your name from Rossanna to Debbie. Then walk around the streets of a border town wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat and mutter, “Build that wall! Build that wall!” No one will EVER think you’re Mexican and you’ll never be pulled over, hassled, or deported. Promote your success and then go door to door looking for illegals; there are at least eleven million customers waiting for you, right now! And since most of them don’t have bank accounts, you can make it a cash business and you won’t have to pay taxes! This is a financial win, as well as socia
lly responsible—your amigos will be able to stay in the country, and President Trump will be thrilled to see all of those happy white people. Plus, lawns and gardens all across this great land of ours will still look good! ¡Gracias!
P.S. You missed a spot in the garden.
* * *
Bianca,
I’m having an existential crisis! Do I get a job and do the 9–5 rat race or pursue my passion for art?
Charleigh B
Kilbirnie, Scotland
Charleigh,
You live in Kilbirnie, Scotland, what difference does it make? And I don’t say that in a totally bitchy way (on the Bitch Scale of one to Mariah Carey, this is a six). Kilbirnie is a charming, quiet little town; I spent a month there one day. The population of Kilbirnie is 7,500 people, give or take a few old crones and a coupla sheep. Location matters when deciding what you want to do with your life.
You don’t say what kind of art you’re passionate about, nor do you say if you’re very good at it—which is also important when making career choices. For example, I’m passionate about music. I love love love to sing. Unfortunately, I’m tone-deaf and couldn’t drive to a melody with a map. My auto-tune app told me to shut the fuck up. But if you ARE good at art, then figure out the best way to maximize your talent. If you’re a painter but like to paint skyscrapers, then moving out of Kilbirnie is probably a good idea. However, if your specialty is painting people being bored to death, then stay put and whip out your brushes.
Blame It on Bianca Del Rio_The Expert on Nothing With an Opinion on Everything Page 10